Max realized that Gianapolis was past aiding him; his
own resources were nearly exhausted, but, stooping, he managed to lift
the girl and to carry her out into the corridor.
"Follow me!" he gasped, glancing back at Gianapolis; "Morbleu, make an
effort! The keys--the keys!"
Laying Helen Cumberly upon one of the raised divans, with her head
resting upon a silken cushion, Max, teeth tightly clenched and
dreadfully conscious that his strength was failing him, waited for
Gianapolis. Out from the corridor the Greek came staggering, and Max now
perceived that he was bleeding profusely from a wound in the breast.
"She came back," whispered Gianapolis, clutching at the Frenchman for
support... "the hellcat!... I did not know... that... Miss Cumberly
was here. As God is my witness I did not know! But I followed...
HER--Mahara... thank God I did! She has finished me, I think, but"--he
lowered the crooked eyes to the form of Helen Cumberly--"never mind...
Saints!"
He reeled and sank upon his knees. He clutched at the edge of his
coat and raised it to his lips, wherefrom blood was gushing forth. Max
stooped eagerly, for as the Greek had collapsed upon the floor, he had
heard the rattle of keys.
"She had... the keys," whispered Gianapolis.
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