“Run? Why?” demanded the victor.
“Dynamite! I've planted it. The fuse is going.”
“Where is it?”
“Below—somewhere. I've forgot. I, can't remember. My mind is gone. I'm too scared to think. Run!”
Mayo jumped up and yanked the man to his feet. “Take me to it!” he shouted.
“There ain't time. I guessed at the fuse—it may burn quicker than I reckoned.”
The young man drove his fist into the other's face and knocked him down. Then he jerked him upright again.
“Take me where you've planted that dynamite or we'll stay here and go up together. And now you know I mean what I say.”
The last blow had cowed his man; he raised his fist again.
The visitor leaped away from him and ran along the lower deck, Mayo at his heels. He led the way aft. In the gloom of betweendecks there gleamed a red spark. Mayo rushed to it, whipped off his cap, and snuffed the baleful glow. When he was sure that the fuse was dead he heard his man scrambling up the companion ladder. He pursued and caught the quarry as he gained the upper deck, and buffeted the man about the ears and forced him into a stateroom.