"Let's go down the hill!" he said. "I'll see you in safety first."




CHAPTER XI

WITHOUT CONDITIONS


In the midst of a darkness that could be felt Fletcher Hill stood,
grimly motionless, waiting. He knew that strong-room, had likened it
to a condemned cell every time he had entered it, and with bitter humour
he told himself that he had put his own neck into the noose with a
vengeance this time.

Not often--if ever--before had he made the fatal mistake of trusting one
who was untrustworthy. He would not have dreamed of trusting Harley, for
instance. But for some reason he had chosen to repose his confidence in
Warden, and now it seemed that he was to pay the price of his rashness.
It was that fact that galled him far more than the danger with which he
was confronted. That he, Fletcher Hill--the Bloodhound--ever wary and
keen of scent, should have failed to detect a _ruse_ so transparent--this
inflicted a wound that his pride found it hard to sustain. Through his
lack of caution he had forfeited his own freedom, if not his life, and
exposed Dot to a risk from the thought of which even his iron nerve
shrank. He told himself repeatedly, with almost fierce emphasis, that Dot
would be safe, that Warden could not be such a hound as to fail her; but
deep within him there lurked a doubt which he would have given all he had