“What is it?” Frank exclaimed.

“This fellow has stove in the boat, sir,” the bow oar exclaimed, and then came a series of hurried exclamations.

Frank had not caught the words, but the rush of water aft told him that something serious had happened.

“Row, men, row!” he shouted.

“Steer to the nearest yacht, Hawkins.”

“We shall never get there, sir.  She will be full in half a minute.”

“Let each man stick to his oar,” Frank said, standing up.  “We aft will hold on to the boat.”

Then he raised his voice in a shout: 

“Yachts, ahoy!  Send boats; we are sinking!

“Don’t be frightened, darling,” he said to Bertha.  “Keep hold of the gunwale.  I can keep you up easily enough until help comes, but it is better to stick to the boat.  We must have run against something that has stove her in.”

A moment later the water was up to the thwarts, the boat gave a lurch, and then rolled over.  Frank threw his arm round Bertha, and as the boat capsized clung to it with his disengaged hand.

“Don’t try to get hold of the keel,” he said.  “It would turn her over again.  Just let your hands rest on her, and take hold of the edge of one of the planks.

“That is it, Hawkins.  Do you get the other side and just keep her floating as she is.  We shall have help in a minute or two.

“Are you all right, George?”

“Yes, I am at her stern.  Do you want assistance, sir?”

“No, we are all right, George.”

A moment later a man came up beside the Major, and put his hand heavily on his shoulder.

“You won last time, Mallett,” he hissed in his ear.  “It is my turn now.”

The man’s weight was pressing him under water, and the boat gave a lurch.

Frank loosed his hold of Bertha with the words, “Hold on, dear, for a minute,” and, turning, grappled with his enemy, at the same moment grasping his right wrist as the arm was raised to strike him with a knife.

In a moment both went below the water.  They came up beyond the stern, and Frank said: 

“Take care of Bertha, George—­Carthew—­” and then went down again.

Furiously they struggled.  They were well matched in strength, but Frank felt that his antagonist was careless of his own life, for he had wound his legs round him, and, unable to wrench his arm from his grasp, was doing his utmost to prevent their coming to the surface.

Suddenly, when he felt that he could no longer retain his breath, he felt arms thrown round them both, and a moment later came to the surface.  Then he heard an exclamation of “Thank God!” An arm was raised, and two blows struck rapidly.

Carthew’s grasp relaxed, the knife dropped from his hand, and, as Frank shook himself free, he sank under the water.

“Are you all right, Major?” his rescuer said.

“Yes,” he gasped.