With tense muscles Kennedy skillfully guided the terrible
instrument that ate cold steel, wielding the torch as deftly as if
it had been, as indeed it was, a magic wand of modern science.
He was actually cutting out a huge hole in the still exposed
surface of the tank--all around, except for a few inches, to
prevent the heavy piece from falling inward.
As Kennedy carefully bent outward the section of the tank which he
had cut, he quickly reached down and lifted Elaine, unconscious,
out of the water.
Gently he laid her on the sand. It was the work of only a moment
to cut the cords that bound her hands.
There she lay, pale and still. Was she dead?
Kennedy worked frantically to revive her.
At last, slowly, the color seemed to return to her pale lips. Her
eyelids fluttered. Then her great, deep eyes opened.
As she looked up and caught sight of Craig bending anxiously over
her, she seemed to comprehend. For a moment both were silent. Then
Elaine reached up and took his hand.
There was much in the look she gave him--admiration, confidence,--
love itself.
Heroics, however, were never part of Kennedy's frank make-up. The
fact was that her admiration, even though not spoken, plainly
embarrassed him. Yet he forgot that as he looked at her lying
there, frail and helpless.
He stroked her forehead gently, laying back the wet ringlets of
her hair.
Pages:
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74