no longer trying to keep under water, but skimming it. Only Violetteâs speed kept him at bay, but he was catching up on her slowly; in a few minutes he would be close behind. The recollection of the beggarâs battered skull told Rollison what would happen then. One slash from that knife would be enough in Violetteâs smooth body.
He did not see the other man, only a little way from him, still under water, but with his eyes open, and able to see Rollisonâs pale body.
The man surfaced, with hardly a sound.
Unaware of him, Rollison struck out towards Violette and the Arab near her. He had never swam with such power or such desperation. Hurling his body through the water, he waited for the moment that would come, to shout a warning.
He closed the gap.
He would not be able to keep the speed up for long, but this one burst would give him and her a chance. There wouldnât be another.
Ten yards â¦
Five yards were between him and the Arab, who was no more than five behind Violette.
Then the Arab turned his head, as if sensing danger. The sun glinted on the knife. His hand moved as he snatched his knife from his teeth, leapt out of the water and plunged under.
Violette, knowing nothing of this, went on.
Rollison had no idea that the second man was only yards behind him. The danger he knew was quite enough. The Arab could see under water and would be coming at him now, knife in hand. He could not slash through the water, his cutting motion would have to be slow and deliberate.
The Toff saw him.
Legs moving, arms cleaving the water, he was a brown streak only a foot or two from the surface, and very close at hand. His chin was up, and he stared at Rollison. Rollison did the only thing he could, and doing it, he felt a strange despair; strange, because he had seldom known it.
He could not beat these men.
On land heâd have a chance; on deck, too; if only he had stayed on board. Instead, he had acted on impulse and thrown his life away.
He jumped up in the water, and then dived, striking out so that he could plunge as deep as possible. He felt something touch him; an arm. He shivered. He struck out harder, head still towards the bottom, but he could not stay under too long; he would be exhausted when he surfaced.
His speed slackened.
He struck out for the surface and the precious air. He could see the quivering lines of the water; a school of tiny, colourful fish, their tails moving sluggishly â and two men.
They were close together, and seemed to be some distance off. Two of themâ
He broke surface, and couldnât see them. Panic touched him, for he couldnât see Violette either. Then he caught sight of her, still swimming strongly towards the shore. There was a different sound, too â a kind of rumbling. Rm-rm-rm-rm-rm-rm. Was it the water in his ears? He started to swim towards the shore. The Arabs were behind him, and he couldnât be sure that they could see him, but he hadnât much doubt.
Rm-rm-rm-rm-rm-rm.
It was an engine? A motor-launch? Hope leapt. An aeroplane? Yes, that was it. He saw it passing over his head, the sound strangely muted by the water; a small petrol-engined machine which wasnât flying very high. It didnât offer any hope at all. There wasnât any, unless the Arabs gave up; and there was no reason to believe that theyâd do that.
Rollison turned on his back, and faced a man only two yards away, knife in hand. The man was diving.
Here it was.
Rollison swung himself round and hurled himself at the spot where the man had been. He saw the lithe brown figure slip beneath him. Agile as a fish, the man would turn in half the time it would take Rollison. He trod water for a few vital seconds, and saw the shape again. Man for man, he would take a chance, but that knife and that expertness threatened too much. He saw the Arab about to break surfaceâ
And then he had his luck.
The man changed his mind and dived again,
He did not see the other man, only a little way from him, still under water, but with his eyes open, and able to see Rollisonâs pale body.
The man surfaced, with hardly a sound.
Unaware of him, Rollison struck out towards Violette and the Arab near her. He had never swam with such power or such desperation. Hurling his body through the water, he waited for the moment that would come, to shout a warning.
He closed the gap.
He would not be able to keep the speed up for long, but this one burst would give him and her a chance. There wouldnât be another.
Ten yards â¦
Five yards were between him and the Arab, who was no more than five behind Violette.
Then the Arab turned his head, as if sensing danger. The sun glinted on the knife. His hand moved as he snatched his knife from his teeth, leapt out of the water and plunged under.
Violette, knowing nothing of this, went on.
Rollison had no idea that the second man was only yards behind him. The danger he knew was quite enough. The Arab could see under water and would be coming at him now, knife in hand. He could not slash through the water, his cutting motion would have to be slow and deliberate.
The Toff saw him.
Legs moving, arms cleaving the water, he was a brown streak only a foot or two from the surface, and very close at hand. His chin was up, and he stared at Rollison. Rollison did the only thing he could, and doing it, he felt a strange despair; strange, because he had seldom known it.
He could not beat these men.
On land heâd have a chance; on deck, too; if only he had stayed on board. Instead, he had acted on impulse and thrown his life away.
He jumped up in the water, and then dived, striking out so that he could plunge as deep as possible. He felt something touch him; an arm. He shivered. He struck out harder, head still towards the bottom, but he could not stay under too long; he would be exhausted when he surfaced.
His speed slackened.
He struck out for the surface and the precious air. He could see the quivering lines of the water; a school of tiny, colourful fish, their tails moving sluggishly â and two men.
They were close together, and seemed to be some distance off. Two of themâ
He broke surface, and couldnât see them. Panic touched him, for he couldnât see Violette either. Then he caught sight of her, still swimming strongly towards the shore. There was a different sound, too â a kind of rumbling. Rm-rm-rm-rm-rm-rm. Was it the water in his ears? He started to swim towards the shore. The Arabs were behind him, and he couldnât be sure that they could see him, but he hadnât much doubt.
Rm-rm-rm-rm-rm-rm.
It was an engine? A motor-launch? Hope leapt. An aeroplane? Yes, that was it. He saw it passing over his head, the sound strangely muted by the water; a small petrol-engined machine which wasnât flying very high. It didnât offer any hope at all. There wasnât any, unless the Arabs gave up; and there was no reason to believe that theyâd do that.
Rollison turned on his back, and faced a man only two yards away, knife in hand. The man was diving.
Here it was.
Rollison swung himself round and hurled himself at the spot where the man had been. He saw the lithe brown figure slip beneath him. Agile as a fish, the man would turn in half the time it would take Rollison. He trod water for a few vital seconds, and saw the shape again. Man for man, he would take a chance, but that knife and that expertness threatened too much. He saw the Arab about to break surfaceâ
And then he had his luck.
The man changed his mind and dived again,
Similar Books
