Rollings, rising to the surface, made that noise as he fought for breath. The cashier, an excellent swimmer, saw the two boys, a dozen feet away, swimming and holding up the box.
"Neither me nor the money shall you have!" he roared, striking out at a strong overhand swimming gait. He was almost upon them like a flash.
But there was another there, too. Joe Dawson had also leaped over from the rail of the motor yacht. Joe got along just in time to swim between Rollings and the two boys who were doing their best to keep up and hold the iron box, too.
"Back for yours! Go away back and float!" cried Joe, pushing one of his fighting hands against the cashier's face.
"I'll take _you_ down, then, or the box!" screamed Rollings.
"Oh, all right, then. Take me," mocked Joe. "I'm used to it."
Furiously the pair fought in that rolling sea. Joe devoted every energy, first of all, to keeping the cashier from winding his arms around him.
Presently Rollings gave up that effort, trying to dodge around Joe and get at the other pair, who, swimming slowly, were at the same time managing to keep that precious iron box afloat. This latter task, easy at first, soon became difficult. As the minutes passed the box became more and more of a burden, until it threatened to drag both swimmers under. Yet they hung to it manfully.
Up on the bridge of the "Victor" Jed Prentiss had his own hard task to perform.
Almost at the outset the swimmers had vanished in the fog astern. Jed Prentiss instantly gave orders for the steam yacht to stop and reverse the screw. At the same time he ordered the "Victor" to go around hard-a-port. Even this circle had to be one of large diameter.
"No hails down there on the deck!" rang Jed's voice, sternly. "No confusion of calls. Let me do all the hailing."
Megaphone in hand, young Prentiss stood at the port bridge rail.
"Ahoy!" he roared, through the megaphone.
Again and again he repeated the call. At last he thought he heard an answer out of the deeps.
"Louder!" he roared. "Give us your position."
Suddenly, some sixty feet off the rail, Jed just made out the heads of Joe Dawson and Frank Boilings.
The cashier was floating, now, making no resistance, for Joe had struck him a blow across the head with his clenched fist. Rollings, stunned, floated unresistingly, supported by Dawson.