staring with wavering eyes at the ever-shortening candle-bit. "There
won't be anything left to do--except bear it--if I'm ten minutes
longer at this all but hopeless task."

After a few frenzied moments of struggle there was another "r-r-rip"
behind him--close to his wrists.

Now, young Benson fought with rage and frenzied strength. His gaze was
ever toward the candle, burning lower. It seemed as if it must
communicate its flame to the paper at any instant.

There came another ripping sound. Captain Jack Benson, though he
could not see, felt something giving around his wrists. Frantically
he squirmed and twisted with his hands. Then, suddenly, his wrists
fell apart--free!

With an exulting throb of gratitude for this well-nigh unexpected boon,
Benson forced himself up into a sitting posture. He was shaking, now,
from sheer nervousness.

Swiftly, tremulously, he felt in his pockets.

"My long-legged friend never thought to take my knife--probably because
he hadn't the slightest idea I'd be able to use it," thrilled the
submarine boy, as he forced a blade open.

It didn't seem to take an instant, now, to cut the cords and set his
feet free. Jack staggered to his feet. The lighted candle had burned
down, now, even more perilously close to the paper--but what did the
submarine boy care now? At the worst, he could easily run from this