He looked at McHugh for an instant, then turned toward the auto. Hargrove was getting up from the road on the other side. Catlin sprang into the seat, started the engine, drove the machine around the bend in the road and on toward La Jolla, past the old fort that had looked down on many sights such as this night had brought forth.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Your friend—I’m sorry,” said Myra Randolph.
CHAPTER VIII.
IN THE PIGEON’S BREAST.
Catlin and his pretty companion were on the straight road beyond Old Town, and behind them were the headlights of a pursuing automobile. It had not taken Hargrove long to get McHugh in the rear of his car and take up the pursuit. He had been getting up when the machine drove away, and now, still weak and dazed, he was driving like a maniac, the car swerving from side to side of the road, while McHugh, in the rear, held his head in his hands and tried to come back to the full consciousness of what was happening.
Catlin’s blood was up now. He gave all his attention to the driving of the car, took curves at a fearful rate of speed, watched the flying road in the path of light.
Myra bent over the back of the seat and screeched in, his ear: “Straight ahead; cross the car tracks and follow the road!” she cried.
The house she wanted to reach was a pretentious mansion north of La Jolla, setting back on the hill, surrounded by a garden. Victory seemed in her grasp now, thanks to Roger Catlin. She clutched at the iron pigeon beneath her coat. She touched a hidden spring, and felt the pigeon’s breast fly open. In an instant she had taken the iron image from beneath her cloak, and from the breast of it took a small object. She put the object in her pocket, and closed the pigeon’s breast again.
They crossed the railroad tracks, the car bounding high as it struck them, and drove along on a smooth, oiled road, flying between lines of trees and rows of pretty bungalows. They skirted the edge of the park on the cliffs above the sea. They were in La Jolla, the famous seaside resort, the village of millionaires, with its noted marine garden and sea caves.
Behind them Hargrove followed, not reducing the speed of his car. And now Catlin gave an exclamation in earnest. The ruse he had worked at Old Town became reality now. The engine gasped, missed, was still. The car lost momentum, and he applied the brakes. “No joke this time!” he cried, springing out. “Quick, Miss Randolph! I pulled to the side of the road, and Hargrove won’t crash into it! We can’t stop to investigate.”
She sprang out, and he grasped her hand. Hargrove had made the last turning, and they could see the headlight of his car again. There was but one thing to do—abandon the car and flee. And there was but one place to flee—to the tiny park along the ocean.
They sprang across the road, hand in hand, and dashed to the welcome shadow of a row of palms. They ran swiftly along the gravel walk. “Straight to the cliffs,” the girl gasped. “We’ll jump down and follow the water line; the tide is out.”
They heard Hargrove’s cry as he dashed past their stalled car. They heard the brakes shriek as he stopped, and his voice and McHugh’s when they ran back to the car and found their quarry gone.
They had reached the end of the row of palms, and found it necessary to cross open ground bathed in moonlight. As they ran they heard Hargrove shouting behind them, and knew that they had been seen. It was a question of foot-racing now.
At the edge of the cliff they found a trail to the beach. Catlin sprang forward and helped the girl down. They reached the hard sand above the water line, turned and ran. Here the always working sea had burrowed into the hillside. They ran under the ledge thus formed, in the darkness. They knew that Hargrove and McHugh had reached the edge of the cliff and were speculating on which way the fugitives had gone. Catlin wasn’t anxious to have them come up. He had had a hard enough time winning before, when McHugh hung back, and this time McHugh would not hang back—he’d rush with Hargrove!
“Wait!” Myra said; and Catlin stopped. “Quick, before they come! I opened the pigeon and took this out. You take it. You have struck your friend in my cause, and I can trust you now. You don’t know how much depends on it! I’ll keep the pigeon. If they catch us, I’ll drop it. It might serve to stop them.”
“They’ll not catch us—now!” said Catlin. He held in his hand an ebony handle three inches long, and on the end of it was a seal. This was the cause of the night’s adventures. Roger Catlin had suspected—now he knew! “Come!” he whispered; and took her hand, and they ran on.
They heard footsteps behind them, and knew that Hargrove and McHugh were on the right track. Catlin half lifted the girl along as he ran. “We’ve got to get up,” he said.
“We can’t—here. They’ll catch us, sure!”
“They’ll not! Courage!”
Glancing back, he saw Hargrove less than a hundred yards away, and McHugh close behind him. He tried to run faster. They were in the shadow again. They had passed the biological laboratory. Now they were on the shore of a small cove, but beyond this the cliffs ran down into the sea, and there was no way to escape. There were steps leading up to the street and the hotel, steps used by bathers who enjoy the water of the cove. But to ascend the steps would be to run into the arms of one of their pursuers. They could hear Hargrove shrieking for McHugh to run past the laboratory and head them off at the steps, while he came on, following them.
“We’re caught!” gasped Catlin. “We’ll have to fight for it again!”
“No—no! You’re too tired—there are two of them. I’ve just thought—the sea caves!”
“What?”
“Come—come!”
He followed her along the shore. He never had heard of La Jolla’s famous sea caves. At low tide guides take visitors back in them, and there are wonders to be seen there. Myra Randolph had been in them a score of times. She came to the mouth of the cave, took Catlin by the hand, and they entered. It was dark, and wet. He walked as she indicated, trying to make as little noise as possible. On and on they went in the dense darkness. Now and then they splashed in tiny pools, and always water dripped upon them from the roof. Once they heard Hargrove shouting for McHugh, then heard him no more.
“He’ll probably never think of the caves,” Myra said. “If he does, and comes in, we’ll outwit him. I know every foot of them, and. I’ll venture to say he does not. Watch out! Don’t stumble! We must climb a little here.” They went up for quite a distance, then came to another gallery and followed that. Catlin was trusting to the girl’s knowledge. He could see nothing, had lost all sense of direction, could hear nothing but the dripping of water. “We are at a place now where we can go either way,” she told him, as they stopped. “If they enter the cave, we can hear which way they come and go in the opposite direction. If they have a light—”
“They’d scarcely dare venture in here without a light, if they thought we’d be waiting for them,” Catlin said. “In such a case I could spring upon them without warning, and they know it.”
“I don’t think they’ll come,” she said. “They’ll think we dodged up the bank by the laboratory. We’ll wait a few minutes, then go to the entrance.”
“You’ll be cold,” he said, “after your run. You’d better have my coat on.” He had taken it from the car when they left it, and had been carrying it on his arm. Now he put it over her shoulders.
“You keep it, please—you’ll need it!” she said.
“I can do without better than you.” Their hands touched as he adjusted the coat, and for a moment he held hers. “It has been a wonderful night,” he said. “It isn’t more than two o’clock, and think what has happened since ten.”
“I dare say that when you went to the masquerade at the Hotel del Coronado, you scarcely expected all this.”
“I confess I did not—but I’m not sorry.”
“After it is all over, we must be properly introduce
d.”
“We must, indeed!” he agreed. And to himself he was wondering: “Suppose, after all my experiences in all the civilized countries of the world, I have met the girl here in San Diego!”
“I think we might make our way back slowly to the entrance now,” she said.
“We’ll be careful not to make any noise. I must get to the house before daybreak.”
“Before daybreak,” he echoed; and she never wondered why.
They started back along the gallery, walking slowly, she leading him by the hand. They came to the top of the slope, and started to descend. Halfway to the bottom the girl’s feet splashed in water. “That’s peculiar,” she said, more to herself than to him. They went on—the water deepened. Then she turned to him in terror.
“Hurry—oh, hurry!” she gasped.
“What is it?”
“The tide—”
“Well?”
“It is coming in. It was turning when we reached the shore, and I forgot to think of that! We’ll be caught—drowned like rats!”
Her terror communicated itself to him. “Explain—quickly!” he said breathlessly.
“This pit is deeper. It fills as the tide begins to wash in. We may have to swim across it in the dark. And then—then we must reach the entrance before the tide fills it—”
He realized at once what she meant. He grasped her hand, again, and side by side they plunged forward through the flood. The cave was echoing the roaring of the breakers now. The water reached their knees—their waists.
“Swim—straight ahead,” she cried.
They struck out, side by side, following either wall of the cave. Now and then their heads almost touched the roof. He called to her and she answered, and he knew that she was keeping pace with him. “Now—stand!” she commanded.
The water was at his waist again, but they had reached the level of the cave that ran to the entrance. Again their hands were clasped and they plunged forward through the water in the darkness. Now and then a wave rolled in and broke over them. The water was entering rapidly. Inch by inch it crept up on them.
“How much longer?” he cried.
“A hundred feet, or more, to go,” she answered.
“We’ll make it!”
“I don’t—know!”
“We shall make it! You haven’t won against every obstacle tonight to lose now. Courage!”
“Yes—I’ll have courage!”
No wonder she was frightened, he thought; he was frightened himself. The surging water, the pitch blackness of the dark, the hollow echoes in the cave, the uncertainty of getting out alive was enough to frighten them. They plunged on, but could see no light. The water was deeper—it was across his breast—it was up to her chin. He put his arm around her, and tried to lift her as they fought against the tide that tried to sweep them back.
He thought he heard her moan once, and told her again to have courage. And then, far ahead, he saw moonlight. He bade her look, and she cried out with gladness when she saw it. But they had not won yet. The tide was its strongest now. Between the surface of the water and the roof of the cave was a space of less than four feet.
“Swim!” he commanded.
They began swimming; there was just room enough for them to swim side by side. Catlin fought against the strength of the water, and at the same time tried to help the girl. He knew her strength was going, for his own was. Once the water swept them back, but slowly they gained again toward the bright moonlight. Often the water choked them; often they struck their heads against the roof when the waves rolled in.
“Just a few more—feet,” Catlin gasped.
With one last effort—an effort that took his remaining strength—they swept from the cave out into the cove. The running water caught them and almost hurled them back. One arm about the girl, Catlin clutched a point of rock with his other hand, and held on grimly, sinking his teeth in his lower lip, gasping for breath.
The wave broke at the mouth of the cave, the water fell back. Before the next wave came, Catlin, holding Myra Randolph with one arm, crossed before the cave’s mouth and made for the steps that led to the street level. He reached them—and there they both collapsed.
CHAPTER IX.
FROM THE SHADOWS.
“Little girl! Little girl!” Catlin whispered the words, on his knees beside her, watching for her eyes to open. And presently they did, and she looked up at him. “We’re all right now,” he said.
“Thanks—thanks to you!”
“Thanks to your own pluck,” he told her.
She tried to sit up, and he helped her, and after a few minutes she was able to stand. Then she turned toward him, half afraid to ask the question that was on her lips. Finally: “You didn’t lose it?” she asked.
He felt in his pocket quickly. He had forgotten what she had given him, the cause of all the night’s adventures. “I still have it,” he said, smiling.
“It’s fortunate we took it out of the pigeon. I lost the pigeon, and my revolver—and my cloak.”
“It is fortunate you didn’t lose your life. And now—”
“We must go on,” she replied. “But we must still be on our guard.”
He led her slowly up the steps. There was no one in sight. They crossed the road and walked rapidly along the walk on the other side, in the shadow of the trees. Exhausted as he was, Catlin felt prepared for trouble. He had passed through too much, he felt, to be conquered now. Myra was clinging to his arm. Catlin knew she would collapse again as soon as they were safe. Before crossing the next street, they stopped in the shadows and looked in both directions. Nobody was to be seen.
“They haven’t given up—don’t think they have,” the girl whispered. “They have too much at stake. We are not done with them yet.”
“I think there is still one fight left in me,” Catlin answered, trying to smile. He knew that the fight would have to be a short one if he won it. “How far is it?”
“Two blocks this way, then we turn to the right and go up the hill a block and a half. There are no trees there, nor houses, and the moonlight is bright.”
“I understand. That is where they may see us.”
“Yes. And the house is in the midst of a garden. The walk to it is bordered with trees. It is almost solid shadow there.”
“Where our foes may be waiting?”
“Yes,” she said.
“There is no other way?”
“We could go around and approach from the back. But that would take an hour, and they’ll be expecting it since we haven’t shown up for so long. In the end it would be the same, for we’d be seen at the back. For a hundred yards, there, there’s not a tree.”
“Straight forward, then, and trust to luck,” said Catlin.
“Hargrove and McHugh may be there,” she told him, “and one other man.”
“And in the house—” he asked.
“Are men who will come to our rescue if they hear us call. I hope we are not conquered before we can make them hear. It is quite a distance from the gate to the house.”
“But aren’t the men in the house expecting your arrival?” he asked. “Won’t they be watching?”
“I can’t tell that—they may. Oh, if you understood!”
He said nothing more, but took her arm and hurried her across the street and along the walk beneath the trees. For once in his life he regretted moonlight. They covered the two blocks and came to the corner where they had to turn. Catlin stopped there, and the girl crouched behind him while he peered around the corner. Nobody was in sight. A block and a half away he could see the house dark against the sky and the trees surrounding it; and from the corner to the house there was not a bit of shadow.
Myra watched as Catlin rolled up his shirt sleeves. In the bright moonlight she s
aw the look that came into his face, and thanked heaven for such a champion; she knew that he would fight as long as he could stand. If fortune favored them, they might win yet.
Then Catlin squared his shoulders, took her by the hand, and walked swiftly through the moonlight toward the enemies lurking in the dark garden. They did not speak as they covered the first block. But when they started on that last half block, the girl broke the silence. “If—if they attack you, I’ll cry for help,” she said. “I’ll try to make those in the house hear. They may be watching—if Scott got loose and was able to reach a telephone.”
“I hope he did,” said Catlin.
They hurried on across that stretch of moonlight. They reached the gate, and Myra unlatched it. The walk ran straight to the front door of the house, and they could see there was a light in the front hall.
Catlin stepped into the edge of the nearest shadow and pulled the girl to him. “You start, and run as fast as you can,” he whispered. “I’ll be watching. We’ll draw their fire that way, and they’ll reveal where they are hidden: They’ll think, of course, that you have the—what you gave me.”
“And you—”
“Leave the rest to me,” he said. “You can trust me.”
“I know I can.” She clasped his hand, turned, and was gone. He heard her feet beating the cement walk, caught a glimpse of the yellow in her costume. And then men crashed through the underbrush to get at her, as he had thought they would. “Help! Help!” he heard her scream.
Catlin sprang from the walk and ran forward, over the soft ground. There were three men—McHugh, Hargrove, and another. Catlin was upon them like a whirlwind. He realized that it would have to be done quickly. He noticed, as he rushed in, that the front door had been thrown open, that a streak of light struck the walk, that men were coming.
He crashed into Hargrove like a thunderbolt, and with one blow drove him back. McHugh was next, but McHugh did not fall; he reeled backward, gathered himself together, and rushed in again. Another man dashed from the trees and took care of McHugh. Catlin whirled to meet the third one of the party—and met a crashing blow that sent him backward. The girl’s glad cry, a bedlam of voices, imprecations—that much he heard, then knew no more.
The Adventure Novella MEGAPACK® Page 9
