These and many other questions Ross asked himself, but he had no satisfactory answer to any one of them. Only a jumble of baffling mystery presented itself. His brain seethed with impossible solutions, but he had to admit that actually he was completely at sea.
Only a few facts stood out which could be accepted as a basis on which to work.
He, Ross, had been taken for another man, Waring by name. Ward evidently hated Waring intensely and was determined to put him to death for a wrong, either fancied or real. There could be no doubt, too, that Ward was, in a degree, insane.
What part Beebe was playing Ross could not determine, beyond the facts that he was in favor with Ward and that he wanted the girl and would take her on whatever terms he could get her.
The girl was obviously in great peril. It could be seen that she hated Beebe, but at the same time was powerless to resist any order of her uncle. Ross could readily see that she was in a position where death might well be preferable to what she was facing.
And, undeniably, there was the fact that he, Ross, was sure to meet death in the morning unless he could devise some way out of his dilemma.
The night was far gone when he had finished considering these things. It was then that a plan of action first suggested itself to him. As it matured in his mind he realized that it was a forlorn hope; but his circumstances were so utterly desperate that there seemed nothing to do but give it a trial. He knew that its success would depend entirely on the element of surprise.
Having once settled in his mind what he should do, Ross threw himself down on the crude table and was soon sound asleep.
It was hardly daylight when he awoke, but he did not allow himself to drop back to sleep again. He was going to be ready.
It was fully three hours later that he heard approaching footsteps. Slipping quietly across the room, Ross flattened himself against the wall beside the door and waited.