As the possibilities unfolded, a desperate inspiration flashed upon Bowen’s brain.
After all, there was still a chance, more than a chance, of retrieving the disaster! That bit of rusted steel placed hope between his hands! How late it was, he could not tell, but it must be long past noon, although Cheadle had not yet returned with the luncheon. Bowen smiled at the thought. If he could but free his feet and wrists! If he could but down those two scoundrels! If he could but telephone to Gus Saunders before two o’clock! Then the market for Apex Crown would be at its height, and Saunders could unload before the crash!
Bowen had dreamed of millions, when he believed the mine to be good. Now that it was a question of at best getting out from under, there was still hope of cleaning up a tidy fortune. But he would have to phone Gus Saunders before two o’clock!
Cautiously holding the edged blade in his almost senseless fingers, Bob Bowen fumbled with it for the cord that bound his wrists behind him. He could not make the keen blade reach. Just as he realized this, just as he realized that the job was not going to be so easy as it had seemed, he heard Cheadle enter the adjoining room.
“Done it, Henderson!” Cheadle apparently set down a basket, for there was a rattle of dishes. “There’s lunch.”
“You fixed it all right? Sure it’s safe?” demanded the eager voice of Henderson.
“Safe as shootin’, pardner! At two o’clock the storm busts, and Lord help us if we ain’t somewheres else!”
“Leave that to me. What’s this you got to drink—milk! You’re a nice one, you are! Bringing me milk to drink—”
“It’s all you get. I mean that you shall keep a clear head to-day, pardner. No booze in yours until we’ve cashed in! Now lay out the grub. Have you looked at him in there? Has he waked up yet?”
“Don’t know and don’t care,” grunted Henderson.