Part 49

“I can crawl faster,” laughed the Adventurer with bitter whimsicality. “Give me your revolver, Miss Gray, and you two go--and God bless you!”

The Sparrow was opening the side door, but she realized now that even if they could carry the Adventurer they could not get away in time. Her mind itself seemed stunned for an instant--and then, in a lightning flash, inspiration came. She remembered that iron casting, and the wharf, and the other side of the shed in shadow. It was desperate, perhaps almost hopeless, but it was the only way that gave the Adventurer a chance for his life.

She spoke rapidly. The little margin of time they had must be narrowing perilously.

“Marty, help this gentleman! Crawl to the street, if you have to. The only thing is that you are not to make the slightest noise, and--”

“What are you going to do?” demanded the Adventurer hoarsely.

“I'm going to take the only chance there is for all of us,” she answered.

She started toward the front door of the shed; but he reached out and held her back.

“You are going to take the only chance there is for me!” he cried brokenly. “You're going out there--where they are. Oh, my God! I know! You love me! I--I was only half conscious, but I am sure you kissed me a little while ago. And but for this you would never have known that I knew it, because, please God, whatever else I am, I am not coward enough to take that advantage of you. But I love you, too! Rhoda! I have the right to speak, the right our love gives me. You are not to go--that way. Run--run through the side door there--they will not see you.”

She was trembling. Repudiate her love? Tell him there could be nothing between them because he was a thief? She might never live to see him again. Her soul was in riot, the blood flaming hot in her cheeks. He was clinging to her arm. She tore herself forcibly away. The seconds were counting now. She tried to bid him good-by, but the words choked in her throat. She found herself running for the front door.

“Sparrow--quick! Do as I told you!” she half sobbed over her shoulder--and opening the door, stepped out and dosed it behind her.

XX. A LONE HAND

And now Rhoda Gray was in the radius of the arc lamp, and distinctly visible to any one coming down the yard. How near were they? Yes, she saw them now--three forms-perhaps a little more than a hundred yards away. She moved a few steps deliberately toward them, as though quite unconscious of their presence; and then, as a shout from one of them announced that she was seen, she halted, hesitated as though surprised, terrified and uncertain, and, as they sprang forward, she turned and ran--making for the side of the shed away from the side door.

A voice rang out--Danglar's:

“By God, it's the White Moll!”

It was the only way! She had the pack in cry now. They would pay no attention to the Adventurer while the White Moll was seemingly almost within their grasp. If she could only hold them now for a little while--just a little while--the Adventurer wasn't hurt--only cramped and numbed--he would be all right again and able to take care of himself in a little while--and meanwhile the Sparrow would help him to get away.

She was running with all her speed. She heard them behind her--the pound, pound, pound of feet. She had gained the side of the shed. The light from the arc lamp was shut off from her now, and they would only be able to see her, she knew, as a dim, fleeting shadow. Where was that iron casting? Pray God, it was heavy enough; and pray God, it was not too heavy! Yes, here it was! She pretended to stumble--and caught the thing up in her arms. An exultant cry went up from behind her as she appeared to fall--oaths, a chorus of them, as she went on again.

They had not gained on her before; but with the weight in her arms, especially as she was obliged to carry it awkwardly in order to shield it from their view with her body, she could not run so fast now, and they were beginning to close up on her. But she was on the wharf now, and there was not much farther to go, and--and surely she could hold all the lead she needed until she reached the edge.

The light from the arc lamp held her in view again out here on the wharf where she was clear of the shed; but she knew they would not fire at her except as a last resort. They could not afford to sound an alarm that would attract notice to the spot--when they had, or believed they had, both the Adventurer and the White Moll within their grasp now.

She was running now with short, hard, panting gasps. There were still five yards to go-three-one! She looked around her like a hunted animal at bay, as she reached the end of the wharf and stood there poised at the edge. Yes, thank God, they were still far enough behind to give her the few seconds she needed! She cried out loudly as though in despair and terror--and sprang from the edge of the wharf. And as she sprang she dropped the casting; but even as it struck the water with a loud splash, Rhoda Gray, in frantic haste, was crawling in through the little locker-like opening under the decked-over bow of the half scow, half boat into which she had leaped. And quick as a flash, huddled inside, she reached out and drew the heap of what proved to be sailcloth nearer to her to cover the opening-and lay still.

A few seconds passed; then she heard them at the edge of the wharf, and heard Danglar s voice.

“Watch where she comes up! She can't get away!”

A queer, wan smile twisted Rhoda Gray's lips. The casting had served her well; the splash had been loud enough! She listened, straining her ears to catch every sound from above. It was miserably small this hiding place into which she had crawled, scarcely large enough to hold her--she was beginning to be painfully cramped and uncomfortable already.

Another voice, that she recognized as Pinkie Bonn's now, reached her:

“It's damned hard to spot anything out there; the water's blacker'n hell.”

Came a savage and impatient oath from Danglar.

“She's got to come up, ain't she--or drown!” he rasped. “Maybe she's swum under the wharf, or maybe she's swum under water far enough out so's we can't see her from here. Anyway, jump into that boat there, and we'll paddle around till we get her.”

Rhoda Gray held her breath. The boat rocked violently as, one after another, the men jumped into it. Her right hand was doubled under her, it was hard to reach her pocket and her automatic. She moved a little; they were cursing, splashing with their oars, making too much noise to hear any slight rustle that she might make.

A minute, two, went by. She had her automatic now, and she lay there, grim-lipped, waiting. Even if they found her now, she had her own way out; and by now, beyond any question, the Adventurer and the Sparrow would have reached the street, and, even if they had to hide out there somewhere until the Adventurer had recovered the use of his limbs, they would be safe.