ng his limbs back to life,
but still could not....

Keith knew that in the darkness which their huge unblinking eyes could
penetrate they were inspecting the _NX-1's_ interior, examining the
men stretched on its deck, feeling them with their cold metal-scaled
tentacles. Another complicated shadow crept back over the commander's
line of sight, and from all around rose the slithering, shuffling
tread of the octopi's many tentacles, rasping on the steel flooring.

Sweat from Wells' forehead trickled down and stung his eyes as he lay
in that dark agony. There seemed to be countless investigating
tentacles feeling through the entire submarine. One of them,
iron-hard, suddenly coiled under his armpit and lifted him lightly as
a feather from the deck. Another snaked up and clicked his face-shield
securely shut. Keith heard other clicks, and knew that the shields of
his men were likewise being closed.

The commander was held straight out from the octopus' revolting body,
and as he swung, helpless, he could see that more men were grasped
similarly in other mighty arms. Dangling in the shadow-filled darkness
he was carried slowly to the exit port, and he heard the inner door
swing open, then close again. Water streamed through the valves; it
encompassed him with a feeling of lightness, a feeling of floating, as
he swung at the end of the long metal-sheathed tentacles. A moment
later a soft bluish glow burst on his vision, and he saw that he was
outside. There was a long wait, and when the current next swung him
around he was dismayed to see that every one of the monstrous
creatures near him was dangling on high two or three men of his
helpless crew. The whole outfit was in the power of the devil-fish!

And then their captors moved forward with them on a ghastly march of
triumph....

But Keith Wells did not know that, crouched behind the instrument
panel in the control room, shivering and sick with fear, was the plump
form of Cook Angus McKegnie, who had just gained it just before the
paralyzing ray had struck.

CHAPTER VI

_The Monster with the Armlets of Gold_

Hemingway Bowman's ardent wish, after he was whipped quickly through
the round exit port of the octopi submarine, was for a quick, clean
death. The horror and mystery of his situation had left him with one
conscious emotion, that he was afraid. The worst had been when he was
hauled through the port; when, expecting anything, he had been able to
see nothing in