Part 48

Rhoda Gray did not stand and watch him. Minutes were priceless things, and she could put the minute he asked for to better advantage than by idling it away. With an added injunction to hurry and that she would be back in an instant, she was already racing around the opposite side of the shed. If they were pressed, cornered, by the arrival of Danglar, it might well mean the difference between life and death to all of them if she had an intimate knowledge of the surroundings.

She was running at top speed. Halfway down the length of the shed she tripped and fell over some object. She pushed it aside as she rose. It was an old iron casting, more bulky in shape than in weight, though she found it none too light to lift comfortably. She ran on. A wharf projected out, she found, from this end of the shed. At the edge, she peered over. It was quite light here again; away from the protecting shadows of the shed, the rays of the arc lamp played without hindrance on the wharf just as they did on the shed's side door. Below, some ten or twelve feet below, and at the corner of the wharf, a boat, or, rather, a sort of scow, for it was larger than a boat though oars lay along its thwarts, was moored. It was partly decked over, and she could see a small black opening into the forward end of it, though the opening itself was almost hidden by a heap of tarpaulin, or sailcloth, or something of the kind, that lay in the bottom of the craft. She nodded her head. They might all of them use that boat to advantage!

Rhoda Gray turned and ran back. The Sparrow, with a grunt of satisfaction, was just opening the door. She stepped through the doorway. The Sparrow followed.

“Close it!” said Rhoda Gray, under her breath. She felt her heart beat quicken, the blood flood her face and then recede. Her imagination had suddenly become too horribly vivid. Suppose they--they had already gone farther than...

With an effort she controlled herself--and the round, white ray of her flashlight swept the place. A moment more, and, with a low cry, she was running forward to where, on the floor near the wall of the shed opposite the side door, she made out the motionless form of a man. She reached him, and dropped on her knees beside him. It was the Adventurer. She spoke to him. He did not answer. And then she remembered what Danglar had said, and she saw that he was gagged. But--but she was not sure that was the reason why he did not answer. The flashlight in her hand wavered unsteadily as it played over him. Perhaps the whiteness of the ray itself exaggerated it, but his face held a deathly pallor; his eyes were closed; and his hands and feet were twisted cruelly and tightly bound.

“Give me your knife--quick--Sparrow!” she called. “Then go and keep watch just outside.”

The Sparrow handed her his knife, and hurried back to the door.

She worked in the darkness now. She could not use both hands and still hold the flashlight; and, besides, with the door partially open now where the Sparrow was on guard there was always the chance, if Danglar and those of the gang with him were already in the vicinity, of the light bringing them all the more quickly to the scene.

Again she spoke to the Adventurer, as she removed the gag--and a fear that made her sick at heart seized up on her. There was still no answer. And now, as she worked, cutting at the cords on his hands and feet, the love that she knew for the man, its restraint broken by the sense of dread and fear at his condition, rose dominant within her, and impulse that she could not hold in least took possession of her, and in the darkness, since he would not know, and there was none to see, she bent her head, and, half crying, her lips pressed upon his forehead.

She drew back startled, a crimson in her face that the darkness hid. What had she done? Did he know? Had he returned to consciousness, if he really had been unconscious, in time to know? She could not see; but she knew his eyes had opened.

She worked frantically with the bonds. He was free now. She cast them off.

He spoke then--thickly, with great difficulty.

“It's you, the White Moll, isn't it?”

“Yes,” she answered.

He raised himself up on his elbow, only to fall back with a suppressed groan.

“I don't know how you found me, but get away at once--for God's sake, get away!” he cried. “Danglar'll be here at any minute. It's you he wants. He thinks you know where some--some jewels are, and that I--I--”

“I know all about Danglar,” she said hurriedly. “And I know all about the jewels, for I've got them myself.”

He was up on his knees now, swaying there. She caught at his shoulder to support him.

“You!” he cried out incredulously. “You--you've got them? Say that again! You--you've--”

“Yes,” she said, and with an effort steadied her voice. He--he was a thief. Cost her what it might, with all its bitter hurt, she must remember that, even--even if she had forgotten once. “Yes,” she said. “And I mean to turn them over to the police, and expose every one of Danglar's gang. I--you are entitled to a chance; you once stood between me and the police. I can do no less by you. I couldn't turn the police loose on the gang without giving you warning, for, you see, I know you are the Pug.”

“Good God!” he stammered. “You know that, too?”

“Try and walk,” she said breathlessly. “There isn't any time. And once you are away from here, remember that when Danglar is in the hands of the police he will take the only chance for revenge he has left, and give the police all the information he can, so that they will get you too.”

He stumbled pitifully.

“I can't walk much yet.” He was striving to speak coolly. “They trussed me up a bit, you know--but I'll be all right in a little while when I get the cramps out of my joints and the circulation back. And so, Miss Gray, won't you please go at once? I'm free now, and I'll manage all right, and--”

The Sparrow came running back from the door.

“They're comm'!” he said excitedly. “They're comm' from a different way than we came in. I saw 'em sway up there across the yard for a second when they showed up under a patch of light from an arc lamp on the other street. There's three of 'em. We got about a couple of minutes, and--”

“Get those side doors open! Quick! And no noise!”' ordered Rhoda Gray tersely. And then to the Adventurer: “Try--try and walk! I'll help you.”

The Adventurer made a desperate attempt at a few steps. It was miserably slow. At that rate Danglar would be upon them before they could even cross the shed itself.