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Updated: June 2, 2025
"Well, we'd better get busy good and quick!" the O'Keefe's voice rang. But Lakla, for some reason of her own, would pursue the matter no further. The trouble fled from her eyes they danced. "Larry darlin'?" she murmured. "I like the touch of your lips " "You do?" he whispered, all thought flying of anything but the beautiful, provocative face so close to his.
Half laughing, half irritated, and wholly happy in even the part promise of Larry O'Keefe's comradeship on my venture, I arranged a couple of pillows, stretched myself out on two chairs and took up my vigil beside Olaf Huldricksson. When I awakened the sun was streaming through the cabin porthole. Outside a fresh voice lilted. I lay on my two chairs and listened.
The handmaiden hesitated. "The Silent Ones have said it," she answered at last. "Stay you here, strangers" -the long lashes drooped as her eyes met O'Keefe's and a hint of blush was in her cheeks "stay you here, strangers, till then.
The frog-woman crept to her side; gazed down upon Larry; spoke spoke to the Golden Girl in a swift stream of the sonorous, reverberant monosyllables; and Lakla answered her in kind. The webbed digits swept over O'Keefe's face, felt at his heart; she shook her head and moved ahead of us up the passage.
"Got it! Don't worry!" The wind died down to the roar, passed back into the whistling shriek and diminished to a steady whisper. In the comparative quiet O'Keefe's tones now came in normal volume. "Some little shoot-the-chutes, what?" he shouted. "Say if they had this at Coney Island or the Crystal Palace! Press all the way in these holes and she goes top-high. Diminish pressure diminish speed.
Out of the corner of my eye I noted a look of half-sheepish relief flit over O'Keefe's face, and then he was beside me. Da Costa shouted an order from the wheel, the Cantonese ran up and took it from his hands and the little Portuguese pattered down toward us. My hand on the door, ready to throw it open, I stopped.
We dropped dizzily down an abrupt, seemingly endless slope; fell fell as into an abyss then shot abruptly out of the blackness into a throbbing green radiance. O'Keefe's fingers must have pressed down upon the controls, for we leaped forward almost with the speed of light.
And then his hand shot out and gripped my shoulder, and I stiffened like stone in my chair for from behind us, like an echo, and then taking up the cry, swelled a wail that seemed to hold within it a sublimation of the sorrows of centuries! It gathered itself into one heartbroken, sobbing note and died away! O'Keefe's grip loosened, and he rose swiftly to his feet.
"Now, thank God," he rasped, "I can get that devil, anyway!" He drew his pistol, took careful aim. Even as he pressed the trigger there rang through the abode a tremendous clanging. The ram was battering at the gates. O'Keefe's bullet went wild. The Russian must have heard the shot; perhaps the missile was closer than we knew. He made a swift leap behind the guards; was lost to sight.
It was a hydroid, a development of that strange animal-vegetable that, sometimes almost microscopic, waves in the sea depths like a cluster of flowers paralyzing its prey with the mysterious force that dwells in its blossom heads! "Put it down, Lakla," the distress in O'Keefe's voice was deep.
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