I recognized the peculiar voice instantly, for I had listened to that lazy drawl before while hidden in the darkness beneath the Beaucaire veranda--the fellow was Tim, the deputy sheriff from St. Louis. The negro rested his tray on the rail, while the white man fumbled through his pockets for a key, finally locating it, and inserting the instrument into the lock of the second cabin from the stern. It turned hard, causing some delay, and a muttered curse, but finally yielded, and the door was pushed partly ajar. I heard no words exchanged with anyone within, but the negro pushed the tray forward without entering, sliding it along the deck, while Tim, evidently satisfied that his charges were quite safe, promptly reclosed and locked the door, returning the key to the security of his pocket. After staring a moment over the rail at the shore past which we were gliding, he disappeared after the negro down the ladder. I was again alone on the upper deck, except for the wheelsman in the pilot house, yet in that broad daylight I hesitated to act on my first impulse. Eager as I certainly was too make the poor girl aware of my presence on board, the chance of being seen, and my purpose suspected by others, restrained me. Besides, as yet, I had no plan of rescue; nothing to suggest. Even as I hesitated, industriously scrubbing away at the paint, Kirby and the captain appeared suddenly, pausing a moment at the head of the ladder in friendly conversation. Parting at last, with a hearty laugh over some joke exchanged between them, the latter ascended the steps to the pilot house, while the gambler turned aft, still smiling, a cigar between his lips. I managed to observe that he paused in front of the second cabin, as though listening for some sound within, but made no attempt to enter, passing on to the door beyond, which was unlocked. He must have come to the upper deck on some special mission, for he was out of my sight scarcely a moment, returning immediately to the deck below. This occurrence merely served to make clearer in my mind the probable situation--the after-cabin was undoubtedly occupied by Kirby, perhaps in company with the deputy; while next to them, securely locked away, and helpless to escape, were confined the two slave women. In order to reach them I must operate under the cover of darkness, and my only hope of being free to work, even then, lay in the faith that the gambler might become so involved in a card game below as to forget his caution. So far as Tim was concerned I felt perfectly capable of outwitting him; but Kirby was dangerous. CHAPTER XX THE STORY OF ELSIE CLARK