His eyes were sunken, burning, mad; his face etched with deep lines, as though a graver's tool had cut down through it.

I took a step backward.
A grin, like the grimace of a fiend, blasted the Russian's visage.
He threw himself upon me, his hands clenching at my throat! "Larry!" I yelled--and as I spun around under the shock of his onslaught, saw the two turn, stand paralyzed, then race toward me.
"But _you'll_ carry nothing out of here!" shrieked Marakinoff.

"No!" My foot, darting out behind me, touched vacancy.

The roaring of the racing stream deafened me.

I felt its mists about me; threw myself forward.
I was falling--falling--with the Russian's hand strangling me.