The man was evidently dying. West, from his experience on European battle-fields, felt assured the end was indeed close at hand. His face under the flitting rays of the swinging light was ghastly and drawn, his words were barely audible, and painfully uttered, while, as the arm supporting his head was withdrawn, he sank back heavily into his former position, and his eyes instantly closed. Only as West bent lower could he determine the surety of his breathing still.
There was nothing to be done for Masters; no occasion for lingering there helplessly. The yacht was sinking under their feet, going down slowly, but surely, and the end could not be far off. The very movement of the vessel sickened him, brought to him a sensation of fear. Moreover he knew the truth now, and saw clearly his duty. The watchman had not told much, but it was sufficient to verify all his former suspicions. These fellows he fought were desperate criminals, playing for high stakes, conspiring to even commit murder to achieve their object--which could be nothing less than gaining possession of the Coolidge fortune. To that end they had coolly planned the sinking of the
Seminole in mid-lake, with the helpless girl locked securely in her cabin. It was a cowardly, diabolical crime, and yet, no doubt, they had figured it as the safest method of completely disposing of her. And, but for the accident of his presence on board, and his having been awakened by that incautious voice, the foul plot would probably have proven successful. They had already got safely away, leaving her behind a prisoner, her only possible rescuer this watchman wounded unto death. The yacht was sinking in the dark, going steadily down in those night shrouded waters. Who would ever know? The main body of the crew, perhaps, never even dreamed of her presence aboard. There was no evidence, nothing to convict the men really guilty. Here was the scheme of a master-mind in crime. West weaved his way across the rolling deck of the cabin to the stateroom door Masters had pointed out as the one sheltering the girl. There was no sound from within, nor would the knob yield to his grasp. It was locked, the key gone. There was no time to wait and hunt for that missing piece of metal doubtless safely hidden in Hogan's pocket, or else thrown overboard; he must break a way in; but first he must explain to her, so as to spare her the sudden fright of such an assault. He rapped sharply on the panel, pausing an instant for a response. None came, and he knocked again more roughly.
"Miss Coolidge: you are there, are you not?"
"Yes; who is that?" almost a cry of delight in the voice. "You--you have a voice I know."
"I am Matthew West; but do not ask questions now. The yacht is going down, and I must break this door in to release you. Stand back while I smash the boards. You hear and understand?"
"Yes--yes: I am safely away; have no fear."
The light revealed the weapon he required just beyond where Masters lay--a heavy hatchet, still stained with blood, probably the very instrument with which the watchman had been brutally struck down. That made no difference now, and West snatched it up, and began to splinter the wood with well directed blows. He worked madly, feverishly, unable to judge there in the cabin whether he had a minute, or an hour, in which to effect their rescue. All he knew was that every second was worth saving, and with this impulse driving him, swung the sharp blade with all his strength and skill, gouging out great splinters of wood, and finally forcing the lock to yield. He sprang eagerly through the opening, the hatchet still in his grasp, and faced her.
She stood there looking straight at him, seemingly unable even yet to wholly realize the marvellous truth of his presence. The light from the swinging lamp in the big cabin beyond, streamed in through the shattered doorway, and revealed her face, pale, but unafraid, the eyes wide-open, the lips parted. An instant both paused, and then she cried out in sudden relief.
"Oh, it is really you, Captain West. I know now. What has happened? How did you come to be here?"
"Not now," he insisted. "Don't ask me now. Just come as quick as you can. Do you not realize the boat is sinking, going down under our very feet? For all I know it may take the plunge before we can reach the deck. There is no time for anything but action. Quick; let me take your hand."
She obeyed without a word, and he pressed her before him out through the door into the more brightly lighted cabin. Her eyes opened in horror at the sight of Masters, and she drew back trembling against West's arm.
"Who--who is that? A dead man?"
"I fear so; wait just a second until I learn; if he still lives we cannot leave him here."
West bent over the motionless figure; the flesh was no longer warm; and he could detect no breath. Satisfied, he regained his feet.
"It is all over with," he said gravely. "He is beyond human aid."
"But--but, please, who is he?" she insisted, clinging to his arm. "Surely I have seen the man before; what has happened?"
"He was the watchman on the yacht--Masters he said his name was," West explained impatiently. "He was still alive when I first came, and told me where you were confined. He tried to serve you when the others left, and was struck down by Hogan."
"The others left! Is the boat deserted? Are we here all alone?"
"Yes; the villains left us both locked into state-rooms to die. They deserted the yacht, expecting it to sink, and take us both down with it. The craft is near foundering now, and our only hope is to obtain the open deck at once. Do not question any more, but do just as I say. You trust me, do you not?"
"Trust you! of course I do."
"Then let's talk afterwards. All I can think about now is how best to save your life."
She permitted him to draw her through the door on to the black, deserted deck. For the first moment, as they hesitated there, little could be perceived other than vague shadows. The sky was overcast, but the wind light, yet with sufficient swell to the water to cause the yacht to wallow uncomfortably. West, bracing himself to the sudden plunging, managed to reach the rail. He drew back, sick at heart at the sight of the waves lapping the side almost on a level with the sloping deck on which he stood. The sight brought home to him as never before the drear deadly peril in which they were. It was already a matter of minutes; any second indeed that labouring hulk might take the fatal plunge. The knowledge brought back all his soldier instincts of command, his rough insistence. He would find some means of rescue; he must! He was back instantly, grasping her arm.
"Quick," he cried. "You knew this yacht; what small boats did she carry?"
"Only the one; the other was so warped it had been taken ashore."
"Only one! Those fellows put off in that. There was nothing else to save life aboard?"
"There are life-belts here; see, hung to the front of the cabin. Was that what you meant?"
"Yes, and no." He snatched one from the hook, and hastily strapped it about her. "These may help, but we shall need more. Was there no life-raft? My God! there must surely be something of that kind."
"Yes, there is; I remember now. It is forward there, near the engine-room hatch. Percival Coolidge explained to me how it worked once. But--but I don't believe just the two of us could ever launch it over the rail."
"We will, because we must--it is our only hope. I'll take the other belt; now come. We haven't an instant to waste--the water is even now almost level with the deck; any second we may be awash, and go down like a stone. Hold on tight to me."
The deck was already sloping to port in a dangerous degree, and West was compelled to cling to the rail, as they slowly made passage forward through the darkness. Their eyes had by then adapted themselves to the night, so as to distinguish larger objects, and, as there was no litter to encounter, as in the case of a ship wrecked by storm, the two progressed safely as far as the engine-hatch. Neither spoke, but West still clasped the hatchet, peering anxiously about for some signs of the life-raft. He located it at last, securely fastened to the side of the deck house, and, leaving the girl to hold herself upright as best she could, began to hack it loose. It was quite an affair, cork-lined, and evidently capable of sustaining considerable weight when once launched in the water, but cumbersome and hard to handle on deck, more particularly because of its awkward form.
Fortunately it hung to the port side with a rather steep slant to the rail, which was not high. The waters of the lake, threatening to engulf them with every sodden roll of the vessel, were almost within reach of an outstretched hand, while occasionally a wave danced along the bulwark, and scattered its spray over the deck. West, working with feverish impatience, realized suddenly that his companion had deserted the place where he had left her and was also tugging and slashing at the lashings of the raft. These finally yielded to their blind attack. Without the exchange of a word the two grasped the sides and shoved the thing hard down against the port rail.
"Wait now," he cried exultantly. "Stay behind, and brace yourself against the hatch-cover. I'll get underneath and lift. Once on the rail the two of us must shove it free overboard. Here, keep a grip on this line, so the raft can't float away."
She understood instantly, and, with a single swift glance at her dimly revealed figure, West straightened up, bearing the full weight on his shoulders, every muscle strained to the utmost, as he thus pressed it over inch by inch across the wooden barrier. Twice he stopped, breathless, trembling in every limb, seemingly unable to exert another pound of strength. Perspiration dripped from his face, his teeth clinched in desperate determination. At the second pause, she was beside him, pressing her way in also beneath the sagging burden. He felt the pressure of her body.
"No, no; I can make it alone," he panted indignantly.
"Not so well as we both can, working together. I am strong, Captain West. Try it again now, and see."
Suddenly the great unwieldy mass moved, slid forward, poised itself an instant on the rounded rail. The yacht rolled sharply to port, flinging both on to the deck together, but sending the raft crunching overboard, clear of the side. West grasped her, and dragged her to her feet. His one thought was that they were actually going down, but, even as he held her in his arms, ready to leap out into the black water, the shuddering vessel, with a last despairing effort, partially righted herself, and staggered on.
"The rope," he questioned. "Did you lose grip on the rope?"
"No, it is here. I can feel the jerk of the raft."
"Thank God for that; let's pull it closer to the side. We can't wait to take anything with us; even if I knew where provision and blankets were, I could never find them in this darkness. I would not dare leave you to search; another dip like that must be the very last. Here, let me hold you up; can you see the raft?"
"Yes; I'm sure it is just below; why I could almost touch it."
"Can you jump to it from the rail? It is either that, or the water. Are you afraid to try?"
"Afraid--no. Hold me; yes; that way, but--but what are you going to do?"
"Follow, of course; but I shall take to the water. There are no oars here. Nothing to use as a substitute for them. I'll have to swim, and push that old ark as far away as possible. When the yacht goes down, the suction is liable to swamp us, if we are close in."
"But I can swim, Captain West."
"I am glad to know that; but now you do just as I say. There is no necessity for both of us getting wet through. Are you ready?"
She poised herself, held steady by the grip of his hands, her eyes on the dark outline of the floating raft. There was no hesitancy, no questioning.
"Say when," he said sharply.
"Now."
She sprang outward, and came down, sinking to her knees, and clinging fast, as the raft bobbed up and down under her sudden weight, dipping until the water rolled completely over it.