en had come and roped
her down where she lay. Some of the creatures, he saw, were actually
at that time inside the bow compartment, swimming around curiously
amidst the clustered pipes, wheels and levers. It was a weird sight,
and one that held his eyes fascinated.

But suddenly, through his absorption, danger prickled the short hairs
of his neck. A lithe, sinuous shadow close ahead was wavering, and
large, placid brown eyes were staring at him. A sealman! He was
discovered! And instinctively, immediately, Ken Torrence brought the
torpoon's accelerator down flat.

The shell jumped ahead with whirling propeller. The creature that had
seen him doubled around and sped in retreat. In brief snatches, as the
torpoon streaked across the hundred-foot gap to the empty port-lock,
Ken glimpsed his discoverer gathering a group of its fellows, and saw
brown-skinned bodies swarm after him with nooses of seaweed-rope--and
then the great transparent side wall of the _Peary_ was before him,
and the port-locks dark opening. Ken threw his motor into reverse,
slid the torpoon slightly to one side, and there was a jerk, a jar,
and a sensation of something moving behind.

He turned to see the port-lock's outer door closing, activated by
controls inside the submarine--and just in time to shut out the first
of his pursuers. Then the port-lock's pumps were draining the water
from the chamber, and the inner door clicked and opened.

Kenneth Torrance climbed stiffly from the torpoon to enter the
interior of the long-lost and besieged exploring submarine _Peary._

CHAPTER IV

"_No Chance Left_"

His entrance was an unpleasant experience. He had forgotten the
condition of the air inside the submarine, and what its effect on him,
coming straight from comparatively good and fresh air, would be, until
he was seized by a sudden choking grip around his throat. He reeled
and gasped, and was for a minute nauseated. Lights flashed around him,
and teetering backward he leaned weakly, against some metal object
until gradually his head cleared; but his lungs remained tortured, and
his breathing a thing of quick, agonised gulps.

Then came sounds. Figures appeared before him.

"From where--" "Who are you?"

"What--what--what--" "How did you?"

The half-coherent questions were couched in whispers. The men around
him were blear-eyed and haggard-faced, their skins dry and bluish, and
not a one was clad in more than undershirt and trousers. A