The never-ending lines of bubbles from their outlet valves flowed upward to the surface as they slowly explored the stern and prepared for their assault on the treasure-room. It was a most dangerous as well as a most difficult task to work in that treacherous chasm. The currents were strong, the rocks were sharp, and the possibilities of air lines being cut or fatally fouled were not pleasant to dwell upon. Nevertheless, they stuck to their task and eventually Ridyard managed to break a way into the strong room. The sight which met his eyes as he gazed through the windows of his copper helmet was like a scene from some fairy tale. The light, filtering through to that great depth, enveloped the hold in a sort of twilight gloom, and all over the place he dimly saw heaps of dollars scattered about. He stooped down to the treasure chests, to find that woodboring worms had eaten many of them quite away and the contents of the boxes were spilled in all directions. He walked about on a floor of solid gold; golden coins slipped about under his leaden soles. Anything more romantic would not be easy to find, yet the romance did not appeal to Ridyard. He was working against time, knowing that he would not be able to stand the pressure for long. Every movement was slow and difficult. The water was striving to crush him; he was being saved from this terrible fate solely by the continual flow of air coming down the rubber pipe to his helmet. Four times Ridyard underwent that ordeal of getting into the treasure-room and working under the enormous pressure until he was quite exhausted. On the last occasion he surpassed his previous feats of endurance and struggled doggedly on, loading up the treasure and watching it disappear towards the surface until he had sent up the contents of sixty-four boxes. Strong and fit as he was, he became thoroughly worn out with the toil, so he signalled to those above and made his way slowly to the surface. They dragged him to the deck of the salvage craft and unscrewed his helmet. His face was lined, his eyes were very tired, and his body clamoured for moisture, although he had been immersed in it for a long time. Not a glance did he give to the treasure lying about, the fortune at his feet did not interest him. “Give me a drink,” he said. “I’m dying for a drink of water.” Penk nipped up a bucket and made his way to a spring at the top of the island under which they were working. Putting down his bucket to fill, he scanned the horizon, as sailormen will. A sudden amazement came over him. The sea was dotted with sails, all making in the direction of the island. Wasting no time, he picked up his precious pail of water and ran down to the ship. “What’s up?” asked Captain Lodge, as Ridyard took his much-wanted drink. “The sea’s full of junks, hundreds of them,” Penk replied.