Nikka and I sped back into the courtyard. We picked our way over the occasional bodies to the street-door. It was ajar.
"I locked it myself!" cried Nikka. "Old Wasso picked it without damaging the spring. I took time when we entered to fasten it again."
I was feeling very weak. My shoulder throbbed. Nausea assailed me in recurrent waves. But I clutched the gate-post, and peered into the street. Nobody was in sight. Sokaki Masyeri was a bare waste of mud and foaming gutters.
"She escaped," said Nikka. "Too bad! We might have— What's the matter, Jack?"
He caught me as my knees bent under me. I felt the rain on my eyelids, and then everything was blotted out.
CHAPTER XXVI
UNDER THE RED STONE
When I opened my eyes Watkins was bending over me.
"Ah, there, Mister Jack," he said, "'ave a drink of this. Thank you, sir." And as I struggled to a sitting position: "No need of 'aste, sir. All's well. And you 'ad a bit of a knock, if I may say so, sir."
"It seems as though you and I were the Jonahs, Watty," I answered. "This is the third time I've passed out cold.