The ironic thought hit him then, as death stared at him with grinning face. The huge mass through which he had plunged must have been the body of one of the bluefish they had caught. Evidently, though incredibly reduced in size, his weight in relation to the earth's pull, was still one hundred and eighty pounds. And the brown, heaving sea at the bottom of which he now rested, was merely the bilge water of the _Crawfish_. And in the next minute or two he, Frank Hammond, was going to drown in it! He turned, instinctively, and ran for the boat side. Again he felt the boat tip to his unbalancing weight. Overhead the bilge water rushed to lap high against his side. There was danger that his weight would so tip the skiff that it would ship water from the Sound. But he had to chance it, or drown where he stood. His lungs were nearly bursting when he came upon the dark, gigantic loom of the boat side. And strangely, at this moment, the steep slant of the floor began to level--the bilge water washed back from the side. The thought came to Hammond, then, that Peter Storm must be running for the opposite side of the boat, instinctively realizing the need of keeping this strange world on an even keel. Lungs bursting, Hammond started the climb up the dark wall. Like some tiny mite, almost invisible to the naked eye, Hammond finally emerged from the bilge water. Aching lungs drew in great draughts of clean air. Spent, still somewhat dazed by the incredible truth, he did not notice the eight-legged colossus that came down along the cliff toward him. Not until it loomed over him, and a giant claw reached down for him, did he become aware of it. And then it was too late. He gasped, tried to dodge. A giant forcep grasped him about the middle, and with a quick, deft motion another claw-like appendage clipped a small, parachute-like metal harness over his shoulders. Then the first forcep lifted him, easily, and drew him up to the metal monster where a round port dilated open and he was thrust inside. * * * * * The huge claw withdrew, and the port closed. Hammond blinked his eyes. He was in a big room, the ceiling of which was transparent, letting in a subdued light. Ringing him, in a circle two deep, were warriors of an ancient era. Amazons, complete to breast plates and oval shields, cinctures and sandals. Lithe, beautiful, yet erect and disciplined, they watched him as a trainer watches a jungle cat on its first day in the arena. Hammond waited. The thought came to him, now, that these were very modern Amazons. For beside the shield they carried a weapon that closely resembled a modern rifle. And on their shoulders each carried an identical parachute-like contrivance similar to the one fastened on Hammond. The young chemist took a deep breath. He said: "What's the idea, girls? This some kind of a new game?"