The latter stood shaking like an aspen, his face the color of chalk.
Apparently he took in and believed every word that Bart had spoken.
"I'm in a fix--a terrible fix!" he groaned. "This is
dreadful--dreadful!"
"Mend it, then!" cried Bart. "Quick! if you have one spark of sense or
manhood in you. There's a knife--cut this rope."
With quivering fingers Colonel Harrington took up from the desk the
office knife used for cutting string. It was keen-bladed as a razor.
Unsteady and bungling as was his stroke, he severed the rope partly, and
Bart burst his bonds free.
"Stay here," called out the young express agent sharply. "I hold you
responsible for this office till I return!"
He dashed outside like a rocket, scanned the whole roadway expanse, and
darted for the freight yards with the speed of the wind.
The electric arc lights were sparsely scattered, but there was
sufficient illumination for him to make out a fugitive figure just
crossing the broad roadway towards the freight tracks.
It was Lem Wacker. A train of empty box freights blocked his way. He
stooped, made a diving scurry under one of them, and was lost to view.
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