“Only my arm,” said Wally. “It’s quite all right—don’t you worry. It wasn’t much to pay for the haul we got—thanks to you.” The boyish face twitched, and he put out his hand and took O’Neill’s in its grip. “Go on, please,” Sir John begged. “The other chap ran,” Jim said: “of course his idea was to get the boat back to the submarine. The brute got a start of us while we were making sure the others were blocked in securely.” “Have you put a guard there?” O’Neill interrupted, anxiously. “They might break out.” “Half a dozen of my men,” Aylwin said, quickly. “It’s all right, old chap.” “We saw him begin to fire at you, and we did our best,” said Jim, with a groan. “We didn’t dare fire, for fear of hitting you, until we were close. Then we got him—but——” His strained voice ceased. “You needn’t worry—his mate had fixed me first,” said O’Neill, serenely. “It was great luck I had, to be able to get to the boat at all: your man didn’t matter.” He laughed happily. “This makes up for having lived. Tell me your part of it, Bob.” “We got down in very good time,” Aylwin said. “The ship couldn’t come in, of course; but I’ve a handy motor-boat with a gun rigged in her, and we sneaked in and lay just under the south headland. It was quite simple; we were into the inlet before the first flare died down, and there was the submarine, with nothing doing. It was as easy as shelling peas.” “Then it was your gun . . . ?” O’Neill said. “Yes. We’re on guard, of course; but she won’t come up again. When it’s light we’ll deal with the gentlemen in the cave.” The sailor’s curt voice became even more abrupt. “Never saw a show better planned—the whole thing went like clockwork. I always knew you had the makings of a general in you, Jack!” O’Neill gave a quick, happy sigh. “The boys and Norah did it all,” he said. “But it was splendid fun, to be able to take a hand. I said it would be a jewel of a fight!” A slow wave of weakness stole over him, and he closed his eyes. “Is the tide coming in?” he said, presently. “I thought I felt it—creeping.” Jim took off his coat and put it on his feet. “We’ll get you up to the motor presently,” he said, his young voice unsteady. O’Neill laughed. “Not before the finish,” he said. “It won’t be long.” Norah’s head went down suddenly on his hand. “You can’t die!” she said,—“we can’t spare you, dear Sir John. We’re going to make you better!” “Dying is only a very little matter, dear little mate,” O’Neill said. “It’s living that hurts. And just think of what I have—a man’s finish! That is a great thing, when one has lived a hunchback.”