This the one cogent reason why he must not, could not, die....
Unjust to require him to give up life while that one lived. Unfair.... It
must not be!...
Across the sea rolled a dull, brutish detonation. The swimmer, swung high
on the bosom of a great swell, saw a vast sheet of fire raving heavenward
from the _Assyrian_.
It vanished instantly.
When his dazzled vision cleared, he could see no more of the ship. He
imagined a faint, wild rumour of panic voices, conjured up scenes of horror
indescribable as that great fabric sank almost instantaneously, as if some
gigantic hand plucked her under.
What had happened? Had the accomplices of the dead Baron von Harden set off
an infernal machine aboard the vessel? In the name of reason, why? They had
got what they sought, that accursed document, whatever it was, that page
torn from the Book of Doom. Then why...?
And to what end had they exploded that light bomb on the after deck?
To make the _Assyrian_ a glaring target in the night--what else? A target
for what?.
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