Raymond looked an inquiry. ‘Only the Count,’ explained the other. ‘That blessed twenty volt generator cut-out plays tricks every now and again,’ and he relapsed into slumber once more. He was up again at eleven o’clock, however, and telling Raymond that the sun would cross the meridian at a quarter past. The captain shook his head sadly. ‘It’s no good,’ he groaned. ‘I’ve done my best for you and you don’t get any better. I shall have to humour you or you may become dangerous. However, I’ll see what can be done,’ and he went to the periscope with the air of a doctor who knows the case is hopeless. ‘All right,’ he called from the control room. ‘We’ll rise for it. Too far off the land for bearings. Wake Seagrave. Diving stations!’ Once more the men stood at their posts, and the captain kept his eye at the periscope, while Seagrave superintended and Boyd stood by with his sextant ready. ‘Blow 2 and 3,’ came the order. ‘Open 2 and 3 Kingstons,’ cried Seagrave. The levers were drawn back and there was a faint jar and a rush of compressed air as Hoskins opened the blows and the water was forced out of the tanks. The depth-needle came slowly back to four feet and remained steady. ‘2 and 3 out, sir,’ said Hoskins. The captain left the periscope and went up the dark shaft of the conning-tower hatch. Very gingerly he eased the strongback, and there was a rush of escaping air as the pressure was released from the boat. Seagrave had his eye on the barometer, which had swung round while diving to ‘off the map,’ and was now rapidly decreasing to the external pressure. ‘One inch!’ he shouted up the hatch. ‘Equal!’ The men could feel the change in the atmosphere by a tickling sensation in the ears, much like having a drop of water in them. Raymond threw open the hatch and stepped out, followed by Boyd. Up here the sunlight struck sharply on the eyes. In this trim the boat was half submerged and looked like some water-logged hulk wallowing on the surface. She dripped at every pore, and the calm sea washed sluggishly over her superstructure. Three minutes later the sun crossed, and they were down again, Raymond closing the hatch behind him as he descended. ‘Flood main ballast,’ he ordered. Once more the tanks filled, the Kingstons were closed, and in less than sixty seconds she was down to thirty feet again. Ten minutes had sufficed for the whole business. ‘You’re getting a bit thick, Boyd,’ grumbled the ‘Sub’ as they went back to the Ward Room. ‘I can’t get any sleep at all nowadays, what with your confounded sights and the skipper’s blooming energy. Last trip I was just caulking the bunk good-oh when Raymond started a field-day of pasting notices into the pilots. He said the paste wouldn’t stick the things unless there was a weight on them, and shoved the whole lot under me in the bunk. I ought to get extra pay for that sort of thing.’