The Saint Meets His Match (She was a Lady)

'An invention of my own,' said Essenden, in a queerly high-pitched voice, 'for the discouragement of poach­ers. But it has caught something better than a poacher to-night!'

He laughed, squeakily; and suddenly she realized that he was mad.

'Caught!' he babbled. 'I hid it in the stream. What­ever happened, I meant to send him down here. Then he would have to step into the stream to get at the safe. Safe! I put that slab in yesterday, myself, just to catch him. I knew that when he didn't come back, you'd bring me down to look for him, and then I'd catch you as well. Those four men upstairs were only part of the surprise I had waiting for you. If I'd seemed too easy, you'd have suspected something. And didn't you see that that was why I pretended I didn't want to come down here? That was to make you all the more determined to bring me down. And it worked!'

He laughed again, a shrill giggle that pricked the hairs on the nape of the girl's neck.

'But he isn't moving!'

'Of course he isn't,' leered Essenden. 'It has a very strong spring, my little contrivance—and yet the turn of a small key will release it. I have the key in my pocket. But until the key is used, it will go on hurting.'

'You—devil!'

The Saint turned his head with a set twisted smile on his lips.

'No vulgar abuse, Jill,' he said huskily. 'I haven't used any—and I've been lying here ten minutes, and I dropped my gun in the stream and couldn't find it again.'

'My dear!'

'God bless you,' said the Saint through his teeth, 'for those kind words.'

She ran to him, falling on her knees beside him, care­less of what Essenden might do. The Saint's face was white with pain, but he kept smiling.

And he said, in a ghost of a whisper: 'Liar—gun—left-hand coat pocket—you have it. Your need may yet be greater than mine, sister. . . . Watch your chance——'

Essenden came closer. He flung out his left hand in a grandiose gesture.

'My little cave!' he cackled. 'Look at it well, because it's the last thing you'll ever see. The tunnel was bricked up once, but I opened it up again—and this is what I found. But I've never explored it properly. You might get lost, and then if you were caught by the tide ——'

He shook to another burst of maniacal merriment.

'You see, this is one shore of a huge underground lake, and it has its own tides, twice a day. When the tide comes up, it reaches nearly to the low part of the roof over your head. That's why the last few steps are so worn away. The water does that. . . . It's long past low tide now. In less than two hours the tide will be up. Oh, yes, and you'll be here to see it ... creeping up ... while you're chained here. Till it comes right over your heads ... up and up ... and up——'

'And up,' murmured the Saint.

'And you will be here—both of you.' Essenden turned his pale eyes upon the girl. 'Both of you. I'd have saved you, Jill, but you're too dangerous. You'll have to stay here, too. And I shall wall up the tunnel again, with my own hands, and no one will ever know.'

The girl knelt beside the Saint. With one hand she stroked the damp hair back from his forehead; the other hand crept slowly, infinitely slowly, towards his pocket. But the gun that Essenden held still covered them both, and there was the cunning of madness in his eyes.