head. Keith felt as though his nose must be broken. The pain was intense for the moment, and before he had time to recover from the shock Moniz succeeded in making a slight movement with the revolver, but the sailor's iron clasp reasserted itself.
The barrel was now wedged in between them. Keith was not certain whose body the bullet would enter if the revolver went off, but as far as he could tell it would be that of the Portuguese. He decided to risk everything on the hazard, and increased the pressure of his fingers over those of the man who was bent on killing him.
The weapon spat fire venomously. There was a scream of agony as Moniz relaxed his snake-like grip. With his arms waving, he struggled to his feet and tottered backward until he collided with the rail. There was a tense hush on the deck as he leaned over the side with a jerk. Then, in the dim light of the lantern, he disappeared into the water.
Neither Joan, who stood near, with her hands clutched to her breast, nor Keith, who had half raised himself from the deck and remained there panting, spoke a word for several seconds. The end of the conflict had come so suddenly and unexpectedly that it was difficult to realize it was over.
"Is—is he dead?" Joan asked at last, in a hushed voice.
Keith's muscles ached, and he became aware for
