ith her. Understand?"

"But, Miss Fleming," cackled Foster. "She can swim. I've heard her say
so."

"You cowardly scoundrel," said Ross, his eyes ablaze with scorn and
rage. He had already shed his coat and vest. Now he rolled up his
shirt-sleeves. "Will you go into that tube of your own volition,
conscious, so that you may take a long breath before I flood the tube,
or unconscious, and pushed in like a bag of meal, to drown before you
know what ails you--which?"

"No," shrieked Foster, as the menacing face and fists of Ross drew close
to him. "I will not. Do something else. You are a sailor. You know what
to do. Do something else."

Ross' reply was a crashing blow in the face, that sent Foster reeling
toward the tube. But he arose, and returned, the animal fear in him
changed to courage. He was a powerfully built man, taller, broader, and
heavier than Ross, and what he lacked in skill with his fists, he
possessed in the momentum of his lunges, and his utter indifference to
pain.

Ross was a trained boxer, strong, and agile, and where he struck the
larger man he left his mark; but in the contracted floor space of the
submarine he was at a disadvantage. But he fought on, striking, ducking,
and dodging--striving not only for his own life, but that of the girl
whom he loved, who, seated on the 'midship trimming tank, was watching
the fight with pale face and wide-open, frightened eyes.

Once, Ross managed to trip him as he lunged, and Foster fell headlong;
but before Ross could secure a weapon or implement to aid him in the
unequal combat, he was up and coming back, with nose bleeding and
swollen, eyes blackened and half closed, and contusions plentifully
sprinkled over his whole face.

He growled incoherently; he was reduced by fear and pain to the level of
a beast, and, beast-like, he fought for his life--with hands and feet,
only the possession of the prehensile thumb, perhaps, preventing him
from using his teeth; for Ross, unable to avoid his next blind lunge,
went down, with the whole two hundred pounds of Foster on top of him,
and felt the stricture of his clutch on his throat.

A man being choked quickly loses power of volition, entirely distinct
from the inhibition coming of suppressed breathing; after a few moments,
his movements are involuntary.

Ross, with flashes of light before his eyes, soon took his hands from
the iron fingers at his throat, and, with the darkening of his
faculties, his arms and