He drew up his legs, and the man-eater seemed no more than barely to touch one foot, sinking back into the water with a splash.
But at the moment of contact Thomas Mugridge cried out.

Then he came in like a fresh-caught fish on a line, clearing the rail generously and striking the deck in a heap, on hands and knees, and rolling over.
But a fountain of blood was gushing forth.

The right foot was missing, amputated neatly at the ankle.

I looked instantly to Maud Brewster.

Her face was white, her eyes dilated with horror.