In a moment Cornish and Roden were at the edge, peering into the
darkness. Cornish gave a breathless laugh.
"We shall have to fish him out," he said.
And he knelt down, ready to give a hand to Von Holzen. But the water,
smooth again now, was not stirred by so much as a ripple.
"Suppose he can swim?" muttered Roden, uneasily.
And they waited in a breathless silence. There was something horrifying
in the single splash, and then the stillness.
"Gad!" whispered Cornish. "Where is he?"
Roden struck a match, and held it inside his hat so as to form a sort
of lantern, though the air was still enough. Cornish did the same, and
they held the lights out over the water, throwing the feeble rays right
across the canal.
"He cannot have swum away," he said. "Von Holzen," he cried out
cautiously, after another pause--"Von Holzen--where are you?"
But there was no answer.
The surface of the canal was quite still and glassy in those parts that
were not covered by the close-lying duck-weed. The water crept
stealthily, slimily, towards the sea.
The two men held their breath and waited. Cornish was kneeling at the
edge of the water, peering over.
"Where is he?" he repeated. "Gad! Roden, where is he?"
And Roden, in a hoarse voice, answered at length "He is in the mud at
the bottom--head downwards."
CHAPTER XXXI.
AT THE CORNER.
"L'homme s'agite et Dieu le mene."
The two men on the edge of the canal waited and listened again.
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