in two. If
he deviated a hair's breadth at that speed he'd turn turtle. There was
only one thing he could do.

He reached his decision in a whirl of the propeller.

Dickie Lang knew his answer.

"Hard a port. Throw your switch."

The words tumbled from her lips in a piercing shriek. Gregory obeyed on
the second, thinking the girl had lost her reason. The _Richard_ dipped
with a swerve which threw him violently against the coaming. As he felt
the heavy hull sinking down into the water he saw that the _Fuor
d'Italia_ had ceased to plane and was settling sluggishly.

A snarl of disappointment burst from Mascola's lips as he saw the
_Richard_ did not flash across his bow. A snarl, which changed quickly
to a cry of rage as he noted that the two hulls were drifting sullenly
toward each other. Robbed of his way, he could not escape. The _Richard_
was already brushing the _Fuor d'Italia's_ rail.

In a frenzy of mingled fear and rage, Mascola whipped out his dagger and
leaped to the cockpit to battle with the hurtling figure that sprang
from the other boat as the two hulls scraped. Gregory caught Mascola's
knife arm and twisted it backward, crowding the Italian to the rail. For
an instant the two men were locked in a swaying, bone-racking embrace.
Then Mascola felt the oak coaming pressing hard against his knees. He
was being shoved over the rail by the fury of the heavier man.

Struggling in desperation, there came a gleam of hope. In the water
Gregory's superior weight would not count. Strength would not count so
much, without the weight. But a knife would count. Jerking his body
backward, he lunged downward into the sea, dragging his antagonist with
him.

As Gregory and Mascola fell to the water, Dickie Lang drew her automatic
and covering the cockpit of the _Fuor d'Italia_ with her flash-light,
peered cautiously over the rail. Upon the floor of the launch sprawled
the figure of a man. His face was turned away from her. The gray
linoleum was dyed red with his blood. As she watched him, his extended
fingers twitched convulsively. He was still breathing. But that was
all. Seizing the rail of the _Fuor d'Italia_ she began to work the
_Richard_ around the hull of the other craft. She dared not start the
motor. The propeller might cut the men in the water to shreds. Reaching
the stern of Mascola's launch she directed the rays of her light into
the rippling waves.

Gregory tightened his hold on Mascola's wrist as the wat