were bare and silent.

'Roy,' he said at last, and it was all he could do to keep his teeth from
chattering. 'Roy, can't we manage to right the dinghy?'

'You and I might. But what about Gill?'

The question was unanswerable. It would take all their united strength to
turn the dinghy over. And who was to hold Gill meantime?

No, the case was absolutely desperate. There was nothing for it but to
hang on and continue hanging on until at last the deadly cold had done its
work, and they dropped off and sank into the darksome depths beneath them.
It was a miserable end, and Ken's whole soul rebelled against it.

The guns had ceased firing, there were no lights anywhere to be seen, the
only sound was the monotonous slap of the ripples against the hull of the
overturned boat and--far in the distance--the dull mutter of the guns down
by Sedd-el-Bahr.

[Illustration: '"Hallo! Hallo! Who's that?"']

Ken felt a dull stupor creeping over him, a curious sense of unreality.
His thoughts began to wander. So much so that at first he hardly noticed
the curious sucking splash which came from the water some little distance
to the left.

It was Roy who called his attention to it.

'Ken, there's a thundering great fish out there. Do they keep sharks in
these waters?'

Before Ken could reply, the splash was followed by a slight grating sound,
then a dull clank, like two metal plates being lightly struck together.

Hope dawned suddenly in Ken's heart, sending a tingling shock through the
whole of his perishing body.

'That's no fish,' he muttered. 'That's no fish.' Then raising himself as
high as he could out of the water he sent a sharp cry for help pealing
through the darkness.

'Hallo! Hallo! Who's that?'

Never had Ken been happier to hear the sound of a human voice.

'Three survivors from the "Maid of Sker,"' he answered. 'Our boat's
upset.'

'Hang on!' came the quick reply. 'We'll have you out in a jiffy.'

There came low voiced orders, the low purr of an engine, and a low dark
bulk topped by a curious square-looking turret came gliding towards them.

'What is it?' muttered Roy in a dazed tone.

'A submarine,' Ken answered gladly. 'That's her conning tower. Here she
comes. Hang on to Gill, or the wash will take him off.'

A moment later, and the long gray craft swam up right alongside of the
dinghy. It was the most beautiful bit of steering imaginable. A hand
reached out and pulled the dinghy close against the h