swell is just the kind of thing for swinging off a dozen tons of lead and iron; isn't it?"
"It won't affect you much," said Weybridge.
"No. Seventy or eighty feet down, and I shall be there in a dozen seconds, there's not a particle moving, though the wind shriek itself hoarse up above, and the water lifts halfway to the clouds. No. Down there"— He moved to the side of the ship and the other two followed him. All three leant forward on their elbows and stared down into the yellow-green water.
"Peace," said Elstead, finishing his thought aloud.
"Are you dead certain that clockwork will act?" asked Weybridge presently.
"It has worked thirty-five times," said Elstead. "It's bound to work."
"But if it doesn't?"
"Why shouldn't it?"
"I wouldn't go down in that confounded thing," said Weybridge, "for twenty thousand pounds."
"Cheerful chap you are," said Elstead, and spat sociably at a bubble below.
"I don't understand yet how you mean to work the thing," said Steevens.
"In the first place, I'm screwed into the sphere," said Elstead, "and when I've turned the electric light off and on three times to show I'm cheerful, I'm swung out over the stern by that crane, with all those big lead sinkers slung below me. The top lead weight has a roller carrying a hundred fathoms of strong cord rolled up, and that's all that joins the sinkers to the sphere, except the slings that will be cut when the affair is dropped. We use cord rather
