Part 30 (1/2)

”Oh!”

Gwyn's hands were dripping wet, and, as he tried to force his right into his pocket, he had a hard struggle, for it stuck to the lining, the strain of his position helping to resist its pa.s.sage. But at last he forced it in, to find to his horror that the knife was not in that pocket, and he had a terrible job to drag out his hand.

”Can't get at my knife,” he panted.

”All right; have mine,” was growled, and Hardock took out and opened his own. ”Here you are.”

The boy blindly lowered his hand for the knife, and not a whisper was heard in those critical moments. For every movement was scanned, and the Colonel was lying on his chest, straining his eyes, as he waited to give the order to haul up.

Gwyn gripped the knife, a sharp-pointed Spanish blade, and raised it, bending forward now, so as to look over Joe's shoulder to see where to cut.

His intention was to thrust the point in between the silken cord and the boy's wrists; but he found it impossible without having both hands, and there was nothing for it but to saw right down.

This he began to do just beneath the knots, hoping that the last part would yield before the knife could touch the boy's skin.

”Take care, my lad,” growled Hardock.

”Yes; I'm trying not to cut him,” panted Gwyn.

”Nay, I mean when you're through. Hold tight yourself.”

”Yes, I'll try.”

”Tell 'em to make the rope quite taut.”

”Haul and hold fast,” cried Gwyn.

”Right!” came promptly from above, and a heavy strain was felt.

”I--tied it--so tight,” muttered Gwyn, as he sawed away.

”Ay, and his weight. Steady, my lad, steady!”

”Hah! that's through,” cried Gwyn. ”Be ready to haul.”

”Right!” came from above.

”Shall I get lower?” said Hardock.

”Yes!--No! The other knot holds him,” panted Gwyn; and he had to begin cutting again; but this time he found that by laying the blade of the knife flat against the spell, he could force the point beneath the handkerchief. ”Now, steady, Sam,” he said, ”I'm going to have one big cut, and then hold on.”

”All right, my lad. I'll support you all I can, but you must hold tight.”

The strain on the rope was firm and steady, as Gwyn drew a deep breath, forced the knife point steadily through beneath the silk, raised the edge of the blade a little more and a little more, and then, in an agony of despair, just as he was about to give one bold thrust, he let go, and s.n.a.t.c.hed at the ladder side.

For all at once there was a sharp, sc.r.a.ping sound. The silk, which had been strained like a fiddle-string over a bridge, parted on the edge of the keen knife, and, as Joe's arms dropped quite nerveless and inert, down went the knife, and Gwyn felt that he was going after.

For in those brief moments he seemed to be falling fast.

But he was not moving; it was Joe being drawn upward, and the next minute Gwyn was clinging with his breast now on the spells of the ladder, against which he was being pressed, Hardock, with a rapid movement, having forced himself up so as to occupy the same position as Gwyn had so lately held with respect to Joe.