There was something uncanny in the thought that
they were spinning along, sixty feet below the sea-level, cut off from all
the living world.
'Pass the word the commander wishes to see Carrington,' came a voice.
'Lootenant Strang wants you,' said Williams. 'Go right aft. Sentry'll show
you. And go careful, mind you. Submarines ain't the sort o' shops for foot
races.'
Ken went cautiously back past the amazing tangle of spinning, whirling
machinery. Where the long interior narrowed to the stern hung a thick
curtain. The sentry silently parted it, and Ken found himself in the
officer's quarters of G2. They were as plain as the steerage on a liner.
Just two bunks and in the middle a table at which Lieutenant Strang sat,
busily writing.
He glanced up as Ken entered, and, saluting, stood to attention. Ken
noticed, with inward approval, the strength and intelligence in the
clean-cut features of the commanding officer.
'Feeling better, Carrington?'
'Quite all right, sir, thank you.
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