He hastily groped through the drawer of the nightstand, then the desk drawers. In one of them he found a flashlight. Tom switched it on cautiously, holding one hand over the lens, and continued his search.
In the cabin locker he found an assortment of skin-diving gear, including a rubber suit. Tom rummaged about for a spear gun or a knife.
Suddenly he heard footsteps on the deck outside. He turned off the flashlight, and tiptoed to the nightstand. As a key turned in the lock, Tom stood with his back to the lamp to hide the broken bulb-hands behind him as if still tied.
The door opened. Vaxilis entered and flicked a light switch. “Now, Tom Swift, you and I are going to have a little chat,” the tycoon said. “Your friend will never leave this ship alive-he is merely
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a nuisance. But there is still a chance to save yourself if you cooperate.”
As Vaxilis moved toward him, Tom’s right fist lashed out in a smashing uppercut. Vaxilis sank to the deck, unconscious I There was not a moment to waste. Tom shed his clothes and donned the skin-diving gear. Fortunately, he and Vaxilis were about the same size. “With the hood and mask on, I may be able to pass for Vaxilis in the darkness and save Bud,” Tom said to himself.
He adjusted the mask loosely for nose breathing. Then he emptied the batteries from an underwater flashlight, inserted his pencil radio, and tucked the case into a weight-belt pocket.
Tom stepped out of the cabin and started aft. To his dismay, a crewman emerged from the radio shack directly in his pathl The man looked too swarthy to be English, but if the crew had sailed in British ships, Tom reasoned he must understand the language. Tom spoke in a low voice, imitating Vaxilis’ accent. “I am going to get rid of our prisoners in a way that will look like an accident. Bring the other boy topside-and some more diving gear.”