Trapped! At such a time a man will ask an awful price for his life—when he is trapped by merciless villains to whom quarter is an unknown tongue! Springing behind the door, keeping only my pistol hand and eye beyond its thin partition, I waited with leveled weapon, ready to drop the first man who came in sight. He did not keep me long in suspense. It was Gates, while behind him pressed several anxious faces.
"Thank God, sir, you're not killed," he shouted.
I was glad to see him, there's no denying it!
"Mr. Thomas said he heard you call, so we came a-biling, sir!"
My mind was working rather fast; indeed, it seemed to be thinking at the rate of a thousand miles a minute—clear thinking, too—so even before Gates spoke the second time I had seen through Tommy's ruse. Bless his old scalp, I was a dog not to have taken him in the first place, now that things were nearer equal. But I said hastily:
"Look sharp, Gates, I haven't been farther than here! They're in the galley!—I'm rushing it!"
So I splintered the door and charged through, with the others tripping over my heels. Then my revolver swung across and covered a crouching form.
"Hands up," I commanded.
Although darker here, we could see a huge, partially clothed figure on the floor, reclining very much as The Wounded Gladiator. Leaning above him, with an arm passed beneath his shoulders, was another man.
"Hands up, you fool," I called again, ready to fire at the first suspicious move. The man lowered his burden and turned. It was Tommy.