The Odds by Ethel May Dell (book series for 10 year olds TXT) 📕

his hand as he did so, and realized that he was not defenceless.
Her heart seemed to spring into her throat. She stood tense.
Nearer came the feet and nearer. The suspense of waiting was torture. She thought it would never end. Then suddenly, just as she looked to see a man spring from the opening of that narrow passage, they stopped.
A voice spoke. "All right! Don't shoot!" it said, and a great throb of amazement went through her. That voice--careless, debonair, half-laughing--awoke deep echoes in her heart.
A moment later Warden came calmly round the corner, his great figure looming gigantic in that confined space.
He held out his hand. "I'm sorry you've had a fright. I fired that shot. It was a signal to the men to line up for inspection."
He spoke with the utmost frankness, yet it came to Dot with an intuition she could not doubt that Hill did not believe him. He returned the revolver to his pocket, but he kept a hold upon it, and he made no movement to take the hand Warden offered.
"We came to inspect the mine, not the men," he said, shortly. "Go back and tell them to clear out!"
Dot, mutely watching, saw Warden's brows go up. He had barely glanced at her. "Oh, all right, sir," he said, easily. "They've hardly left off work yet. I'll let 'em know in good time. But first I've got something to show you. Come this way!"
He turned towards the main passage, but in a second, sharp and short, Fletcher's voice arrested him.
"Warden!"
He swung on his heel. "Well, sir?"
"You will do as I said--immediately!" The words might have been uttered by a machine, so precise, so cold, so metallic were they.
Warden stood quite motionless, facing him, and it seemed to Dot that his eyes had become two blue flames, giving out light. The pause that followed was so instinct with conflict that she thought it must end in some terrible outburst of violence.
Then, to her amazement, Warden smiled--his candid, pleasant smile. "Certainly, if you make a point of it," he said. "Perhaps you will walk up with me. The strong-room is on our way, and while you are looking at the latest specimens I will carry out your orders."
He turned back with the words, and led the way towards the distant lamp that glimmered in the wall.
Stiffly Hill turned to the girl beside him. "Would you rather go back and wait for me?" he said.
"Oh, no!" she said, instantly. "No; I am coming too."
He said no more, but grimly stalked in the wake of Warden.
The latter moved quickly till he reached the place where the lamp was lodged in a niche in the wall. Here he stopped, stooped, and fitted a key into a narrow door that had been let into the stone. It opened outwards, and he drew aside, waiting for Hill.
"I will go and dismiss the men," he said. "May I leave you in charge till I come back? They will not come this way."
Hill paused on the threshold. The lamp cast a dim light into the place, which was close and gloomy as a prison.
"There are two steps down," said Warden. "One of them is badly broken, but it's worth your while to go in and have a look at our latest finds. You had better go first, sir. Be careful!"
He turned to depart with the words, still ignoring Dot. She was close to Hill, and something impelled her to lay a restraining hand on his shoulder as he took the first step down.
What followed happened with such stunning swiftness that her memory of it ever afterwards was a confused jumble of impressions, like the wild course of a nightmare.
She heard Warden swing round again in his tracks, but before she could turn he had caught her and flung her backwards over his arm. With his other hand simultaneously he dealt Hill a blow in the back that sent him blundering down into the darkness, and then, with lightning rapidity, he banged the door upon his captive. The lock sprang with the impact, but he was not content with this. Still holding her, he dragged at a rough handle above his head and by main strength forced down an iron shutter over the locked door.
Then, breathing hard and speaking no word, he lifted her till she hung across his shoulder, and started to run. She had not uttered a sound, so stunned with amazement was she, so bereft of even the power to think. Her position was one of utter helplessness. He held her with one arm as easily as if she had been a baby. And she knew that in his free hand he carried his revolver.
In her bewilderment she had not the faintest idea as to the direction he took. She only knew that he ran like a hunted rat down many passages, turning now this way, now that, till at last he plunged down an unseen stairway and the sound of gurgling water reached her ears.
He slackened his pace then, and at last stood still. He did not alter his hold upon her, however, but stood listening intently for many seconds. She hung impotent across his shoulder, feeling still too paralyzed to move.
He turned his head at last and spoke to her. "Have I terrified the senses out of you, little new chum?" he whispered, softly.
That awoke her from her passivity. She made her first effort for freedom.
He drew her down into his arms and held her close.
"Right down," she said, insistently.
But he held her still. "If I let you go, you'll wander maybe, and get lost," he said.
His action surprised her, but yet that instinctive trust with which he had inspired her long ago remained, refusing to be shaken.
"Put me right down!" she said again. "And tell me why you did it!"
He set her on her feet, but he still held her. "Can't you guess?" he said.
"No!" she said. "No!"
She spoke a little wildly. Was it the first doubt that ran shadow--like across her brain, leaving her so strangely cold? She wished it had not been so dark, that she might see his face. "Tell me!" she said again.
But he did not tell her. "Don't be afraid!" was all he said in answer. "You are--safe enough."
"But--but--Fletcher?" she questioned, desperately. "What of him?"
"He's safe too--for the present." There was something of grimness in his reply. "He doesn't matter so much. He's been asking for trouble all along--but he had no right--no right whatever--to bring you into it. It's you that matters."
A curious, vibrant quality had crept into his voice, and an answering tremor went through her; but she controlled it swiftly.
"And Adela," she said. "She was with Mr. Harley. What has become of her?"
"He will take care of her for his own sake. Leave her to him!" Warden spoke with a hint of disdain. "She'll get nothing worse than a fright," he said, "possibly not even that--if he gets her to the manager's house in time."
"In time!" she echoed. "In time for what? What is going to happen? What do you mean?"
His hold tightened upon her. "Well," he said, "there's going to be a row. But I'm boss of this show, and I reckon I can deal with it. Only--I'll have you safe first, little new chum. I'm not taking any chances where you are concerned."
She gasped a little. The steady assurance of his voice stirred her strangely.
She tried to release herself from his hold. "I don't like this place," she said. "Let me go back to Mr. Hill."
"That's just what I can't do." He bent suddenly down to her. "Won't you trust me?" he said. "I didn't fail you last time, did I?"
She thrilled in answer to those words. It was as if thereby he had flung down all barriers between them. She stood for a moment in indecision, then impulsively she turned and grasped his arms.
"I trust you--absolutely," she told him, tremulously. "But--but--though I know you don't like him--promise me--you won't let--Fletcher be hurt!"
He, too, was silent for a moment before responding. She fancied that he flinched a little at her words. Then: "All right, I promise," he said.
"Then I will go--wherever you like," she said, bravely, and put her hand into his.
He took it into a strong grasp. "That's like you," he said, with simplicity.


CHAPTER X
THE GREATER LOVE

Through a labyrinth of many passages he led her, over ground that was often rough and slimy with that sound of running water in their ears, sometimes near, sometimes distant, but never wholly absent. Now and then a gleam of light would come from some distant crevice, and Dot would catch a glimpse of the rocky corridor through which they moved--catch a glimpse also of her companion walking with his free stride beside her, though occasionally he had to stoop when the roof was low. He did not look at her, seldom spoke to her, but the grasp of his hand held her up and kept all fear at bay. Somehow fear in this man's presence seemed impossible.
A long time passed, and she was sure that they had traversed a considerable distance before, very far ahead of them at the end of a steep upward slope, she discerned a patch of sky.
"Is that where we are going?" she asked.
"Yes," he said.
She gazed before her, puzzled. "But where are we? Are we still in the mine?"
"No. This is the smugglers' warren." She caught a hint of humour in his voice. "The stream flows underground all through here--and very useful we have found it."
She gave a great start at his words. "You--you are not a smuggler!" she said.
He drew her on. "I am a good many things," he said, easily, "and the king of this rat-run amongst them. There's no one knows it as well as I do."
Her heart sank. "You said--you said yesterday--you had lived straight!" she said, in a low voice.
"Did I? But what does it matter to you how I live?" With a touch of recklessness he put the question. "If Fletcher Hill managed to put the official seal on me, what would it matter to you--now?"
There was almost a note of anger in his voice, yet his hand still held hers in the same close, reassuring grasp. She could not be afraid.
"It would matter," she said at last.
"I wonder why?" said Bill Warden.
"Because--we are friends," she said.
He made a sharp sound as of dissent, but he did not openly contradict her. They were nearing the opening, and the ground was rough and broken. She stumbled once or twice, and each time he held her up. Finally they came to a flight of steps that were little more than notches cut steeply in the rock.
"I shall have to carry you here," he said.
Dot looked upwards with sharp dismay. The rocky wall rose twenty feet above her, the rough-hewn steps slanting along its face. For the first time her heart misgave her.
"What a dreadful place!" she said.
"It's the only way out," said Warden, "unless we tramp underground nearly half-way to Wallacetown!"
"Can't we go back?" she said, nervously.
"What! Afraid?" He gave her hand a sudden squeeze.
She looked at him and caught the blue fire of his eyes as he bent towards her. Something moved her, she knew not what. She surrendered herself to him without a word.
Once more she hung upon his shoulder, clinging desperately, while he made that perilous ascent. He went up with amazing agility, as if he were entirely unencumbered. She felt the strength of his great