The friends had counted on both men entering the room together and
crossing as usual to the table. This change of plan disconcerted them.
Already the gaoler had set down his tray and was turning toward the
door. Alan, helpless, stood impotently in the shadow, biting his blond
mustache with helpless rage. In another second their cherished
opportunity would vanish. And, as the gaoler's next visit was to be to
Number Two, discovery stared them in the eyes.
It was Jack who broke the momentary spell of apathy. He was standing
at the far end of the cell, near the stream.
"Here!" he called sharply to the lantern-bearer, "bring your light. My
electric apparatus is out of order, and I've mislaid my matches. I
want to fix--"
The lantern-bearer, obediently, had advanced into the room. He was
half-way across it while Lamont was still speaking. Then, from the
corner of his eye, he spied Alan crouching in the angle behind the
door, now fully exposed to the rays of the lantern.
The man whirled about in alarm just as Alan sprang. In consequence the
Englishman's mighty fist whizzed past his head, missing it by a full
inch.
The gaoler, recovering from his amaze, whipped out one of the
revolvers he wore in his belt. But Jack, leaping forward, knocked it
from his hand before he could fire; and, with one hand clapped across
the fellow's bearded lips, wound his other arm about the stalwart body
so as to prevent for the instant the drawing of the second pistol.
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