“Say, Dad: The dead has come to life. Have her here in half an hour. Where do you want me to bring her? Here or over home?
Dan.”
The message came back with one word written across the back:
“Here.”
But a light flashed from the eye of father to son as Dan turned to dash out again.
Dan almost upset a small, forlorn figure pressed close to the swinging, leathern doors, with woebegone look and white, tear-stained cheeks.
“Hello there, Kid, did I hurt you?” He paused in his wild rush to set her on her feet again. “Why, little Lib Knox, is this you?” he said tenderly, discovering her identity and the tear streaks on her cheeks. “This is no place for you, child. Come on, take a ride with me.”
But Lib drew a sigh of sobbing and held back.
“No, I gotta stay here,” she said. “I gotta stay here an’ help my Uncle Darcy.”
“Come on, then an’ we’ll help him.” He swept her under one arm and marched away, she wearily resisting. “Listen, Kid, I’ve got glad news. Wait till we sail an’ I’ll tell you who we’re goin’ after.”