open his mouth for air.

"Thank you," mocked the other, and neatly shoved a handkerchief between
the boy's jaws. This he tied in place, and rising, looked down upon a
gagged foe. Then, with a last look over at the candle, the long-legged
one darted from the room.

Left alone, Jack Benson watched that candle on top of the prepared heap.
His eyes gleamed with the fascination of terror. When that candle
burned down to the right point it would set fire to the paper, and
then--!

Try as he would to bolster his grit, Captain Jack Benson found himself
in a fearful plight. At first, he could only stare, with terror-dilated
eyes, at that candle--ever burning just a slight fraction shorter!

While the horror-laden moments were dragging by Jack heard a step on
the stairs behind his head. Then he realized that some one was looking
into the room. Then a voice spoke. It was Millard's, though scarcely
recognizable on account of its huskiness.

"It's a fearful thing to do, Benson, but--but I can't help it! If you
only knew what it means to me to win!"

Then followed a moment of utter silence. Jack could hear his own heart
beating, as he fancied he could hear that of his persecutor. Then
there was another sound, as though some light-weight metallic object
had fallen to the floor.

"Good-bye, old chap! I--I respect you for your calm grit--that's
all I can say."

There was the sound of a quick turn, then soft footsteps. Jack knew
that Millard had fled.

"He respects me for my 'calm grit'!" laughed Jack, grimly--almost
hysterically. "Doesn't the scoundrel know that I'm all but frozen
into the torpor of dread?"

Then, just as suddenly, an anguished "oh!" broke from the boy's lips, to
be followed, instantly, by a tremor of hope.

For, except at the time when interrupted by Millard's return, the young
submarine captain had been fighting savagely at the bonds behind his
back. Now, he fancied, he heard or felt a single strand giving way.

"I've got to get out of this quickly, if at all!" quavered the boy,
staring with wavering eyes at the ever-shortening candle-bit. "There
won't be anything left to do--except bear it--if I'm ten minutes
longer at this all but hopeless task."

After a few frenzied moments of struggle there was another "r-r-rip"
behind him--close to his wrists.

Now, young Benson fought with rage and frenzied strength. His gaze was
ever toward the candle, burning lower. It seemed as if it must