And Mr. Greenough down there, risking his life?
No. There was no time to get help.
“Fifteen minutes more, if everything works well, and old man Greenough’s day is over.”
The whole plot flashed across her bewildered brain. She dashed through the back-gate and down the deserted street towards the mills. It was a ten minutes’ walk across that way, but she ran,—flew,—tore down the lonely road in less than half that time.
Otis Greenough might be an unreasonable, hot-headed, obstinate agent, but he was her father’s friend and had loved and petted her when she was a motherless child.
What could she do? Raise an alarm? Call for help? Rouse everybody?
But the fuse was already lighted.
Where was it?
Under the office window most likely, since they knew that the old agent was in there.
She came in sight of that window. There was a dim light there. All else was dark. The south wind moaned dismally.