He had all but reached the head of the stairs when a ground-floor door
behind him opened noiselessly. The long-legged one, who had an equally
good reach of arm, thrust out a noose that fell over the boy's head.

"Ug-g-g-gh!" rattled in Jack Benson's throat, as Millard, in grim
silence, jerked the rope noose tight about the boy's neck. A sharp pull,
a twist, and Millard had the boy face down in that hallway, and was
kneeling on the victim's back.

"You ought to have known enough to keep away from me," growled the
wretch, as he tightened on the noose.

That was about the last that the young submarine captain heard or knew,
just then, for things were rapidly growing black before his eyes.
Jack tried to fight, but the choking was too severe. He couldn't get
even a breath of air into his lungs to give him fighting strength.

Finding that the boy's struggles had ceased, the long-legged one eased
off on the noose. He bent Jack's arms behind him so that the wrists
crossed. Then, pulling another cord from one of his pockets, the
wretch tied the youngster's hands with a few deft movements. Oh, but
this rascal was an expert artist with ropes and cords.

Jack felt himself being prodded just over the pit of the stomach, and
his senses slowly wandered back to him under the disturbing handling.
He was lying on his back, when his eyes opened once more. His throat
felt sore, but he could breathe again.

Then the submarine boy discovered that his hands and feet were securely
lashed. Beyond that, he discovered Millard squatting on the floor,