"Of course, I can," and she placed her hand confidingly in his. "I am all right now; really I am; I guess all I needed was to get my breath. Do we go up here—the way you came back?"
"I presume so; I know no other passage, and found no path."
"But," she urged. "If there is a boat on the beach, isn't it likely there would be a trail from there to this fisherman's hut?"
"Why, of course; it was stupid of me not to think of this before. The sooner we start, the quicker we shall arrive. I want most of all to telegraph McAdams."
"Who?"
"McAdams, the detective I told you about in Chicago, an old army buddy of mine. He'll have Hobart located by this time, no doubt, and will put the screws on him when he learns what has happened to us."
"I see," she agreed softly, "and if he does know the whole story we need not be so crazy to get back. He will attend to everything."
"Yes; we can wait up here until morning at least; you need a night's rest, and no wonder."
He grasped her arm, helping her to clamber up the steep bank, suddenly becoming aware that the sleeve felt dry.
"Why, Natalie, your clothes seem to have all dried off already; mine are soaked through," he exclaimed in surprise. "What necromancy is this?"