She heard Warden swing round again in his tracks, but before she could turn he had caught her and flung her backwards over his arm.  With his other hand simultaneously he dealt Hill a blow in the back that sent him blundering down into the darkness, and then, with lightning rapidity, he banged the door upon his captive.  The lock sprang with the impact, but he was not content with this.  Still holding her, he dragged at a rough handle above his head and by main strength forced down an iron shutter over the locked door.

Then, breathing hard and speaking no word, he lifted her till she hung across his shoulder, and started to run.  She had not uttered a sound, so stunned with amazement was she, so bereft of even the power to think.  Her position was one of utter helplessness.  He held her with one arm as easily as if she had been a baby.  And she knew that in his free hand he carried his revolver.

In her bewilderment she had not the faintest idea as to the direction he took.  She only knew that he ran like a hunted rat down many passages, turning now this way, now that, till at last he plunged down an unseen stairway and the sound of gurgling water reached her ears.

He slackened his pace then, and at last stood still.  He did not alter his hold upon her, however, but stood listening intently for many seconds.  She hung impotent across his shoulder, feeling still too paralyzed to move.

He turned his head at last and spoke to her.  “Have I terrified the senses out of you, little new chum?” he whispered, softly.

That awoke her from her passivity.  She made her first effort for freedom.

He drew her down into his arms and held her close.

“Right down,” she said, insistently.

But he held her still.  “If I let you go, you’ll wander maybe, and get lost,” he said.

His action surprised her, but yet that instinctive trust with which he had inspired her long ago remained, refusing to be shaken.

“Put me right down!” she said again.  “And tell me why you did it!”

He set her on her feet, but he still held her.  “Can’t you guess?” he said.

“No!” she said.  “No!”

She spoke a little wildly.  Was it the first doubt that ran shadow—­like across her brain, leaving her so strangely cold?  She wished it had not been so dark, that she might see his face.  “Tell me!” she said again.

But he did not tell her.  “Don’t be afraid!” was all he said in answer.  “You are—­safe enough.”

“But—­but—­Fletcher?” she questioned, desperately.  “What of him?”

“He’s safe too—­for the present.”  There was something of grimness in his reply.  “He doesn’t matter so much.  He’s been asking for trouble all along—­but he had no right—­no right whatever—­to bring you into it.  It’s you that matters.”

A curious, vibrant quality had crept into his voice, and an answering tremor went through her; but she controlled it swiftly.