ope, and
halfway he met a dead man, sliding on an upward current.

The stranger bobbed into him and went asprawl like a clumsy and
apologetic passer-by. His sightless eyes peered into Wetherbee's with
mild reproach. Wetherbee thrust him off, and he went bowing and spinning
gravely on his course.

Wetherbee cared for no such matters. His nerve remained unshaken, his
pulses calm, as befitted a man who had played out the end of a difficult
game to rewarded success. But as he resumed his retreat down the passage
he caught a glimpse of something surely quite as human and lively as
himself.

The light was somewhat stronger now and flooding in through the side
panel made a kind of proscenium of the landing by the main companionway.
And in that space he descried a dim form facing him there, looking
toward him: a man as tall as himself, clad like himself in diving
rig--like himself in polished copper helmet. He knew only two helmets of
that particular shape and color. One he wore. The other he had left on
the deck of the _Fancy Free_, his spare diving gear. No man of his crew
ever could have worn it, for none of them used an apparatus. Therefore
he knew that Deacon Selden had come down after all to dispute the prize
with him and to claim vengeance on the spot.

He exulted; he could have wished it so and not otherwise. He had meant
to kill Selden anyhow. But this was the time and the place and the
manner to kill him; a manner to match and to complete his crime as an
artistic achievement. One blow on the helmet would crush the fellow's
eardrums. And leave no trace--no trace at all! He could bear the body
quite openly to Port Kennedy, and even inter it with honors for an
unfortunate hand who had died in the line of duty. No trace. Everybody
outgeneraled, duped, and defeated and himself free as air.

And the cream of it was: Selden was going to fight! He saw that when he
took a stride and the other moved up with him. He stretched out a hand
to steady for a rush. So did the other. He swung up his armed fist. The
other did the like....

Laughing loud inside his casque, he flung the bar above his head, and
went to meet the adversary in crashing impact.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, above in the sunshine, on the deck of the _Fancy Free_, a
limp and wild-eyed gentleman, who had once been deacon in his far past,
continued to call abroad with prayful fervor, if any help might come:

"_The wicked man