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.He turned to the loudspeaker and stared at it in the most vivid torment of mind that he had everknown.Was it possible that some expert manipulation of the wiring might havemade it possible to cut off the Professor's voice, while one of Vogel's crewsomewhere on the ship spoke through it instead?"The cylinder has just given out."Yule's voice came through again unfalteringly, almost casually.The Saint sawthat Loretta's eyes were also fixed on the loud speaker: her chest wasscarcely moving, as if her own breathing had stopped in sympathy with whatthose six words must have meant to the man helplessly imprisoned in hisgrotesque armour five hundred feet below the bountiful air."Can't you put the cable on to another winch?" asked the Saint, and hardlyrecognised his own voice."There's no other winch on the ship that would take the load.""We can rig up a tackle if you've got a couple of large blocks.""It takes more than twenty minutes to raise the bathystol from this depth,"Vogel said flatly."With a block and tackle it would take over an hour."Simon knew that he was right.And his brain worked on, mechanically, with itsgrim computation.In that confined space it would take no more than a fewminutes to consume all the oxygen left in the air.And then, with thepercentage of carbon dioxide leaping towards its maximum."I'm getting very weak and giddy." The Professor's voice was fainter, but itwas still steady and unflinching."You will have to be very quick now, or itwill be no use."Page 78 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlSomething about the scene was trying to force itself into the Saint'sattention.Was he involuntarily measuring his distances and marking downpositions, with the instinct of a seasoned fighter? The group of seamen at thestern.One of them by the drum of insulated cable, further up the deck.Vogelat the head of the companion.Arnheim.Why had Arnheim moved across tostand in front of the winch controls, so that his broad squat bulk hid themcompletely?There was another sound trying to break through the silence a queer jerkygasping sound.A second or two went by before the Saint traced it to itssource and identified it.The terrible throaty sound of a man battling forbreath, relayed like every other sound from the bathystol by the impersonalinstrument on the table.In some way it wiped out the last of his indecision.He was prepared to bewrong; prepared also not to care.Any violence, whatever it might bring, wasbetter than waiting for his nerves to be slowly racked to pieces by thatdevilish inquisition.He moved slowly forwards towards the bulkhead where the winch controls were.Towards Arnheim.And Arnheim did not move.The Saint smiled for the first timesince the Professor had gone down, and altered his course a couple of pointsto pass round him.Arnheim shifted himself also, and still blocked the way.His round pouting mouth with the bruise under it opened like a trout's."It isn't easy to wait, is it?" he said."It isn't," agreed the Saint, with a cold and murderous preci-sion; and theautomatic flashed from his pocket to grind its muz-zle into the other'syielding belly."So we'll stop waiting.Walk backwards a little way, Otto."Arnheim's jowl dropped.He looked down at the gun in his stomach, and lookedup again with his eyes round as saucers and his wet mouth sagging wider.Hecoughed."Really, Mr Tombs ""Have you gone mad?"Vogel's dry monotone lanced across the feeble protest with calculatedcontempt.And the Saint grinned mirthlessly."Not yet.But I'm liable to if Otto doesn't get out of my way in the next twoseconds.And then you're liable to lose Otto.""I know this is a ghastly situation." Vogel was still speaking calmly, withthe soothing and rather patronising urbanity with which he might have tried tosnub a drunkard or a lunatic."But you won't help it by going into hysterics.Everything possible is being done.""One thing isn't being done," answered the Saint, in the same bleak voice,"and I'm going to do it.Get away from those con-trols, Otto, and watch mestart that winch!""My dear Mr Tombs ""Behind you!"Loretta's desperate cry pealed in the Saint's ears with a frantic urgency thatspun him round with his back to the deckhouse.He had a glimpse of a manspringing at him with an upraised belaying-pin; and his finger was tighteningon the trigger when Arn-heim dragged down his wrist and struck him a terrificleft-handed blow with a rubber truncheon.There was an instant when his brainseemed to rock inside his skull.Then darkness.4"I trust you are feeling better," said Vogel."Much better," said the Saint."And full of admiration.Oh, it was smooth,very smooth, Birdie you don't mind if I call you Birdie, do you? It's sowhimsical."He sat in an armchair in the wheelhouse, with a brandy and soda in one handand a cigarette in the other.Both of them had been provided by Kurt Vogel
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