Flash recovered consciousness to find himself lying on his side in the soft mud. His feet trailed in the water. Whether or not he had reached shore by his own efforts or the current had brought him there, he did not know.
Pulling himself to his knees, he gazed about. Downstream, the wall of fire had risen to greater height. Burning brands dropped like snowflakes, making a hissing sound as they were extinguished by the water.
There was no sign of Rascomb, Doyle, or the boat.
Bitter thoughts surged over Flash. So he had been deserted and left to die! He might expect such treatment from Albert Povy who had masqueraded as Rascomb, but Doyle’s actions were unexplainable.
Struggling to his feet, he gazed hopelessly upstream.
Fires were starting everywhere and slowly spreading together. Rascomb had said the only way out was through Gersham Pass. Should he attempt to reach the lodge by the woods route, he was almost certain to find himself soon hemmed in by flames. Either he must attempt the pass or remain submerged in water until the fire had burned itself out.
Flash was in no mood to wait. A frenzy possessed him to get back to the lodge and confront both Rascomb and Doyle.
As yet, the full meaning of his important discovery was not entirely clear. But about one point he was certain. Albert Povy never had lost his life in the wreck of the streamliner. Instead, the man merely had found it expedient to disappear.
Rascomb actually was Povy!
Yet, it seemed fantastic. Had the man lived a dual life for years, planning toward the day when he might wish to blot out one personality and assume another?