Hardly knowing what he did, the Saint wrenched one arm free and lashed out blindly.
He felt the punch jar a thinly covered bone, and Essenden sagged sideways, suddenly limp.
Simon dragged himself to his feet and limped over towards Jill, fumbling in his pocket.
The stream beside the wall had been four feet wide when he had first seen it. Now it was twice that width, and there was a turbulent flurry in its dark waters.
Essenden must have mistaken the time of the tide. And it rose with an appalling speed. While the Saint fought with the lock that held Jill's chains, he felt the cold water creeping up his legs; and when the chains fell away it was up to his knees. The stream was now a racing river as many yards wide as it had once been feet, and one edge of it was still spreading over the floor of the cave.
And Essenden was getting up again.
"Look out!" cried the girl.
Simon turned; and as he did so his bare foot fell on a familiar hardness.
Even so, it was a miscalculation on his part to try to pick up the gun.
He got it into his hand; but Essenden kicked his wrist, and the automatic fell into the stream again. Essenden plunged frantically; and the Saint, with only one sound leg to stand on, was sent staggering back against the wall. And by some miracle Essenden's hand found the gun without a second's groping.