ounded on the port side. Some one was running
forward. He plunged after. The footsteps stopped sharply coincident
with a dull smash, a frantic grunt. The pursued reeled to the deck,
groaning.

Peter pounced upon him, grabbed his collar, and dragged him across the
deck into the wireless house.

"Mr. Moore, the captain told me----" whimpered Dale.

Peter knocked him into the chair, opened the toolbox, and extracted a
length of phosphor-bronze aerial wire. Binding the wiggling arms to
the chair, he made the ends fast behind.

Snapping out the lights, he gathered the gray bag into his arms and
deposited it on the deck in the narrow space between the life-boat and
the edge. He looked down. The coolie was staring up, clinging to the
rope, waiting.

The bag slipped down half-way. A warm moist hand clutched at his
wrist. A faint moan issued from the unseen lips. He jerked again.
The bag came away free, and he tossed it overboard. The yellow current
snatched it instantly from sight.

The hand clung desperately at his wrist. "Don't let them----" began a
sweet voice in his ear.

He wrapped his legs around the rope and worked his way over the edge.
"Arms around my neck!" he commanded hoarsely. "Hold tight!"

Soft arms enfolded him. They dangled at the edge.

The coarse rope slipped swiftly through his fingers, scorching the
palms, seeming to rake at the bones in his hand.

A wild shout came from the wireless house. An echo, forward, answered.

They slipped, twisting, scraping, down the rough strand. His hands
seemed hot enough to burst. Maddened blood throbbed at his eyes, his
ears, and dried his throat. Dimmed lights of the promenade deck soared
upward. A glimmering port-hole followed.

For an eternity they dangled, then shot downward.

Something popped in Peter's ears. His feet struck a yielding deck. He
staggered backward, sprawled. The rope was whipped from his hand. The
warm arms still clung about his neck.

As the world wheeled, a drunken universe, a sullen voice yelped at his
ear. The arms loosened.

The _Vandalia_ twinkled closely and was swept into the mist, a blur, a
phantom. His hands blazed with infernal fire.

He sat up and looked behind him. The river was murderously dark.
Water gurgled under the flimsy bow. The dull tread of feet and a
watery flailing behind him advised Peter that the coolie was struggling
against the rushing current.

Slowly he became conscious of a w