"Well," demanded Woodward, "what's your business?"
For an instant the hermit stood mute. What should he do? He has reason to know that the situation must be urgent.
Slowly he raised his beard so that Woodward could see not only that it was false but what his features looked like.
"Arnold!" gasped Woodward, startled. "What brings you here? Elaine and
Jameson are in the house. We have it surrounded."
Half an hour before, in the St. Germain, Arnold had no sooner received the telaphotograph than he hurried up to his room. From a closet he had produced another of his numerous disguises and quickly put it on. With scant white locks falling over his shoulders and long scraggly beard, he had made himself into a veritable wild man. Then he had put on the finishing touches and had made his way toward Del Mar's.
A look of intense anxiety now flashed over Arnold's face as he heard
Woodward's words.
"But," he cried, "there is an underground passage from the house to the shore."
"The deuce!" muttered Woodward, more alarmed now than ever. "Come, men,—to the house," he shouted out his orders as they passed them around the line. "Arnold, lead the way!"
Together the soldier and the strange figure rushed to the front door of the bungalow. All was still inside. Heavy as it was, they broke it down and burst in.
"Walter, there's Walter!" cried Woodward as he saw me lying on the floor of the study when they ran in.