And there was no boat!
A wire rope drooped into the darkness of the opposite bank, but no voice answered Medenham’s hail. Cynthia said not a syllable until her companion handed her his watch with a request that she should hold it.
“You are not going into that river,” she cried determinedly.
“There is not the slightest risk,” he said.
“But there is. What if you were seized with cramp?”
“I shall cling to the rope, if that will satisfy you. I have swum the Zambesi before to-day, not from choice, I admit, and it is twenty times the width of the Wye, while it holds more crocodiles than the Wye holds salmon.”
“Well—if you promise about the rope.”
Soon he was out of sight, and her heart knew its first pang of fear. Then she heard his cry of “Got the boat,” followed by the clank of a sculling oar and the creak of the guiding-wheel on the hawser.
At last, shortly before midnight, they neared the hotel. Lights were visible on the quay, and Medenham read their meaning.
“They are sending out a search party,” he said. “I must go and stop them. You run on to the hotel, Miss Vanrenen. Good-night! I shall give you an extra hour to-morrow.”