CHAPTER XLIII.

THE PASSING OF DAVID

Diana had heard the dread words without understanding them at first.

“By that time Mr. Holt will be dead!”

She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came. She had killed Larry! Her hand had pulled the lever which drowned him! That was the word Judd had used. Drowned him--but how? As the thought took more definite shape she swayed toward the doctor and gripped his shoulder for support. She would not faint, she told herself; she would not faint! There must be a way of saving Larry. She looked around for some weapon, but there was none; and then she grew calmer. They were madmen and must be humoured. But the time was short.

Again she assumed an attitude of attention, but her mind and eyes were busy, and as David Judd leaned forward she saw something that brought a thrill of hope to her heart. His jacket was open and showed just a glimpse of white shirt where his arm passed through the waistcoat, and against that strip of white was a sharp black line. She looked again and saw it was an automatic pistol, worn in a holster under the armpit. She remembered reading of desperadoes who carried their guns that way, so that they might be ready to hand; and possibly David had read, too.

He was in the midst of an impassioned love scene when her hand darted forward and closed over the butt. With a jerk she pulled it free and stepped back, overturning the little table on which her supper tray had been laid.

“If you move I’ll kill you,” she said breathlessly. “Open that door, and release him!”

The two men were on their feet, staring at her.

“You--you interrupted my reading,” cried David, in the tremulous voice of a hurt child. He did not seem to be conscious of any danger.

“Open the door,” she breathed, “and release Larry Holt, or I’ll kill you!”

David frowned and put his hand on the mantelpiece. She saw his fingers touch a button, and as the lights went out she fired.

The explosion deafened her. A second later his strong arms were around her and he had flung her into the chair and stood glaring down at her.

“You interrupted my reading,” he almost sobbed, and Dr. Judd, a frowning figure, looked anxiously from her to his brother. “And now,” said David petulantly, “I will not marry you.”

His big hand gripped the edge of her bodice and dragged her to her feet. His eyes were wet with tears, the tears of pride, of humiliation. Then, with the sudden caprice of a madman, he released her.

“He is dead now, I should think, brother,” he said, turning to the doctor, and Dr. Judd drew a sigh of relief and nodded.

“Yes, he is dead now,” he said. “The water rises at the rate of one foot in two minutes, I think.”

“One foot in a minute and fifty seconds,” said David.

“Spare him, for God’s sake!” cried the girl hoarsely. “I will give you anything--anything in the world you want! If it is money, you shall have it!”

“I think she ought to see him,” said David, ignoring her frenzied appeal.

“There is no light,” said the doctor, and shook his head.

“Of course not. How stupid of me! We always put the light out,” said David, whose fit of anger seemed to have passed. “Then the water comes up through the little holes at the bottom of the cell very, very quickly. It is pumped from the roof of the house. We have a large tank there, you know,” he went on, “and the person we drown cannot rise because of the weight of his feet. Once a man got on the bed--do you remember?”

“I remember,” said the doctor in a conversational tone. “We had to put nine feet of water into the cell before he died.”

She listened numbly. It was a nightmare, she told herself, and presently she would wake.

“And that takes a long time to pump out. It was very thoughtless of him. So much had to be done,” David continued, and his brother was looking at him for the first time anxiously.

“We had to dry the bed,” David went on, “and did you notice the chain was rusty, brother? That isn’t right. It is an eyesore to me.”

He turned and looked at Diana thoughtfully.

“My wife,” he said in a low voice, and there was a sudden fire in his eyes which terrified her. “My wife,” he said again, and caught her to him with a horrible animal cry that set her shrinking.

“_I want you, Judd!_”

He spun round. Someone had come into the room and was standing now with a pistol aimed straight at the man’s heart.

It was Larry Holt.