I looked at him in
despair. It was impossible.
"Listen," said the policeman, straining his ears.
There was indeed a faint noise from the black depths below us. A
rope alongside the rough ladder began to move, as though someone
was pulling it taut. We gazed down.
"Craig! Craig!" I called. "Is that you?"
No answer. But the rope still moved. Perhaps the helmet made it
impossible for him to hear.
He had struggled back in the swirling current almost exhausted by
his helpless burden. Holding Elaine's head above the surface of
the water and pulling on the rope to attract my attention, for he
could neither hear nor shout, he had taken a turn of the rope
about Elaine. I tried pulling on it. There was something heavy on
the other end and I kept on pulling.
At last I could make out Kennedy dimly mounting the ladder. The
weight was the unconscious body of Elaine which he steadied as he
mounted. I tugged harder and he slowly came up.
Together, at last, the policeman and I reached down and pulled
them out.
We placed Elaine on the cellar floor, as comfortably as was
possible, and the policeman began his first-aid motions for
resuscitation.
"No--no," cried Kennedy, "Not here--take her up where the air is
fresher."
With his revolver still drawn to overawe the prisoner, the
policeman forced him to aid us in carrying her up the rickety
flight of cellar steps.
Pages:
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225