"I don't care a hang for _him_," returned Blagden brutally, "if only he's got what we want. We'd better be ready. They'll be after him."
More and more distinctly sounded the footfalls, and presently a dark figure became visible. Mills started from the bushes, but Blagden laid a restraining hand upon his arm. "Careful," he cautioned. "Let's be sure it's Stoat."
But in another moment it was evident that it was their accomplice. And evidently, too, he was either hurt, or spent with running, for they could distinguish his hurried, gasping breaths, and could see that he appeared to be advancing aimlessly, zigzagging from one side of the road to the other.
Blagden stepped forward, "Here," he called sharply, "this way." And at the sound of his voice Stoat turned and staggered toward them. He was in sore straits. His head swung back and forth like that of an athlete exhausted in a race, and keeping to his work only by a sheer effort of the will. At once, Blagden put his arm around him, and half drew, half carried him into the bushes, but at the contact the housebreaker could not keep back a groan. "They--got me," he whispered haltingly. "I'm all in. Guess--I'm going to croak."
As he uttered the words, Blagden suddenly felt his burden relax in his grasp, and picking the man up bodily, he retreated still further into the woods, and laid him down upon the ground. Then, examining him with the flashlight, he ripped open his coat and vest and saw that his shirt was stained with blood. "Here's a mess," he murmured, and made his way back to Mills. "Keep a good lookout," he directed, and returned to Stoat, who lay without sound or motion on his bed of leaves and moss.
"Done for," reflected Blagden. But it was not Stoat's condition that disturbed him; his mind was set wholly on the success or failure of his mission. And accordingly he stooped, ran his fingers quickly over the housebreaker's person, felt something in one of the pockets of his vest, and with fingers which trembled drew forth an old-fashioned watch which he felt instinctively could be no other than the one he sought. Without the loss of a second, he threw open the case, and hardly daring to look for fear of a crushing disappointment, beheld, to his delight, row after row of tiny figures, interspersed with arrows pointing up or down. Patient delving among Bellingham's papers had made him familiar with the theory of the symbols, and instantly he realized that here, as plain as print, lay the precious key to the whole vast mystery. And then, in a flash, it came over him how wonderfully Fate had played into their hands, and though every moment was of value, yet he felt certain, with the gambler's instinct, that he must take an added risk, and once again hastened back to Mills' side.