At the Eleventh Hour
lay panting, with Merritt's weight atop of him.
"You Merritt?" he said faintly. Merritt, still holding him, repeated soothing assurances automatically. But Deane sat up suddenly, flinging off Merritt as though he had been a child, and cried:
"Then where is it? Merritt, Merritt, find it—find it for the love of Heaven, and burn it! It can't have got very far—I had it sure. Oh, go, old man, look for it—it's here among the tombs somewhere! I had it not half a minute ago!"
Merritt put a hand on his arm, and felt that he was shaking all over.
"Steady, old boy!" he said. "Get yourself together. There's nothing here—I'll swear there isn't. What was it you were doing?"
"Doing!" Deane said between his
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