Part 16 (1/2)

”But, Marian,” Florence expostulated, ”it's serious. These winter lake storms are terrible. The s.h.i.+p may go to the bottom any moment. It wasn't built for this. And there may be ice, too. One crack from ice and she'd burst like an eggsh.e.l.l. C'mon, we've got to get lights. Gotta start the engine.”

Dragging Marian to her feet, she made her way along the wall to the light switch.

There came a sudden flood of light which brought out in bold relief the havoc wrought by the storm. Tables, chairs, lounge, writing paper, notebooks, shoes, garments of all sorts, were piled in a heap forward.

The heavy carpet was soggy with water.

One glance revealed that. The next instant the lights flickered and went out.

”Have to find a candle,” said Florence soberly. ”Water on the battery wires. Caused a short circuit. We can't hope to use electricity. Ought to get engine started some way. Got to get a candle. You just--”

”Watch out!” screamed Marian, as she leaped toward a berth.

The O Moo had suddenly shot her prow high in air. The entire contents of the cabin came avalanching down upon them.

Having made his way, in the midst of the storm, to the door of the scow on the dry dock occupied by the Orientals, Mark Pence paused to arrange the cloth strap carefully over his shoulder and to feel in his pocket.

Then he beat loudly upon the door.

As he had expected, he received no answer.

Without further formalities he put his knees to the door and gave it a shove. The flimsy lock broke so suddenly that he was thrown forward.

Losing his balance, he plunged headforemost down a short flight of stairs.

With a low, whispered exclamation he sprang to his feet. Putting his ear to the wall, he listened. There were sounds, low grunts, slight shuffling of feet. It was uncanny. A cold perspiration stood out on his brow.

”Danger here,” he whispered as he once more adjusted the cloth strap.

The corridor in which he was standing was dark, but a stream of blue light poured out from beneath a door to his right.

”Hey! You! Come out of there!” he shouted.

Instantly bedlam followed. Doors were flung open. A glaring blue light flooded all.

”O we-ee-ee! O wee-ee-ee,” came from every side.

A knife flashed before him. Springing back, he tripped over something, then suddenly plunged downward. He had fallen down the circular stairway.

After a wild dizzy whirl, he reached bottom with a b.u.mp.

Immediately he was on his feet. His hand gripped the bottle. It was dark down here; dark as a dungeon.

”Got to get out of here,” he whispered. ”Whew! What a lot of them! Twenty or thirty! No use hoping for help from them. Fool for thinking I could.

Got to get out and find help somewhere else--and get out quick. Be coming down.”

Drawing something from the case slung across his shoulder, he pulled it down over his face. It was a gas mask, his old war mask, recharged.

Gripping the bottle in his pocket, a bottle of Lucile's quick action gas, he began to climb the stairs.