We saw that the fight was furious, but were unable at first to distinguish the figures as they remained on the ground. They were locked in one another's embrace in a deadly, awe-inspiring struggle. Then across one man's neck we saw a forearm—the cuff was shining in the sunlight—and Elliott cried out: "That is Oakes."
The two rose to their feet, powerful black objects, and by the outline we recognized the tall figure of our friend as they swayed and surged, gradually slipping and sliding down the incline, toward the deep waters of the pond below.
"Oakes has got him," cried Larkin, "choking him. Look at them!"
We saw the murderer's body arch sideways and backward, with Oakes's hands around his neck.
As Maloney's body came down, down to the ground again, Larkin and Elliott by my side shouted in admiration at the power and skill displayed.
Suddenly like a flash the maniac turned, twisted, and next moment encircled Oakes's body with both his arms, and rolled toward the water with him.
"He is going to drown Oakes—see!"
The words came in a hurried gasp from Elliott, who was throwing off his coat and his shoes in a movement quick as the thought that had come to him.
"He's too good a man," he cried, and with a sudden rush Elliott was at the water's edge and into the pond—swimming with strong overhanded strokes, head low and sideways, toward the opposite shore.