“Stay out of this, Steve!” Jerry’s voice said to me; and some one choked; some one gasped for breath. I bent over them and in that trickle of light from the bridge, I saw a face—one face, Jerry’s. I could not see the other. Then they turned; the one on top was on the bottom but they were over again before I could see. There was Jerry’s face once more.
“Stay out, Steve!”
They were throttling each other as they rolled; they came to the edge of the water and I pulled them back, hauling on one and dragging the two.
A light was coming; soon I would see; for the boat, which had been blowing for the bridges, was slipping up. I looked about to it; and something happened; a splash below me. One of the two was gone; the other, gasping, stood on the edge of the timbers, staring down and moving along this way and that while he watched.
I had my gun out now and shoved it against him.
“Steve, you old fool,” he cried. “He broke my hold; he’s in the water! Watch; where is he?”
“You tell me this,” I came back at him. “What was the book we kept first in the case at the edge of your bed? What were you always reading? Damn you, tell me quick!”
He laughed, sucking for breath. “‘Westward Ho,’ Steve, you old fool!”
“And the next one? You hardly knew which was better.”
“‘Kidnapped!’”