“Whew!” said Red, rubbing the back of his head where it had bumped against a hook.
“Well, I don’t like that so well,” said David.
“I am going to take a squint at that weather chart, and then look at the rear engine again,” said Red. “Coming?”
“Go on,” said David. “I’ll join you as soon as I put on another sweater. I’m cold.” He turned and went into his cabin as Red hurried forward.
David had to unpack the sweater, but he didn’t hurry. He knew that Fraine was on duty. He slipped on the heavy garment, then sauntered toward the control room. As he approached it a yell broke through the monotonous sounds of the gondola. A hoarse scream, another, and a jabbering laugh. He ran into the control room, and for an instant stood frozen by the sight that met his eyes.
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.”