The darkness was as thick as ever, but now he sensed that he was no longer in the vaulted torture room. That cool current of air suggested a tunnel or corridor connecting with the world above ground.
Luckily he had remembered to take a small pocket torch when he went down to dinner that evening. Its white beam now showed up the rough stone walls of a passageway, like the one leading from the elevator. But that was not all.
Within arm’s reach stood the French maid, Suzette, her finger to her lips in silent warning. As Don met her eyes, she beckoned urgently and turned to vanish in the black shadows.
When the flashlight found her again Suzette was several yards up the tunnel, running like a boy. Don followed somewhat more slowly, trying to keep Red’s head from bumping the low, timbered roof. He was breathing heavily when he finally overtook the French-woman.
“We mus’ be ver’ quick, Commander!” she whispered, halting at a place where the passageway branched. “Your poor friend, is he too badly hurt to walk?”
“Not so’s you’d notice it, Miss!” came Red’s husky answer. “Just get these ropes off my hands and ankles, and I’ll manage to toddle. Got a knife, Skipper?”
Don’s penknife was already out, sawing at the brutally tight cords.
“This is easier than getting that loop of wire off your thumbs in the dark, shipmate!” he panted. “I was afraid those two cat-eyed hatchet men would come back at me before I got you clear.”
“Not a chance!” grinned Red Pennington rubbing his blood smeared wrists. “You hit ’em so hard they couldn’t even crawl away, Skipper. You must have judged their positions just right.”
“Allons donc, Messieurs! We waste time!” cut in Suzette’s sharp whisper. “We are not out of the danger yet. This left-hand passage—come! And run as if the devil-dog Marines were after you!”