Once more he got into position. Once more the scorching smell rose from the vicinity of the stove.
“One strand gone,” Sandy muttered a few minutes later. He winced and jerked his feet upward but immediately lowered them again.
Ken winced in sympathy.
“There goes another one!” Sandy announced.
And suddenly his feet were free. The cord that had bound them lay in smoking tendrils on the floor.
CHAPTER XVII
ROBBED BY THE WAVES
Sandy lay sprawled on one side. His forehead was damp with sweat, but he was already rubbing one ankle gently against the other in an effort to restore circulation.
“Feels as if someone were poking hot needles in my feet,” he said. “But don’t get me wrong,” he added. “I’m not complaining.”