“Steady, old chap,” said the Flag-Lieutenant. He followed Denver along the passage. “Unless I’m much mistaken, he’s dead already.”
They paused by the body, and he lifted the pocket-handkerchief from the dead man’s face.
“Is that the man?”
“It is,” said Denver. “How did it happen?”
“It doesn’t take long to tell,” answered the other. “We were motoring back from town, and suddenly we saw your signals. At first we paid no attention, and then—being a Flag-Lieutenant myself—I took them in automatically. S.O.S. Help. We rushed into the house and found that man in the hall downstairs. He was crazy—or so it seemed to us. Told us you were dead by now: and if you weren’t you were going to die. Brandished a key in front of our faces, and roared with laughter. We were on him like a knife, and, I can tell you, he put up a fight. But we got the key, and we got to you in time.”
“She’s coming to,” said the doctor’s voice from just behind them.
For a moment Jack Denver stared at them both.
“I won’t try and thank you now,” he said, quietly. “I’ll do that and explain everything shortly. But when you’ve been into the valley of the shadow with someone, and come out first, it’s good to welcome your fellow-voyager.”
He turned and went back to Hilda Garling. And when, a few seconds later, she opened her eyes, it was into his that they stared. His arms were round her, and he was smiling.
“Jack,” she whispered, exultingly, “it wasn’t so terrible, was it? And we’re together after all.”