Going to the stern he obtained his thermos bottle, uncorked it and drank.
Then he dropped into a steamer chair to await the reappearance of the moon from behind that big, black cloud.
The cloud still obscured it when, swift as a shot, he leapt straight into the air, as from the octopus tank came a shrill, hair-raising scream of terror.
“Great Jehosophat!” he exclaimed as he sprinted down the deck.
One flash of his electric torch showed a hand waving wildly above the surface of the water. An instant later a head bobbed up. Eyes wild, nostrils dilated, the mouth opened in another unearthly scream as the victim vanished beneath the water, now thoroughly roiled by the octopus’ savage threshing.
Long slimy arms appeared—here, there—seemingly everywhere. Then again, a man’s head broke the surface.
But now Johnny was on the steel ladder, reaching for the hand that had followed the head above water. Seizing it, and wrapping his left arm about a rung of the ladder, he pulled with all his might. That he was taking his life in his hands, he well knew. Those scaly arms seemed to be feeling for him. If they reached him—
All the while, Johnny was thinking, “Who is this person and how did he get on board?”
Thanks to Johnny’s good right arm, the man’s head remained above the surface. He was a swarthy individual, with short-cropped, black hair. Spitting out a quantity of water, he whispered hoarsely:
“Don’t let him! Don’t let him pull me back under!”