“He is not,” said Aaron grimly. “We were most gentle with the man; and he made no struggle at all....”
Varde thrust Joel into the little cabin where his bunk was; and Joel heard the snick of a new-set bolt on the outer side of the door. He was alone, bound fast....
Before he left the deck, he had heard Mark cry an order to the man at the wheel. The telltale in the after cabin ceiling told him the Nathan Ross had changed her course again ... for Mark’s island.... In the face of men, he had held himself steady and calm.... But now, alone in his cabin, he strained at his bonds, lips cracking over set teeth. He strained and tugged.... Hopeless....
No! Not hopeless! He felt them yield a little, a little more.... Then, with a tiny snap of sound, the coils were loose, and he shook the cords down over his wrists and hands. He caught them as they fell across his fingers, lest the sound of their fall might warn Varde, in the cabin outside his door; and—he was still stupefied by the surprise of this deliverance—he lifted the broken bonds and examined them....
A single strand had yielded, loosing all the rest. And where it had broken, Joel saw, it had been sliced all but through, with a keen blade.
Who? His thoughts raced back over the brief minutes of his bondage. Who?
No other but Aaron Burnham could have had the chance and the good will. Old Aaron.... And Aaron’s knives were always razor sharp. Drawn once across the tight-stretched cord....
Aaron had freed him. Aaron....
He remembered something else. Aaron’s words to Mark on deck. “I’ve set the bolt on his cabin door....”
Aaron had set the new bolt that was the only bar between him and the after cabin, where Varde stood watch. Aaron had set the bolt; and Aaron had cut his bonds. Therefore—the bolt must be flimsy, easily forced away. That would be Aaron’s plan. A single thrust would open the way....