Rita Wainwright held the watch, while Graham walked down to the other
end of the hundred-and-fifty-foot tank.

"Paula, you'll be caught if you take any chances," Dick warned. "Evan
Graham is a real fish man."

"I guess Paula'll show him a few, even without the pipe," Bert bragged
loyally. "And I'll bet she can out-dive him."

"There you lose," Dick answered. "I saw the rock he dived from at
Huahoa. That was after his time, and after the death of Queen Nomare.
He was only a youngster--twenty-two; he had to be to do it. It was off
the peak of the Pau-wi Rock--one hundred and twenty-eight feet by
triangulation. And he couldn't do it legitimately or technically with
a swan-dive, because he had to clear two lower ledges while he was in
the air. The upper ledge of the two, by their own traditions, was the
highest the best of the kanakas had ever dared since their traditions
began. Well, he did it. He became tradition. As long as the kanakas of
Huahoa survive he will remain tradition--Get ready, Rita. Start on the
full minute."

"It's almost a shame to play tricks on so reputable a swimmer," Paula
confided to them, as she faced her guest down the length of the tank
and while both waited the signal.

"He may get you before you can turn the trick," Dick warned again. And
then, to Bert, with just a shade of anxiety: "Is it working all right?
Because if it isn't, Paula will have a bad five seconds getting out of
it."