“I’m rather glad of that,” said Mr. Pauling in a low tone. “He doesn’t realize he’s manacled and he doesn’t know yet that he’s a prisoner. It makes me feel a brute to keep him locked that way and if he continues as he is, I shall free him. No danger of his making a break as long as he cannot move a finger.”
“Well, I don’t know,” remarked Rawlins who had been watching the man closely. “He’s a slippery duck as you know and I’ve a hunch he knows a heap more than you think and isn’t as helpless as he’d have you believe. I’ve caught him looking at your back in a darned nasty way. He may be nutty, but by glory, a nutty murderer’s as dangerous as a sane one. I’d keep the bracelets on him if I were you.”
“I think Rawlins is right,” agreed Mr. Henderson. “Even if he is helpless and not himself, you can’t tell at what moment he may recover and we’d better be on the safe side.”
“Perhaps you’re both right,” acknowledged Mr. Pauling. “After all, I don’t suppose he’s worthy of much consideration.”
Throughout the night, some one was constantly on watch beside the wounded man, but he made no move, seemed to sleep well and in the morning was in exactly the same condition as before.
Before noon the canoe emerged from the creek onto a small lake and Mr. Thorne announced that they had reached their journey’s end.
“The plane may be anywhere along shore,” he said. “We’ll have to skirt around and hunt for it. But the, lake’s small and we should have little trouble.”
With all eyes searching each indentation and cove in the forest-clad shores, the coorial was paddled around the southern borders of the lake and before they had covered half its circumference, Tom gave a shout of triumph. “There ’tis!” he cried. “In that little bay.”
“Right you are!” affirmed the explorer. “Pretty bad wreck though.”
A minute later the boat was run ashore beside the dismantled plane and all scrambled out to examine it.