was a rich plum colour, and the breath whistled through his teeth.

At last Ken gained his first object. His fierce grip upon the German's
wrist paralysed the muscles of the man's hand, and the pistol dropped from
his nerveless fingers.

Instantly Ken tightened his hold, and tried to back-heel his adversary.
Before he could succeed in this manoeuvre, he felt the ground crumbling
beneath his feet.

It was too late to do anything to save himself. Next moment the earth gave
way and he and the German, locked in one another's arms, went flying
through the air.

Followed a crash and a thud, and for some moments Ken lay stunned and
breathless, though not actually insensible.

In boxing there is nothing more painful than a blow on the 'mark.' It
knocks all the breath out of the body, and for some time the lungs seem
paralysed. This was practically what had happened to Ken. He had fallen
full on his chest, and though his senses remained clear enough, he simply
could not get his breath back.

When at last he succeeded in doing so he felt as weak as a cat, and deadly
sick into the bargain. It was some moments before he could even manage to
roll off the body of the man beneath him.

He struggled to his feet and found that he was at the bottom of a bluff
about twenty feet high. To the right was a sheer drop to the sea. He
shivered as he glanced over to the fog-shrouded waves, full eighty feet