in the darkness of the ship's saloon. As he groped along,
reaching for the door of the principal cabin, the blackness suddenly
lighted a little, and a dim shadow shot out and up the stairway. Jim's
physical senses were scarcely cognizant of the soft, quick passing, but
his thumbs pricked. He dashed after the shadow, up the stairs, out on
deck, and aft. There he was--Chatelard, armed, facing his enemy once
more, cool but not smiling, desperately at bay. Below him, riding just
under the stern of the yacht, was the tender whose scratch-scratch had
awakened Jim. A man, oars in hand, was holding the boat close to the
_Sea Gull_.

Jim saw all this during the seconds between his turning at the
stair-top and his throwing himself plump against the figure by the
railing. He was quick enough to pass the range of the weapon, whose
shot rang out in the clear air, but he was not quick enough to get
under the man's guard. Chatelard was ready for him, holding his weapon
high.

As he pressed forward, Jim felt something under his foot. He ducked
quickly, as if to dodge Chatelard's hand, and on the downward swing he
picked up the rusty marlinespike. It was a weapon of might, indeed.
Jim's blow caused Chatelard's arm to drop, limp and nerveless. But in
gaining his enemy's weapon, Jim was forced to drop his own. He put a
firm foot upon the spike, however, while he held Chatelard at arm's
length and looked into his face.

"So we meet once more, after all!" he cried. "And once more I have the
pistol." Even as Jim spoke, his adversary made a spring that almost
enabled him to seize the weapon again. Jim eluded his clutch, and
quick as thought threw the gun overboard. It struck far out on the
smooth water.

It was a sorry thing to do, as it proved, for Chatelard, watching his
chance, stooped, wrenched the spike from under Jim's foot, and once
more stood defiantly at bay. And at this point, he opened his thin
lips for one remark.

"You'll go to hell now, you pig of an American!"

"But after you, Monsieur!" Jim cried, and with the words, his arms were
about the other in a paralyzing grip.

Had Jim been as strong as when the two men measured forces weeks
before, in the fo'cas'le of the _Jeanne D'Arc_, the result might have
been different. But the struggle was too long, and Jim's strength
insufficient. Chatelard freed himself from his antagonist sufficiently
to wield the spike somewhere about Jim's head, and there came o