Stein saw the white death in front of him and blenched. His face turned a sickly green and he pulled out the Luger. Get back! he screamed. Astern, astern! He groped madly for the telegraph, pitching John, who was at the wheel, on the plating of the bridge. I was afraid of Stein, but I was scared to death of the sand-bars of the Curva dos Dunas. You bloody fool! I shouted. As I spun the wheel back I hit Stein across the face with the back of my left hand and he went reeling to his knees The reader reaches the last page panting. Sunday Times