A DESPERATE CHANCE
For fully a minute Grenville was motionless, there in the gap,
surveying the treasure crypt.
The more his eyes became accustomed to the yellowish light and inky
shadows, the more extensive became his estimate of the wealth the cave
contained.
The symbols and trinkets of solid metal and glistening stones were
arranged not only on rudely-hewn shelves about the cavern's walls, but
likewise in several stone receptacles, like sarcophagi in miniature,
cut from the tufa of the island. It was partially because of this
feature of the hidden niche that Grenville concluded the property here
had once belonged to either Indian or African native chiefs and that
this was a mortuary house of guarded treasure.
There was, however, further confirmation of his theory. This was a
crude inscription on the wall above the shelves and caskets. It was
simply that same cartouch he had found on the map or parchment--once
part of a living being--with the figure of a mummy in the oval. On
either side of this the beetle or scarab was repeated.
The utter inutility of gold and gleaming jewels was momentarily
forgotten as Grenville stared in from the wall. The island, its
perils--everything save an underlying current of thought that wove
about Elaine--had ceased for the moment to impress his newly dazzled
senses. He withdrew his arm to plant his torch in the stones already
removed. Then lustily heaving out stone after stone, like some naked
god of the underworld, half revealed in the smoky glare, he began to
demolish the barrier so carefully erected in the cave.
He had torn down nearly half the bulk of this uncemented wall, filling
the larger cavern weirdly full of the crashing and thudding noises,
when one of the fragments, tossed unthinkingly behind him, bounded from
another rock and struck down his torch and its light.
Utter darkness instantly descended. He tried to grope his way quickly
forward, thinking the torch might be recovered and blown to a flame
again. But he stumbled, fell down upon his knees, and was bruised on
the stones about his feet. When he finally found the torch with his
hand, a rock lay squarely upon it; the last of its fire was gone.
Thoroughly disgusted with his carelessness, he stood undecidedly above
the unseen ruin he had wrought. To attempt further work of removing
the wall by the faint diffusion of light that entered from the outside
world, was out of the question. To enter the crypt before the aperture
could be considerably enlarged was equally impossible. Moreover, the
treasure was safe, as he presently admitted.
As a matter of fact, he began to realize at last how futile had been
his labor. He remembered, abruptly, where he was, the details of his
helpless situation. Except as something to show Elaine, or to load her
with as presents, the stuff in the cave was as worthless as so much
dross.
There was nothing to do but retreat as he had come. This he presently
did, reluctantly turning from the half-uncovered cavern and wading into
the pool.
Without his torch, and swimming towards the light, he was now enabled,
to some extent, to discern the limits of the cave. He could see a
portion of the ceiling and a bit of the wall on his left. Both were
featureless, to all appearances. The water's surface presented a more
extensive aspect with the light thus spread before him, but its farther
limits could not be descried, where its inkiness blended with the gloom.
When he came at length to the ledge that formed a natural dam across
the entrance, thereby impounding the water, he looked it over with
greater care than when he had first trod upon it, to determine where
would be the likeliest spot for a blast to break it down.
There could be no debate upon this subject. Over against the upright
wall, on the left-hand side looking out, the ledge not only narrowed
down, where a pot-hole pitted it deeply, but a tiny crevice extended so
nearly through the remaining substance that a trickle of water already
oozed downward towards the sea. The perpendicular wall here also was
broken, a number of fragments of exceptional size appearing so loose as
to threaten toppling over.
Grenville was leisurely in all this examination. He was either obliged
to permit his body to dry in the air or dress while dripping wet. Yet
at length he was once more clothed and ready to depart. He remained
for a moment, taking a final survey of the place and planning the
details of his blasting operations, then stooped and made his exit from
the place.
The brilliant light of outer day bewildered him momentarily. He stared
below, however, as if he felt he might be blind. The raft was not
where he had left it.
Hastily scrambling down the incline of the ledge, he promptly arrived
at its base. His view was limited, even then, to a segment of the
open, purple sea. But the worst of his fears was confirmed. The raft
had floated away. It was nowhere to be seen!
The tide had run out with amazing swiftness. Its level was such that
the ceaseless swells ran under his ledge, instead of up about it. The
creeper-cord, which he had utilized to moor his craft to the bowlders,
hung uselessly over the edge. It had parted at once when the ponderous
raft had been caught in the swirl of an eddy.
This eddy was running intermittently, as Grenville soon discovered.
Disgust with himself for his carelessness, and a vague disquiet
concerning his helpless situation, addressed his comprehension
together. He was bounded by huge overhanging walls and a water
abounding in sharks. If only by boat could the cavern be reached, then
only by boat----
He thought of his ladder, dangling in air where he had left it, and
believed for a second he could hook it in with his pole, still lying on
the rocks. But no sooner had he climbed a little up the ledge, to a
point from which the ladder could be seen, than he realized the folly
of his hope. It was twenty feet off at the least, and fully eight
above the water.
The fact that the tide was continuing to fall, that the raft had
doubtless departed the island forever, and that night might find him
here, a helpless prisoner, was no great motive for alarm. But
Grenville was not slow to realize that escape from his predicament
would be no more readily accomplished on the morrow than it could
to-day--that high tide and low tide were alike of no avail to return
him to the terrace and Elaine.
The thought of Elaine and the fears she must certainly experience, did
he fail to return that night, aroused a new impatience in his blood.
He could almost have made up his mind to slip overboard at once and
take his chances of swimming about the base of the wall, despite its
treacherous currents, had he not remembered the sharks.
"It's the ladder--or night," he murmured, paraphrasing Wellington's
utterance at Waterloo, somewhat grimly, and again he went down to the
edge of the shelf of rock left dripping by the tide.
"Elaine!" he called, with a lusty breath, yet without an accent of
distress. "Elaine! ... Elaine! ... Are you there?"
There was no response, save the swashing of the waves, which he knew
were constantly retreating, leaving the ladder yet more high above the
heaving surface.
Once more he shouted as before, perhaps a trifle louder. And again he
heard no reply. He began to fear the shelf of rock that projected out
above him might send the sound waves too far outwards, towards the sea,
for Elaine on the terrace to hear.
He had no alternative but to shout repeatedly. This he did, at regular
intervals, all the time striving to eliminate the slightest accent that
would rouse her sense of fear. It seemed, however, as if no sort of
cry could bring a response from the top. He moved to another position
at last and tried with a longer, shriller tone.
"Yes! Yes!" came a bright, clear call, at last. "Can you hear me now
any better?"
She had answered before, as he instantly knew, but her voice had been
snatched afar from the cliff by a circular current of wind.
"All right!" shouted Grenville, enormously relieved. "I'm down here
below and I'd rather return by the ladder. Can you hear me quite
distinctly?"
"Oh, yes!" cried Elaine, whose fears were vast, though she would not
betray them in her voice. "Do you want me to change it--or something?"
"A trifle, yes--as I'll direct you." He paused for a moment to make
his directions as clear and concise as possible. Then he shouted:
"First move a few of the rocks to a point as near the edge as possible
and about ten feet to the left of the present position.... Is that
clear?"
"Yes--very clear--quite clear---- And then?"
"Then lift off the others and remove the ladder--carefully. Mind it's
just a bit heavy."
He paused, and she cried: "Yes! I hear you!"
"Take the ladder at once to the rocks already placed and roll them on
its end, to hold it down."
"Then heap all the others upon it?" Her question came ringing down the
cliff.
"Yes--and as promptly---- But don't overtax your strength."
There was no reply to this final instruction. That the quickest of
action was highly essential, she had felt in the very air. She was
hotly, valiantly tugging at the rocks before his last words had died
upon the breeze.
He presently saw the ladder-end jerk about spasmodically and ascend for
perhaps a foot. Elaine had the weight of it in her hands--and her
strength was equal to the task!
He watched it, his heart wildly thrilling at the thought of her ready
wit and courage--her certain, sturdy helpfulness in every trying crisis.
With more wild gyrations about the ledge, the ladder-end now
disappeared. It was gone for a moment only, to return at a point more
directly above his head. Here it halted, moved about uncertainly, then
lowered jerkily downward, to dangle at last with its last rung all but
on the water, some eight or ten feet away. He knew that its upper end
was lightly anchored and would soon be firmly held in place.
He caught up his pole, with the hook at its end, to fish the ladder
inward. But, fearing that any untimely tug might fetch it all doubling
down the cliff, he instantly halted the maneuver and compelled himself
to wait.
Five minutes went by--five ages for slowness of movement. He was
certain by then Elaine had made the end too secure to be readily
dislodged. He stepped to the outermost edge of the shelf, with the
pole horizontally extended.
It was short by perhaps six inches. Strain as he would, he could not
reach either one of the rungs or supports. A light puff of wind then
bent it slightly inward, and he fished out wildly, in the hope the
discrepancy thus amended might be wholly overcome.
But his hook still prodded the empty air, while the zephyrs that played
with the dangling thing seemed solely bent on his torture. The sweat
oozed out on his temples, for the straining made him warm. A sense of
disappointment amounting almost to despair attacked him for a moment.
"I shall leap out and swim!" he told himself, at last. "I'll not
remain here for the night!"
He returned to the point from which Elaine had finally been heard.
She did not immediately answer when he called as he had before. When
her voice came down, he was certain her breath was broken.
"I've--carried the last rock--over--and one or two--extra, besides."
"Right ho!" responded Grenville, cheerfully. "You might stand away
while I test it."
He knew that a sudden throwing of his weight upon the ladder might
suffice to fetch it down. He could not be sure that, with all her
ready helpfulness and promptness, Elaine had so heaped the rocks above
as to make the thing secure.
"I can always get back here for the night," he murmured to himself, as
he scanned the swirl below. "And when it calms down from that bally
twist----"
The whirlpool was even then subsiding, in its intermittent way. He
quickly ascended the sloping ledge, the better to run and leap far
outward. His pole he dropped upon the rocks as he hung there poised
for his plunge. His eyes were keenly fixed on the tide.
The waters became quiescent. Swiftly Grenville darted down the ledge,
leaping well out, towards the end of the ladder. He was fairly in
midair when his gaze was directed to a dark form loafing in the depths.
Before he struck, by some quick flirt the huge form rose, coming
inward, and a black fin cut through the waves.