rom time
to time, as he battled with the waves, he would put up a hand and adjust
this more firmly on his head. A dressy swimmer.

Scarcely had he taken in this spectacle when Marlowe became aware of the
girl he had met on the dock. She was standing a few feet away, leaning
out over the rail with wide eyes and parted lips. Like everybody else,
she was staring into the water.

As Sam looked at her, the thought crossed his mind that here was a
wonderful chance of making the most tremendous impression on this girl.
What would she not think of a man who, reckless of his own safety, dived
in and went boldly to the rescue? And there were men, no doubt, who
would be chumps enough to do it, he thought, as he prepared to shift
back to a position of greater safety.

At this moment, the fat man in the tweed cap, incensed at having been
jostled out of the front row, made his charge. He had but been
crouching, the better to spring. Now he sprang. His full weight took
Sam squarely in the spine. There was an instant in which that young man
hung, as it were, between sea and sky: then he shot down over the rail
to join the man in the blue jersey, who had just discovered that his hat
was not on straight and had paused to adjust it once more with a few
skilful touches of the finger.

Sec. 3

In the brief interval of time which Marlowe had spent in the state-room
chatting with Eustace about the latter's bruised soul, some rather
curious things had been happening above. Not extraordinary, perhaps, but
curious. These must now be related. A story, if it is to grip the
reader, should, I am aware, go always forward. It should march. It
should leap from crag to crag like the chamois of the Alps. If there is
one thing I hate, it is a novel which gets you interested in the hero in
chapter one and then cuts back in chapter two to tell you all about his
grandfather. Nevertheless, at this point we must go back a space. We
must return to the moment when, having deposited her Pekinese dog in her
state-room, the girl with the red hair came out again on deck. This
happened just about the time when Eustace Hignett was beginning his
narrative.

The girl went to the rail and gazed earnestly at the shore. There was a
rattle, as the gang-plank moved in-board and was deposited on the deck.
The girl uttered a little cry of dismay. Then suddenly her face
brightened, and she began to wave her arm to attract the attention of an
elderly man with a red fac