Came a burst of smoke, another concussion, a shuddering impact that trembled through the whole vast air-liner.

White-hot fire ribboned back and away, shredded into little, whirling gusts of incandescence that dissolved in black smoke.
"Take me alive, eh ?" the stowaway shouted, madly.

"Ha-ha! I see you! You're all dead men, anyhow! I'll go first--show you I'm not afraid!" With astonishing agility he leaped.

Hands on rail, with a last supreme burst of the energy that innervated his dying body, he vaulted clear.
Out and away he hurled himself.

Emptiness of space gathered him to its dizzy, vacant horror.
The Master, quite unmindful of the quickening bloodstream down his face and neck, looked sharply--as if impersonally interested in some problem of ballistics--at the spinning, gyrating figure that with grotesque contortions plummeted the depths.
Over and over, whirling with outflung arms and legs, dropped the stowaway.