“Good heavens!” Hilderman cried. “I thought you must be able to see. Fuller, this means that that fellow Burnham came with her, and is close at hand. What in the name——”
But he, too, was interrupted, for a great, gaunt figure flashed like some weird animal through the window. A long bare arm reached over Fuller’s shoulder and snatched the pistol.
“Yes, Mr. Burnham is with her,” said Dennis quietly, as he stood in front of them, stripped to the waist, the water pouring off him in streams, and covered them with the revolver.
Hilderman and Fuller von Guernstein held up their hands as requested.
“This is very awkward,” said Fuller. “We shall have to let that wretched Ewart go.”
And then Dennis swayed, threw up his arms, and fell sideways, full length on the floor. Myra glanced at him, and threw herself on her knees beside the prostrate form.
“Dead!” she screamed. “Dead!”
Hilderman pushed her gently aside, and knelt down to examine Dennis.
“It’s his heart,” he announced. “Come Hugo. We’re safe now, and the girl’s blind. Let’s get away.”