In the chart-room a light, imperfectly screened, threw a narrow glare into the mist. The officer of the watch--one of the _Pelikan's_ petty officers--was doubtless indulging in slumber, since it was quite unlikely that Unter-leutnant Klick would have been out of his bunk to satisfy himself that all was well unless an alarm was raised by those on deck. Cautiously the two blackened figures glided from the shelter of the bulwarks to the raised coaming of the engine-room fidley. Through the iron bars they could see the gleaming mechanism, now at rest, although steam was being kept at working pressure. Groping, Denbigh felt his fingers come in contact with a cylindrical bundle. It was the rope-ladder enclosed in a canvas cover. Returning to the side the sub lashed one end of the ladder to the upright of one of the davits. The other he allowed to drop. It touched the surface of the water with hardly a splash. Being too long for the purpose five or six feet of the ladder floated alongside. There was not sufficient current to trail it out. Swinging over the bulwark Denbigh felt with his foot for the rungs. The rope creaked under his weight. He descended until his feet came in contact with the water, then he waited until he saw O'Hara's black form silhouetted against the moon-lit mist. Thank heaven there were no hippos to be seen, although a splashing sound at some distance off told the sub that some sort of large amphibians were sporting in the moonlight. The Irishman's foot lightly touching Denbigh's upheld hand that grasped one of the rungs aroused the sub to action. Three steps down did he take, then he released his hold and struck out into the unknown. CHAPTER XII A Perilous Journey Twenty slow, deliberate, and powerful strokes did Denbigh take, then, treading water, he turned his head to see how his companion was progressing. In that short distance the outlines of the _Myra_ looked vague and distorted in the eddying vapour. Already the swimmers were practically safe from observation, since O'Hara, who was barely three yards away, looked indistinct in his cork-blackened disguise. A dozen strokes more and the two officers were in the midst of a sluggish, turgid stream, their horizon bounded by banks of mist. Were it not for the moon, that shone dully through the haze, all sense of direction would have been lost. The water was warm and sickly-smelling. An odour like that of decaying flowers in an ill-ventilated room assailed their nostrils. Once O'Hara gave vent to a partly smothered yell as his naked foot came in contact with a slimy water-logged tree. It was easy to imagine unpleasant things in that modern Styx. At the sound Denbigh turned. "What's wrong?" he asked in a whisper. "Nothing," replied the Irishman. "Carry on." He was swimming rapidly. His quick strokes betrayed his acute anxiety to traverse the stretch of water in as short a time as possible. "Steady; don't splash," cautioned Denbigh.