The wheel was deserted but, caught by its stabilizing device, held the ship on her course. On the floor, apparently dead, lay Lieutenant Florsheim. Just beyond him lay Van Arden, a crumpled heap face down. Captain Fraine, his face contorted in an expression of insane frenzy, held Red Ryan by the throat against the wall with one hand, while he poised a heavy wrench for a murderous blow with the other. At David’s shout, the madman hesitated. As the iron came crashing down, David caught the wrist and deflected the blow which would have cracked Red’s head like an eggshell. Then ensued an actual life-and-death struggle. David tried desperately to get a subduing grasp on the crazed captain, while Red, rallying his strength, struggled for a throat hold. The inhuman strength of madness filled Fraine. David and Red were both tall and splendidly muscled, yet in his frenzy he swung them about like children. He centered his attention on Red, who gurgled as Fraine’s sinewy hands closed for the second time on his windpipe. Lights flashed before his eyes. He choked, sagged, and then all at once it was over. David had put every ounce of the strength of his trained muscles into a lightning uppercut. It landed neatly on the captain’s chin. He crashed to the floor beside Florsheim, unconscious. At the door faces appeared: Mr. Hammond, Mr. Hamilton, a dozen others, among them Dr. Forsythe. Van Arden was trying to sit up. Captain Fraine groaned. Florsheim lay like dead, blood from a gaping wound on his head spreading on the floor. Red nursed his swollen neck, and David leaned panting against the instrument shelf. “Fraine has gone crazy, doctor,” said Red hoarsely. “When I got here Florsheim was out, and he was trying to kill Van Arden.” “Get all three to their bunks,” the doctor ordered. A swift examination showed that Van Arden was suffering from merely a heavy blow on the jaw. All he wanted was peace and silence, and a chance for his head to stop whirling. Florsheim was badly hurt, with a long scalp cut, and the doctor feared concussion. Captain Fraine, on the first approach to consciousness, evinced such symptoms of acute delirium that Dr. Forsythe immediately gave him an opiate. Mr. Hammond came back to the control room and took the wheel from the still shaky David. “I will take the first watch,” he said. “Dulcie has some tea for you and Red in the salon.” Nothing loath, they walked back and sat down, as Dulcie, followed by the sputtering chef, brought in steaming tea and crackers. Dulcie’s little hands trembled as she set the cups before them. “Drink it,” she said. “It will fix your throat, Red, and set you up, David. Oh, wasn’t it awful?” she quavered. “What did happen?”