“Oh, if they were only here now! When we need them so!” gasped Lottie.
Again Denny swung what was left of the red oar around his head. He aimed a blow at the face of Bruce, but it fell short and struck the man on the shoulder.
Then a strange thing happened. The handle of the oar split lengthwise, and from a hollow place inside there flew out a roll of papers, yellow with age. And on one of them was a red seal—a legal-looking seal.
Bruce staggered at the blow, and a strange look came over his face. It might have been that he was dazed, but his eyes lighted on the roll of papers that had fallen to the floor. There they lay—a curious roll that had come from the secret crevice in the red oar.
The struggle had come to a sudden end. The girls ceased screaming and stood looking on dumbly, unable to understand what had happened.
As for the men they, too, seemed startled by the strange turn of events. Kelly rose to his feet, and was creeping up on Denny from behind. His arms were outstretched, and his fingers worked convulsively, as though they would like to close about the fisherman’s throat, and force him to testify as the plotters desired.
Cora wanted to scream a warning, but some strange force seemed to hold her dumb.
“The red oar—it’s broken—broken! Me old red oar, that saved me life!” murmured Denny Shane. “But I never knew ’twas hollow. Never! I wonder did Grandfather Lewis——”
He did not complete the sentence, for at that instant Bruce leaped forward and caught up the roll of yellow papers from the floor.
“Give me those!” cried Denny leaping at him with the jagged piece of the red oar in his gnarled hands—the hands that had, so many years ago, grasped the same oar in what was little short of a death-grip. “Give me those papers!” fairly roared Denny. “I don’t know what they are, but they’re not yours. Give ’em to me!”