“Hold on — “
The reply was encouraging, yet time seemed endless. Harry knew now that the water was no longer rising. His rescuer had found the hidden switch that controlled the sluices.
It must have been a long, heart-rending search. Stokes had probably fixed that secret control somewhere — arranged it so that he could drown any who were trapped within this den of death.
The steel door swung open. A flashlight gleamed into the dark chamber. A black form stooped quickly, and a powerful hand seized Harry Vincent as he was about to topple into the flood beneath.
WHEN Harry opened his eyes, he found himself lying in the bed of his room on the second floor. Two persons were beside him. One was Vic Marquette; the other was Arlette DeLand.
“Arlette,” said Harry feebly. “Tell me — “
“The torpedo floated to the shore,” explained Arlette. “I managed to open the cap and get out. Then this man, Mr. -” she looked at Vic Marquette.
“Crawford’s my name,” said Marquette calmly. “Those scoundrels rode me all over the lake, Vincent. Then they ditched the motor boat at Harvey’s Wharf.
“By that time I knew where I was; and I figured they knew that I was with them. I popped out on them, before they had a chance to plug me under the sacks. They were on the wharf; but they skipped before I had a chance to shoot at them.”
“Professor Whitburn,” said Harry. “Is he — all right?”