was giving voice to the things that flogged his brain.

"What can I do? I've got to save my ship--I've got to get back to
break the news--I've got to tell the world! But how? How--" His
expression changed suddenly. "That's it! That hawser arm between us
must be broken!"

"Yes."

First Officer Hemingway Bowman's clear voice broke in on the older
man's thoughts with that one crisp word. Keith swung to find the
other's eyes fixed levelly on his.

"You're right, Keith. The hawser arm must be broken; with a depth
charge, of course. It's the only way.

"To attach a depth charge," he continued evenly, "a man must leave the
ship. You can't, Keith. It will be me."

* * * * *

The commander did not speak. "I'll put on a sea-suit," Hemmy went on
quickly, eyes lighting. "You tip the submarine and I'll slide out the
conning tower exit port on the lee side, so they can't see me, and
worm forward through the kelp. We're almost holding them even; that'll
be easy. I'll be protected from the paralyzing shock until the last
second, and it may not get me outside; that'll have to be chanced. The
hawser arm's only some ten feet above the sea-floor; I can reach it
with a hook on the charge." He paused.

"I'll attach it; and when it bursts I'll try to get back and grab that
ring on the midships exit port, and you can let me in when we get to
the surface. But if I take too long, Keith--if I miss--you beat it
without me. You understand? Beat it!"

He gazed straight at his friend. "Understand, Keith?"

Commander Keith Wells bowed his head in acquiescence. He was afraid
that if he met Hemmy Bowman's steady eyes he'd make a fool of
himself....

Hemmy glanced at the screen once more, shivering as he saw how near
the black cavern was. Then he moved rapidly, playing the cards
carefully for his gamble with death. He had to: the trumps were in the
other hand.

From the locker where their sea-suits were stowed he grabbed his own,
and with quick fingers ripped the slides and fitted it on. A sheath of
yellow Lestofabrik, its weighted feet and gleaming casque transformed
his slim figure into a giant such as might stalk through a nightmare.
Built cunningly into the helmet was a tiny radio transmitter and
receiver, with a range of a quarter-mile; hugging to the shoulders,
inside nestled the air-making mechanism, its tiny generators already
in motion. Around the helmet was fastened a small removable
undersea-ligh