“She’s not really afraid,” he told himself in some surprise. “A college girl, a professor’s daughter, too, and a real sport!”
There was little time for further thought. The man, if man it was, was coming fast. Now he had covered a quarter of the distance, now half. Now—
Curlie’s lips were formed for the word, “Stop!” when one of those curious bits of circumstance which so often bring our lives to an abrupt turn, came to pass. The searchlight from some boat out on the lake played for just a fraction of a second on the spot.
In that split second Curlie saw that the figure was that of a man; saw, too, that he was short and round shouldered, that his hair was curly and that his left ear was entirely missing.
So much for well trained eyes. No man may hope to be an Air Mail pilot unless he possesses such eyes.
A split second, then the light was gone. But what was far more startling, the figure, too, was gone.
“He—he’s not there!” the girl whispered.
Curlie placed his hand gently over her mouth.
For five full minutes, with the girl’s vibrant shoulder against his own, he lay motionless. When he spoke it was still in a whisper:
“You keep the place covered with the gun. I—I’m going over the rocks.”