After securely fastening the chest, Captain Nemo wrote an address on its lid in characters that must have been modern Greek. This done, the captain pressed a button whose wiring was in communication with the crew’s quarters. Four men appeared and, not without difficulty, pushed the chest out of the lounge. Then I heard them hoist it up the iron companionway by means of pulleys. Just then Captain Nemo turned to me: “You were saying, professor?” he asked me. “I wasn’t saying a thing, captain.” “Then, sir, with your permission, I’ll bid you good evening.” And with that, Captain Nemo left the lounge. I reentered my stateroom, very puzzled, as you can imagine. I tried in vain to fall asleep. I kept searching for a relationship between the appearance of the diver and that chest filled with gold. Soon, from certain rolling and pitching movements, I sensed that the Nautilus had left the lower strata and was back on the surface of the water. Then I heard the sound of footsteps on the platform. I realized that the skiff was being detached and launched to sea. For an instant it bumped the Nautilus’s side, then all sounds ceased. Two hours later, the same noises, the same comings and goings, were repeated. Hoisted on board, the longboat was readjusted into its socket, and the Nautilus plunged back beneath the waves. So those millions had been delivered to their address. At what spot on the continent? Who was the recipient of Captain Nemo’s gold? The next day I related the night’s events to Conseil and the Canadian, events that had aroused my curiosity to a fever pitch. My companions were as startled as I was. “But where does he get those millions?” Ned Land asked. To this no reply was possible. After breakfast I made my way to the lounge and went about my work. I wrote up my notes until five o’clock in the afternoon. Just then—was it due to some personal indisposition?—I felt extremely hot and had to take off my jacket made of fan mussel fabric. A perplexing circumstance because we weren’t in the low latitudes, and besides, once the Nautilus was submerged, it shouldn’t be subject to any rise in temperature. I looked at the pressure gauge. It marked a depth of sixty feet, a depth beyond the reach of atmospheric heat. I kept on working, but the temperature rose to the point of becoming unbearable. “Could there be a fire on board?” I wondered. I was about to leave the lounge when Captain Nemo entered. He approached the thermometer, consulted it, and turned to me: “42 degrees centigrade,” he said. “I’ve detected as much, captain,” I replied, “and if it gets even slightly hotter, we won’t be able to stand it.” “Oh, professor, it won’t get any hotter unless we want it to!” “You mean you can control this heat?” “No, but I can back away from the fireplace producing it.” “So it’s outside?” “Surely. We’re cruising in a current of boiling water.” “It can’t be!” I exclaimed. “Look.”