"An exceedingly nice girl, that," Littimer was saying, "and distinctly amusing. Excuse me if I leave you here—a tendency to ague and English night air don't blend together."
CHAPTER XXX
GONE!
It was the very moment that Henson had been waiting for. All his listlessness had vanished. He sprang to his feet and made his way hurriedly across the lawn. Dark as it was, he slipped along with the ease of one who is familiar with every inch of the ground. A man half his weight and half his age could have been no more active.
He advanced to what seemed to be the very edge of the cliff and disappeared. There were rocks and grassy knolls which served as landmarks to him. A slip of the foot might have resulted in a serious accident. Above the gloom a head appeared.
"That you, Merritt?" Henson asked, hoarsely.
"Oh, it's me right enough," came the muttered reply. "Good job as I'm used to a seafaring life, or I should never have got up those cliffs. Where's the girl?"
"Oh, the girl's right enough. She's standing exactly where she can hear the cry of the suffering in distress. You can leave that part of the drama to me. She's a smart girl with plenty of pluck, but all the same I am going to make use of her. Have you got the things?"
"Got everything, pardner. Got a proper wipe over the skull, too."
"How on earth did you manage to do that?"