boxing. Benson merely warded off the blow, at the same time brushing
M. Lemaire back a couple of steps.

"Now, you keep away--Gaston, or whatever your name is!" warned Jack,
wheeling upon the chauffeur. "If I lose my temper, some one is going
to be hurt."

But that defiance served only to draw the chauffeur on. Raising the
wrench, he rushed swiftly at the young submarine captain, aiming a blow
at his head.

Just as might have been expected, Jack Benson wasn't there at that
instant.

Instead, he dodged nimbly to one side, at the same time driving in a
blow that landed under one of the chauffeur's ears. The fellow went
to the ground. Swift as a flash Jack bent over him, and snatched up
the wrench, hurling it off among the trees.

Then Jack wheeled around to face Mlle. Nadiboff, bowing.

"Don't you attempt to do anything, I beg of you, Mademoiselle," Jack
urged. "It would come fearfully hard to have to make even the signs
of striking at a woman."

Though she did not fear physical violence from him, there was something
in Benson's eyes, at just that moment, which caused the Russian woman
to retreat three or four steps.

Now Jack drew himself up, for he was becoming master of himself. He at