Part 13 (1/2)
”But he's not drunk,” she protested earnestly. ”Edward McClusky is a diver for the Evirude Salvage Co. Whatever ails him must be serious!”
The policeman stared at Penny and then down at the unconscious man on the stretcher. ”A deep sea diver!” he exclaimed. ”Well, that's different!”
Deftly he loosened the man's collar, and at once his hand encountered a small disc of metal fastened on a string about his neck. He bent down to read what was engraved on it.
”Edward McClusky, 125 West Newell street,” he repeated aloud. ”In case of illness or unconsciousness, rush this man with all speed to the nearest decompression lock.”
”You see!” cried Penny. ”He's had an attack of the bends!”
”You're right!” exclaimed the policeman. He consulted his companions.
”Where is the nearest decompression chamber?”
”Aboard the _Yarmouth_ in the harbor.”
”Then we'll rush him there.” The policeman turned again to Penny. ”You say you know this man and his family?”
”Not well, but they live only a few blocks from us.”
”Then ride along in the ambulance,” the policeman suggested.
Penny rode in front with the driver, who during the speedy dash to the river, questioned her regarding her knowledge of the unconscious man.
”I don't know much about him,” she confessed. ”Mrs. Weems, our housekeeper, is acquainted with his wife. I've heard her say that Mr.
McClusky is subject to the bends. Once on an important diving job he stayed under water too long and wasn't properly put through a decompression lock when he came out. He is supposed to have regular check-ups from a doctor, but he is careless about it.”
”Being careless this time might have cost him his life,” the driver replied. ”When a fellow is in his condition, he'll pa.s.s out quick if he isn't rushed to a lock. A night in jail would have finished him.”
”Will he be all right now?”
”Can't tell,” was the answer. ”Even if he does come out of it, he may be paralyzed for life.”
”Do you know what causes bends?” Penny inquired curiously.
”Nitrogen forms in bubbles in the blood stream,” the driver answered, and drew up at the waterfront.
Penny followed the stretcher aboard the _Yarmouth_. In the emergency of offering quick treatment to McClusky, no one heeded her. The man was rushed into the air lock and placed on a long wooden bench.
A doctor went into the chamber with him, signaling for the pressure to be turned on. Bends could be cured, Penny knew, only by reproducing the deep water conditions under which the man previously had worked. Pressure would be raised, and then reduced by stages.
”How long will it take?” she asked a man who controlled the pressure gauges.
”Ordinarily only about twenty minutes,” he replied. ”But it will take at least two hours with this fellow.”
”Will he come out of it all right?”
”Probably,” was the answer. ”Too soon to tell yet.”
To wait two hours was out of the question for Penny. After discussing the matter with police, she agreed to notify Mrs. McClusky of her husband's difficulty. Glad to be rid of the duty, they dropped her off at the house on West Newell street.