The only thought in his mind was that one of the enemy was coming to kill him, and he redoubled his efforts until a familiar voice whispered:
"Jet, Jet! Is it you?"
He could not reply in words; but he managed to give vent to a faint moan, at the same time moving his feet over the dead leaves to make a yet louder noise.
"It's me, Harvey," the voice continued. "I heard a couple of men talking about having left some one tied up, and thought it must be you."
While he spoke the detective continued to advance, drawing himself along the ground by the hands, as if his lower limbs were useless, and on reaching Jet raised his body with an effort until he could feel the bonds which held the boy.
It was but the work of an instant to remove the gag, and untie his hands, after which he could finish the work without assistance.
"Did you send the message?" Harvey asked, eagerly.
"Yes, and made a fool of myself afterward," Jet replied, quickly.
"Tell me what you mean, and speak quickly, for there is no knowing how long we may be able to talk with each other."
In the fewest words possible the boy related the events of the night, sparing himself not one whit, and when he had finished the detective said, soothingly: