Whatever else Manning might be, he was game to the last inch. Hopelessly cornered, with blood streaming down his face, he yet fought back at me like a trapped and maddened wolf. He fought, too, with all the skill of a trained boxer, but science and courage were little use against the mad fury which had suddenly taken possession of me. Keeping him pinned against the wall, I smashed home punch after punch without even troubling to guard myself. No one could stand up long under such a hail of punishment, and although he managed to land one or two blows there was not sufficient force in them to have any effect on me. At last, with a terrific right-hand jolt just below the heart, I sent him staggering sideways. He made a desperate attempt to recover, but, seizing the chance, I let him have my left bang on the point of the jaw, and down he went on to the carpet--a sprawling bundle of arms and legs. For a moment I stood there breathing heavily, my whole being aflame with savage satisfaction. Stretched out motionless on his back, Manning presented a pretty ghastly spectacle, but there was not a spark of pity for him in my heart as I stared down into his battered and bleeding face. Christine's cry for help, and the thought of poor Satan creeping back alone to die in the darkness, were still vividly in my mind, and, turning away, I strode across towards the open drawer in the oak sideboard. As I expected, the first thing I saw on looking inside was a revolver. It was a Smith and Wesson of the heaviest service pattern, and on taking it out I found that every chamber was loaded. I wondered grimly what my fate would have been if Manning had succeeded in reaching the drawer a second earlier. Possibly he had only meant to protect himself, but in any case the weapon would certainly be safer in my possession than in his, so, slipping it into my pocket, I strolled back to where I had left him. Just as I came up he gave a deep groan and opened his eyes. "Oh," I said, "you're recovering, are you?" He gazed at me vaguely, as if only half understanding my words; then in a sudden rush the full memory of what had happened seemed to return to him, and with a painful effort he raised himself up on one elbow. "Next time you want to insult a girl," I suggested, "you had better see that the cabin door is properly locked." Lifting his sleeve, he tried to wipe away some of the blood which was trickling down his face. "I always thought you were a fool, Dryden," he said in a faint voice. "Now I am sure of it." With great difficulty he struggled up a little farther, and sank back against the wall. "I know a damned cad when I see one, anyhow," I replied. "Not that it needed much intelligence in the present case." I walked to the door, and, pausing on the threshold, took out the revolver. "You will forgive my borrowing this," I added. "I don't want to be shot in the back as I leave the barge."