The
blue turned to orange--to scarlet--
"Careful! Right here in the hall, Holmes--"
The broken earth above him had somehow been changed to a high ceiling,
the chill darkness to blazing light and warmth.
"Ricky?" he asked.
"Here, Val." Her face was very close to his.
"You--are--all--right?"
"'Course!" But she was crying. "Don't try to talk, Val. You must be
quiet."
He heard someone moving toward them but he kept his eyes on Ricky's
face. "We did it!"
"Yes," she answered slowly, "we did it."
"Val, don't try to talk." Rupert's face showed above Ricky's hunched
shoulder. There was an odd, strained look about his mouth, a smear of
mud across his cheek. But the harsh tone of his voice struck his brother
as dumb as if he had slapped him.
"Sorry," Val shaped the words stiffly, "all my fault."
"Nothing's your fault," Ricky's indignant answer cut in. "But--but just
be quiet, Val, until the doctor comes."
He turned his head slowly. On the hearth-stone stood Charity talking
quietly to Holmes. Just within the circle of the firelight lay a bundle
which he had seen before. But of course, that was the thing they had
found in the passage, which Ricky had used to pound out their answer to
Rupert.
"Ricky--" Val always believed that it was some instinct out of the past
which forced that whisper out of him--"Ricky, open that package."
"Why--" she began, but then she got to her feet and went to the bundle,
twisting the tarred rope that fastened it in a vain attempt to undo the
intricate knots.
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