"Could we get a rope and go down?" she asked, striving to master her voice.
"I'll git sum men from the village to "avea look," he promised. "Ain't nothink we can do fer 'im fee isdahn there 'e'd uv gorn howers ago...."
She leaned weakly against the wall, eyes closed and the tears starring on her cheeks, while Orace tried in his rough but kindly manner to console her. She hardly heard a word he said.
The Saint gone? A terrifying emptiness ached her heart. It was horrible to think of. Could a man like him be meant for such an end to die alone in the unanswering darkness, drowned like a rat? He would have kept afloat for a long time, but if he had been alive and down there then he would have shouted back to them. Perhaps he had struck his head in the fall....
And then, slowly, a change came over her.
There was still that hurtful lump in her throat, and the dead numbness of her heart, but she was no longer trembling. Instead, she found herself cold and quiet. The darkness was speckled with dancing, dizzy splashes of red,...
This was the Tiger's doing he was the man who had sent Simon Templar to his death. And, with a bitter, dead, icy certainty, Patricia Holm knew that she would never-rest until she had found the Tiger....
"Come along. Miss Patricia," pleaded Orace. "It ain't so bad we don't know 'e ever went dahn. Lemme tyke yer back, anjer can lie on the bed while I go explorin'; an' as soon's ever I 'ears any-think I'll come an' tell ya."
."No.":
She snapped out the word in a voice that was as clear and strong as a tocsin.
"There ain't nothink "
"There is," said Patricia. Her hands closed fiercely on Grace's shoulders. "There is. We've got to go on with the job. It's up to us. It's what he'd have wished he wouldn't have had any patience with our going to weep in our corner and chuck in the towel and let the Tiger get away. If the Saint gave his life to get the Tiger, we can't waste the sacrifice. Orace," she said, "will you carry on with me?
He only hesitated a moment; then she heard him suck in his breath.
"Yes, Miss Patricia," said Orace. "I guess yer right we carn't let the Tiger get aw'y wiv it, an' we carn't let Mr. Templar 'ave gorn under fer nuffin. An' fee's gorn, I guess yer must in'erit Orace, miss. I'm on." He paused. "But 'adn't we better get 'old uv Dr. Carn, miss? 'E's a detective, really, Mr. Templar tole me, and 'e's after the Tiger,"
"I suppose so. ... We must hurry!"
They passed through the village, and Patricia set off up the hill at a raking pace, with Orace toiling gamely along just behind.
Carn's cottage was in darkness, and the girl fairly flew to the front door and tugged at the bell furiously. She kept it up for a full minute, but no one answered, though they could hear the metallic clamour reverberating through the house.
"He's away," she said flatly.
The man could see her white face and compressed lips. .
"I remember," he said. " 'E kyme up this afternoon ter warn me an' Mr. Templar that the Tiger was meanin' ter do us in to-night. An' I sore 'im drivin' orf along the Ilfracombe road in the farmer's trap, me eyes bein' rather good.... Carn's fahndart somefing. Wod did 'e wanter go ter Ilfracombe for?"
"If he has found out anything," said the girl swiftly, "he probably went off to call in some reenforcements. Perhaps he found out about the ship coming in tonight. And in that case he'll be back soon."
"Mos' likely," agreed Orace cautiously. "But yer carn't bet on it, yer know."
She bit her lip.
"That's true. We've got to make our arrangements and leave him out. If he arrives, so much the better, I don't know," said Patricia slowly, "that I wouldn't rather find the Tiger before Carn does."
Orace, that simple soul, was amazed at the concentrated savageness of her low, even voice. Women, in his philosophy, did not behave like this. But Patricia had the gift of leadership, and he had ceased to question her authority. He made no comment.
"We must watt till they come in for the gold," she said. "We might as well go back to the Pill Box and have dinner. We shall want all our strength."
Of a sudden the girl had become a remorseless fighting machine. She had fallen into her part as if she had been born and trained for no other purpose. It was not so much that the role fitted her as that she was able to adapt herself to the role. She ruthlessly suppressed her grief, finding that the rush of action took her mind off the awful thought of Simon's fate. She allowed place in her brain for no other thought than that of trapping the Tiger and squaring up the account, and she concentrated on the task with every atom of force she could muster.
A sense of the unreality of the whole affair possessed her, drying up tears and crushing out sentiment. Her world was reeling and racing about her the landmarks were hopelessly lost but she felt herself poised above the chaos, remote and stable. The sword in her hand wielded her. She was going on with the job. The fight was going to be battled out to the last second, with the last ounce of vital energy in her body; for the time, she seemed to be beyond human limitations. When it was all over and settled one way or the other, the tension would snap and she would hurtle down into black abysses of terror and despair; but while the war was still to be waged she knew that hers was a strength greater than herself knew that she could stand on the brink of the chasm in the blinding light and fight tirelessly on to the death.
She said, in that new, cotd, dispassionate voice:
"We shall want help the odds are too great against two of us. I'll get Mr. Lomas-Coper. He's the only man here I could trust."
" Im?"spat the disgusted Orace. "That thunderin' jelly bag?"
"I know he's not such an ass as he pretends to be," said Patricia. "He'll weigh in all right."
They were nearing Bloem's house at that moment, and a lean dark figure loomed startlingly out of the shadow of the hedge. A pencil of luminance leaped from Orace's torch and picked up the pleasantly vacuous face of Algy himself.
"Is that you, Pat?" he said. "I thought I recognized your voice."
He was surprised at the firmness with which she grasped the limp paw he extended.
"I was just looking for you," she said crisply. "Come over to the Pill Box. We're going to have some dinner and hold a council of war."
"W-w-what?" stammered Algy.
"Don't waste time. I'll tell you when we get there."
There was so much crisp command in her tone that he fell in beside them obediently.
"But, dear old peach," he protested weakly. "There's no comic old war on, don't you know! Is it a joke? I'll buy it. Never say Algy isn't a sportsman, old darling."
"There's nothing very funny about it," she said, and something deadly about her obvious seriousness made him hold his peace for the rest of the journey.
In the Pill Box, she sat down at once to the food Orace provided, though Algy excused himself. He had already dined, and as a matter of fact, he explained, he had been on his way to visit her at the Manor.
While she ate she talked in curt, cold sentences which held even the fatuous Algy intent. She told him the whole story from beginning to end, and his jaw sagged lower and lower as the recital proceeded. And when it was finished she looked anxiously at him, wondering whether he would say something foolish and soothing about the heat of the day and the probability that she would feel better in the morning or, if he believed her, whether he would show up yellow.
She was satisfied to find that her estimate had been correct. While she looked, he closed his mouth with a snap, and the tightening of his mouth lent a new strength to his face. His eyes were gazing steadily back at her, and there was a steady soberness in them which transformed him.
"Just like a shilling shocker what?" Said Algy quietly, but there was not much flippancy in his voice.