But we will be, Ken told himself. Everything will work out the way it should. The police would notify Richard Holt when they found his name scribbled on the bills, and Ken’s father would drive the investigation forward at top speed.
“By noon—by afternoon at the latest,” Ken kept repeating to himself, “we’ll be free. And Grace and his gang will be behind bars.”
He wished he could signal his hope and confidence to Sandy, but the effort seemed more than he could manage. He ached in every muscle. His hands and feet were beginning to pain agonizingly from the tight bonds.
The minutes lengthened into hours. Ken had no idea what time it was when Cal returned, looked at them briefly, and went out again to pace back and forth on the aft deck.
Suddenly there were sounds of men calling back and forth. The barge lurched once, and seemed to shift. It bumped into something with a solid thud.
Ken tried to heave himself into a sitting position, but it was impossible. He began to grunt frantically.
“M-O-V-I-N-G,” he spelled out.
Sandy answered with one word. “Y-E-S.”
There was no need to try to say more. Both of them realized that when—or if—the police came to the dock the next morning in search of them the barge and its captives would no longer be there.