Her laugh was not the same, nor the expression of her lips; she was like a counterfeit beside a good coin.  It was easy to conceive how others might be deceived by her tricks of resemblance—­servants, ordinary friends, even the old lawyer in charge of the estate—­but it was inexcusable for him to have thus become a plaything.  Yet he had, and now the mistake was too late to mend.  He had left Natalie alone on the cliff, and then blindly permitted this chit to lead him straight into Hobart’s set trap.  Angered beyond control at the memory, West swore, straining fiercely in the vain endeavour to release his arms.  Then, realizing his utter helplessness, he sank back on the floor, and lay still.

What was that?  He listened, for an instant doubtful if he had really heard anything.  Then he actually heard a sound.  He doubted no longer, yet made no effort to move, even holding his breath in suspense.  There was movement of some kind back there—­a cautious movement; seemingly the slow advance of something across the floor, a dog perhaps.  West’s heart throbbed with apprehension; suppose it was a dog, he had no means of protection from the brute.  Cold sweat tingled on his flesh; there was nothing he could do, no place where he could go.  The thing was moving nearer; yet surely it could not be a dog; no dog would ever creep like that.  He could bear the strain no longer; it was beyond endurance.

“What’s moving back there?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

There was a moment of utter silence; then, a man’s voice said in low, cautious tone.

“The fellow ain’t dead, Mac; anyhow he seems able to talk yet.”

“All right, we’ll find out what he’s got to say—­go on along.”

West sat up, his heart bounding with sudden remembrance.

“My God!  McAdams is that you?”

“You have the name—­who’s speaking?”

“Matt West.  Good God, but this is like a miracle.  I’d played my last card.  Come here, one of you, and cut these strings.  I cannot even move, or stand up.  Is it really you, Mac?  Yes, yes, I am all right; they bruised me up a bit, of course, but that is nothing.  Now I have a chance to pay them out.  But who are with you? and how did you come to be here?”

McAdams ran his knife blade through the lashings, feeling for them in the dark.  Neither could see the other, but West realized that another man had crept up on the opposite side of him, and crouched there silently in the blackness.

“Need any help, Mac?” the latter questioned in a whisper.

“No, I’ve got him cut loose.  This is the lad I told you about, Carlyn.  You go on back, and, as soon as West gets limbered up a bit, and I hear his story, we join you out there.  Then we’ll know how the ground lies.”

The fellow crept away unseen, and McAdams gripped West’s hand.

“Say, but this is mighty good luck, old boy,” he blurted out.  “I was afraid you’d gone down in that yacht last night.”