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,
close by, in Japanese fashion, for the foreign agent was sitting back
on his own crossed heels.
"Feel wholly comfortable?" mockingly inquired the foreign agent, when
he saw the boy's eyes open.
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