“If you really think we are in such danger,” declared Miss Dale, “we are wasting time!”
“We are NOT wasting time,” protested Ford; “we are really gaining time, for each minute Cuthbert and the police are drawing nearer, and to move about only invites a bullet. And, what is of more importance,” he went on quickly, as though to turn her mind from the mysterious pistol-shots, “should we get out of this alive, I shall already have said what under ordinary conditions I might not have found the courage to tell you in many months.” He waited as though hopeful of a reply, but Miss Dale remained silent. “They say,” continued Ford, “when a man is drowning his whole life passes in review. We are drowning, and yet I find I can see into the past no further than the last half-hour. I find life began only then, when I looked through the bars of that window and found YOU!”
With the palm of her hand the girl struck the floor sharply. “This is neither the time,” she exclaimed, “nor the place to----”
“I did not choose the place,” Ford pointed out. “It was forced upon me with a gun. But the TIME is excellent. At such a time one speaks only what is true.”
“You certainly have a strange sense of humor,” she said, “but when you are risking your life to help me, how can I be angry?”
“Of course you can't,” Ford agreed heartily; “you could not be so conventional.”
“But I AM conventional!” protested Miss Dale. “And I am not USED to having young men tell me they have 'come into my life to stay'--certainly not young men who come into my life by way of a trap-door, and without an introduction, without a name, without even a hat! It's absurd! It's not real! It's a nightmare!”
“The whole situation is absurd!” Ford declared. “Here we are in the heart of London, surrounded by telephones, taxicabs, police--at least, hope we are surrounded by police and yet we are crawling around the floor on our hands and knees dodging bullets. I wish it were a nightmare. But, as it's not”--he rose to his feet--“I think I'll try----”
He was interrupted by a sharp blow upon the door and the voice of Prothero.
“You, navy officer!” he panted. “Come to the door! Stand close to it so that I needn't shout. Come, quick!”
Ford made no answer. Motioning to Miss Dale to remain where she was, he ran noiselessly to the bed, and from beneath the mattress lifted one of the iron bars upon which it rested. Grasping it at one end, he swung the bar swiftly as a man tests the weight of a baseball bat. As a weapon it seemed to satisfy him, for he smiled. Then once more he placed himself with his back to the wall. “Do you hear me?” roared Prothero.