“Sh-h! What’s that?” the other whispered.
At first the only sound they heard was a stir from the deck of the steamer. Then from the water below them came the rattle of rowlocks and a voice cautiously muffled.
“Stop! Stop there!”
A skiff burst from the darkness, grounding on the beach beneath. A figure scrambled out and up the ladder leading to the wharf. Immediately a second boat, plainly in pursuit of the first one, struck on the beach behind it.
As the escaping figure mounted to their level the watchers perceived with amazement that it was a young woman. Breath sobbed from her lungs, and, stumbling, she would have fallen but for Glenister, who ran forward and helped her to her feet.
“Don’t let them get me,” she panted.
He turned to his partner in puzzled inquiry, but found that the old man had crossed to the head of the landing ladder up which the pursuers were climbing.
“Just a minute—you there! Back up or I’ll kick your face in.” Dextry’s voice was sharp and unexpected, and in the darkness he loomed tall and menacing to those below.
“Get out of the way. That woman’s a runaway,” came from the one highest on the ladder.
“So I jedge.”