Almost as he spoke a long flame shot up from the hut. Its light illuminated two crouching figures huddled together on the roof.
“My old clothes—stuffed with rags—but they won’t tumble to it for some time. Come, Anne, we’ve got to try desperate means.”
Hand in hand, we raced across the island. Only a narrow channel of water divided it from the shore on that side.
“We’ve got to swim for it. Can you swim at all, Anne? Not that it matters. I can get you across. It’s the wrong side for a boat——too many rocks, but the right side for swimming, and the right side for Livingstone.”
“I can swim a little—farther than that. What’s the danger, Harry?” For I had seen the grim look on his face. “Sharks?”
“No, you little goose. Sharks live in the sea. But you’re sharp, Anne. Crocs, that’s the trouble.”
“Crocodiles?”
“Yes, don’t think of them—or say your prayers, whichever you feel inclined.”
We plunged in. My prayers must have been efficacious, for we reached the shore without adventure, and drew ourselves up wet and dripping on the bank.
“Now for Livingstone. It’s rough going, I’m afraid, and wet clothes won’t make it any better. But it’s got to be done.”