This time he did not dart back from the rush.

Perhaps he did not care to.

Perhaps there was not time.
Instead, with the speed of light, he stepped in, ducking the hammer-fist and plying both hands with bewildering quickness and skill, in a shower of half-arm blows at the beach comber's heart and wind.

His strength was wiry and carefully developed, but it was no match for his foe's.

Yet the hail of body-punches was delivered with all the effect that science and a perfect knowledge of anatomy could compass.
The beach comber grunted and writhed in sharp discomfort.
Then, he did the one thing possible, by way of reprisal.
Before Brice could dodge out of his close-quarters position, the other clasped him tight in his bulgingly powerful arms, gripping the lighter man to his chest in a hug which had the gruesome force of a boa-constrictor's, and increasing the pressure with all his weight and mighty strength.
There was no space for maneuvering or for wriggling free.
Clear from the ground Brice's feet were swung.