When Motu got there he just ducked under. It pulled a yell right out of me, I was so frightened. It seemed like he was underwater half an hour, but it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. When he came up he was dragging something with him, and that something was Binney Jenks—limp and unconscious. Then Motu began plowing his way back again.
Of a sudden I remembered The Man Who Will Come and looked that way. He was coming on the run with two Japanese at his heels. They had covered half the distance.
“Quick, Motu, quick!” I bawled, and dashed into the kitchen for my dishes. By the time I was out Motu was almost to shore and the Japs were not fifty yards away.
“Mark!” I yelled. “Mark Tidd!” and scooted across the bridge.
I might have known Mark wouldn’t be far away from his job. Before I was half-way across Mark leaned over the balcony above and threw down the end of a rope with a hook on it.
“H-h-hitch it to the other end of the b-bridge,” he stuttered, as excited as a chicken when there’s a hen-hawk around.
I got the idea, grabbed the rope, and hooked it to the staple on the far end of the lift-bridge. Then I jumped back for the citadel side.
Now Motu was coming, staggering and running, with Binney over his shoulder. Behind him, not twenty-five yards away, were the three Japs. Motu’s lips were drawn back so you could see his beautiful white teeth, and the expression on his face was the sort a man wears when he is making the greatest effort of his life.
“Hurry, Motu, hurry!” I yelled, and danced up and down with eagerness and fear and excitement.
Motu hadn’t far to go, but Binney was bigger than he was, and it was too much for him to carry. My, but he was strong! He staggered on, tripping, almost falling on his face sometimes, and the Japs got closer and closer.