Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 25, No. 2, August 13, 1927

And with that she hurried toward the door.

“One question, Sonia,” I begged. “This fellow in the prison. Are you — in love — with him?”

She paused and gave me a hard look from her deep eyes. Then she smiled demurely.

“Yes,” she said simply. “I love him very much.”

Chapter X Two Coups in One

Midnight. The full moon, riding high in a cloudless sky, cast its yellow light into my prison and threw grotesque shadows upon the bare walls. For the twentieth time that night I left my bunk and stole to the door and tried to open it. This time it moved silently outward. Sonia had kept her promise.

I stepped out into the hallway and felt my way slowly down the stairs. I hoped to get out of the place without being noticed, but if Blake came upon me, I told myself that he would get the surprise of his life. I was far from the helpless man he had encountered that morning. My head was clear, my eyes were bright, and my brain was alert.

Opening the door that looked upon the courtyard I peered out cautiously. There was no one in sight. This Blake was a confident fellow. I found myself admiring the cool bravado of the man. Apparently he did not deem it worth while to have a watchman upon his river castle.

I crossed the yard quickly, gained the welcome shadow of the smaller building, and began to work my way around it toward the river where I hoped to find a boat. I had taken a few steps when I was halted by a low moan that came from within the building. A moment later the heavy silence of the island was broken by the most peculiar wailing cry that has ever struck my ears. I stood motionless, cold chills running down my spine.

It is not easy for me to describe that awful shriek. It was not the cry of a person in physical pain, but rather the agonized, sobbing wail of some one suffering great mental anguish. Whether it was man or woman I could not tell.

I stood stock-still and waited. Once more the cry arose from within the building and this time it ended in a long-drawn note of despair. This was followed by a weird rattling of chains. I hesitated, not knowing what to do next. The words of the girl in the green dress came back to me:

“Don’t go near that building!”

In the uppermost story of the mill a light flashed on and I saw the shadows of two figures upon the drawn window shade. They were probably coming to investigate. It was high time for me to be off. I slid around the corner of the building and took to my heels, scuttling into a dense clump of bushes that lined the crooked path to the river.

I soon came to the wharf, a small but substantial affair which had the look of having been recently constructed. Three rowboats were swinging in the current at its lower end and I had just indulged in a smile at the ease with which my escape had been managed when my ear caught the sound of heavy footsteps and a man hove into view. He came upon the wharf and began to stamp to and fro, singing all the while in a deep, robust voice:

“And when I die, don’t bury me at all,
Just pickle my bones in alcohol.”

I smiled again. Here was real luck. The singer of ribald songs was the huge youth who had ransacked my room. I had a score to settle with him.

Looking hastily about me I seized a stout piece of wood that was on the ground and balanced it in my hand. It would do very nicely, I told myself, as I moved toward the singing sentry. When I came to the edge of the wharf I flattened myself close to the timbers and waited until he had walked within a few feet of me and had turned back; then I hopped from my hiding place and followed him stealthily.

As he swung about again he faced me, eyes wide, mouth agape. For an instant we stood there; then his big hand went toward his belt, but he was far too late. I laughed as I brought the club down upon his head, and the force of the blow pitched him from his feet and sent him sprawling upon the boards. In the next few moments I did some fast work.

I loaded the big young man into one of the boats, after separating him from a wicked-looking pistol, cut the other two boats adrift and then shoved out into the river, pulling at the oars with all my strength. The current was strong and I was carried downstream with every stroke, but I did not mind. I could always walk back.

In the bottom of the boat my guest stirred and blinked at me from glassy eyes.

“What the hell?” he mumbled. “Put me back on land before I break you into nine pieces.”

I laughed in his face.

“You wanted more of my company,” said I. “Well, you’ve got it. Now roll back in that boat and shut up or I’ll shoot you with your own pistol and drop your damned carcass overboard.”

He passed a hand over his head. It came away covered with blood, and he let his fingers trail idly in the water.

“Blake will have me by the ears for this,” he groaned. “The fool. Why didn’t he keep a better watch on you?”

“What do you want me to do?” I growled. “Weep crocodile tears for you.”