Dennis Wheatley - They Found Atlantis

Sally nodded. 'That seems all right, but what is all this leading up to?'

'Now take a look at the soundings,' said the McKay, 'and you'll see that practically the whole of that area is nearly a thousand fathoms deep.'

'Well?'

'One thousand fathoms is six thousand feet and Camilla only went down two thousand today. Have you any idea what the pressure will be on that tin can of the Doctor's when they start trying to touch bottom?'

'No,' said Sally.

'Well at two thousand feet it's very nearly half a ton to the square inch. Think of that on those windows, and the ratio of pressure increases the further you go down, so at six thousand, it's going to be something that doesn't bear thinking about. Ever heard of implosion?'

'No.'

'It's the opposite of explosion and even more horrible. When something explodes near you there is at least a sport ing chance of being blown clear and suffering nothing worse than concussion, but from implosion there is not the faintest hope of escape. If one of the ports of the bathysphere gave way under the immense pressure at six thousand feet the implosion would be so terrific that anyone inside it would be crushed as flat as a piece of tissue paper before they could flicker an eyelid. That's why the old sailor man prefers to stay on deck and smoke his pipe.'

'But the bathysphere has been specially made to resist pressure at that depth.'

'Maybe—still all sorts of things might happen. Say the cable snapped. Where would they be then ... Down in Davy Jones' locker for keeps.'

'I don't understand you,' Sally shook her head. 'They will send it down empty before each dive so where is the tremendous danger—and after all—to have any fun in life one's got to be prepared to take a little risk.'

'A little risk eh! Well I've only survived to this age because I've always refused to take any risks that weren't strictly necessary.'

'And yet you got the V.C. The highest decoration for valour that your country gives. I can't make up my mind if you're really brave or not."

'Nor can I m'dear,' smiled the McKay. 'It's a thing that I've often wondered but never been quite certain about.'

The gallant McKay was still in doubt upon the point when, five hours later he woke with a start to see his cabin door swing softly back, and beheld two men silhouetted against the light of the passage both of whom held pistols which were pointing at his head.

The Gentleman in the 'Old School Tie'

The McKay raised himself on one elbow. From years of responsibility in the ships he had commanded he was by habit a light sleeper. It was that which had brought him wide awake the second his cabin door had been unhooked and swung softly open. It was that too which had half roused him a little time before to the knowledge that a launch had come alongside and that people were moving about on the deck above. He had wondered vaguely then what they were up to at such an hour, but put it down to a shore party among the crew returning late from a binge in Horta. As a passenger such things were none of his business so he had dropped off to sleep again, but this was a very different affair.

"What the hell!' he exclaimed sharply.

'Get up!' said the taller of the two men, switching on the light.

The McKay blinked for a moment and stared at the intruders. They were hard-faced looking fellows clad in flashy, striped lounge suits.

'What the thunderin' blazes—' he began, but the taller man cut him short again.

'Get up,' he repeated tonelessly.

The McKay proceeded to show a leg. He was far too old a bird to contemplate any heroics against these purposeful looking gunmen.

'Hurry!' said the man. 'You're wanted in the deck parlour.'

'Who wants me?' enquired the McKay, struggling into his slippers.

'Oxford Kate wants you.'

'Does she indeed. Well I'd hate to keep a lady waiting.'

'Oxford's no skirt an' he'll make it hot fer you plenty if you don't make it snappy.'

The McKay did not like the look of things at all. He was thinking that Sally and Camilla would get a very nasty shock if they received a similar visitation. However he could do nothing for the moment except save loss of 'face' as far as possible. It would never do to allow these raiders to suppose that he was scared so, as he ran a comb through his crisp sandy greyish hair that had once been fiery red, he said curtly:

'If one of you care to take a message you can say that Captain McKay presents his compliments to Mr. Oxford Kate and will be with him in two minutes.'

Both men ignored the remark so he took his silk dressing-gown off its hook and handed the garment to the man who had so far remained silent.

The fellow stretched out his free hand and had taken it by the collar before he realised quite what he was doing. Then, as the McKay turned his back and slipped one arm through a sleeve, the man's mouth dropped open.

'Well!' he exclaimed, 'can yer beat that?'

'It'll be a great laugh for the bunch.' the other's lip curled in a sneer. 'Jeff the Razz turns clothes help to English society man.'

'You'd better! You spill that an' I'll—' the smaller man began venomously.

'Aw can it now,' his friend cut in harshly. 'Kate's up above.'

The McKay hoped for a second that they might go for each other but seeing that there was no likelihood of the quarrel becoming violent he tightened the girdle of his robe and said:

'Now I'm ready to go and see the owner.'

The who?

'Your friend who has apparently taken control of this ship.'

'Oh sure—come on then.' The taller of the two jerked his head towards the door. 'Get in front and head fer the deck parlour. Any funny business an' you're for it—see!'

The McKay had seen several moments before, that from the way they handled their guns his two visitors were evidently accustomed to using them so, without further comment, he preceded them along the passage and up the hatchway.

The lounge was fully lit and as the McKay glanced round it he took an even grimmer view of the situation.

At the doorway stood two more gunmen, impassive but watchful, with their weapons prominently displayed. To the right, Nicky, clad in silks which for their colours would have rivalled the plumage of the bird of paradise, lounged sullenly upon a settee, his legs stuck out before him. Beside him was the Doctor, swathed in thick flannel night attire and looking more worried than ever while, at their feet, Prince Vladimir, breathing stertorously, was laid out neatly with a pillow beneath his head—unconscious on the floor.

Opposite this unhappy little group stood Slinger and Captain Ardow, both fully dressed, but the figure who immediately engaged the McKay's attention was a well made man of about forty, with a broad forehead and shrewd blue eyes, who sat behind a desk that occupied the middle of the apartment. His fair hair was a trifle thin, parted in the centre and brushed neatly back. The striped tie of a well known public school lent a patch of colour to his admirably cut lounge suit. Something about him suggested a combination of racing motorist, banker, and dandy, all merged into one strong personality.

'Captain McKay.' It was a statement rather than an enquiry which came from the man at the desk and even the intonation of those words spoken with quick assurance were enough to suggest the reason for his soubriquet 'Oxford'.

'Guilty,' replied McKay. 'Mr. Kate I imagine?'

The other smiled although his blue eyes remained hard and cold. 'A somewhat vulgar witticism* on the part of my henchmen, derived perhaps from my preference for silk shirting and my choice of socks. The ancient firm of Seal and Unman who supply them would be quite horrified if they knew that, I think—don't you?'

'I've never heard of 'em,' replied the McKay abruptly.