THEY WERE THERE BEFORE morning. The A shore looked much as Bobby remembered it, except that now there was a raft there; the craft which d**k had used to float out to the sunken ship on previous visits. The three of them boarded this, paddled out to the bobbing buoy that marked the Cuchulainn’s watery resting-place.
Dick donned his bulger, weighted his boots, and went below. The sun rose higher in the east. After a while, green wavelets rolled and d**k was up again.
“It’s no use, Pop. It’s like I said. The ship has continued to settle; the airlock is jammed tight against the bottom. I can’t get in any more.”
Pop said, “And I suppose there’s no way to attach a drag to the ship, work it loose?”
“It would take more power than we have.” Gloomily.
And then Bobby remembered, suddenly. He sai
