"This way, Chutney," came a feeble voice below them. "Hurry up. I'm nearly exhausted."
A few rapid strokes of the paddle brought them within sight of a struggling object on the surface of the water, and as the canoe ran skilfully alongside, Guy dropped his paddle, and, leaning out, seized the drowning man by the collar. With almost superhuman strength he dragged him into the canoe without assistance.
"Thank God!" he cried, "he's safe. Speak to me, Forbes. Are you hurt?"
But Melton lay white and helpless in the bottom of the boat, too exhausted to reply.
"He's all right," said Canaris. "Don't make him talk. Take your paddle, Chutney. We'll have a struggle to make the island."
The Greek was right. Far above them shone the flickering torch, and the current was bearing them further away.
"I can't paddle and hold the torch at the same time," said Canaris. "We must be guided by the light on the island."
And they bent to the paddles with a will, shouting from time to time to encourage the colonel and Sir Arthur. It was even a harder task than they had feared—to force the canoe through that fierce rush of water. And for a time it seemed as though they were losing instead of gaining.
But at last the distant light grew brighter, and soon their friends could be seen standing on the edge of the island.
Ten minutes' more labor brought the canoe to the small eddy behind the island, and then the colonel hauled it gently upon the sand. They climbed wearily out and bore Melton tenderly up the slope. His clothes were foul and slimy from the serpent's embrace, but he did not seem to be injured.