"Not me," declared the young inventor with a laugh. "Since when have you grown afraid of a little rain? By afternoon we ought to be near the spot where Captain Mawson jettisoned the meteorite and then we'll begin to get busy, weather or no weather!" "I hope the thing will be worth all our trouble," said Ned a bit crossly. "Perhaps we won't even be able to find it. What then?" "You're just suffering from a touch of 'mal de mer'!" teased Tom, refusing to consider his chum's gloomy remarks. "I'm not a bit seasick!" protested Ned indignantly. "I just think we're on a wild goose chase, that's all!" [Illustration: "I'm Not Seasick," Protested Ned] "Wait and see." Evening drew nigh, and the sudden tropical night fell. On the Cuban coast lights went on, dominated by the intermittent glare of a powerful beacon many miles ahead. "Baracoa Light," announced Captain Britten, seeing this. "We will lay off-shore till morning and begin our work tomorrow." [Illustration: The Captain Pointed to the Beacon] It spoke well for Tom Swift's nerves that he slept soundly, despite his great interest in the morrow's activities. During the night the sea abated and the rain ceased. Dawn broke with a brilliance to be seen only in tropical lands. In order to reach the spot in the sea beneath which the meteorite lay, it was necessary to get the barge into a position corresponding to the apex of an isosceles triangle in relation to the lighthouse tower and the peak of a small hill near by. [Illustration: Tom Made Some Observations] Captain Britten and Tom, sextants in hand, made repeated observations. Ned stood by the telephone connecting the tug and her tow, transmitting to the former's captain the navigation directions. Finally the barge was supposed to be exactly where the freighter had thrown overboard the big stone. "We may have to look around a little, though," remarked Tom as Captain Britten ordered the tug halted and anchors lowered. "In the big storm Captain Mawson might have made a mistake in his reckoning." [Illustration: The Chart Showed the Depth of the Water] The water was about three hundred feet deep here, the Hydrographic Office charts showed. When Ned learned this, he looked serious. "The record depth attained by a diver is only 204 feet!" he exclaimed. "At least, that's what I read in an encyclopedia." "Guess you're referring to James Hooper, who reached that depth off the South American coast some years ago," smiled Tom Swift. "But since then diving-dress has undergone considerable improvement, eh, Captain Britten?" [Illustration: A Boom Was Swung Overside] "That's right. I have on board several of the newest type suits. Besides, I use native divers, men who, even without protection, can descend to almost unbelievable distances."