VIII
Kestner, as he emerged from that unllghted pier-office into the cavernous gloom of the equally unlighted warehouse, knew there was no time to be wasted. He felt the need for prompt action. Yet he was still undecided as to what line this action should follow and as to what form it could take.
There was one danger-zone, however, of which he could be sure. That was the spot where Whitey McKensic had attempted to bore his way up through the wharf-planking, Whitey might possess resources unknown to Kestner, and the sooner that spot was investigated the better. Daylight, Kestner felt convinced, could not be far off.
He allowed no impatience of mind, however, to interfere with his earlier demand for caution. He groped his blind way back along the warehouse as stealthily and as silently as he had first advanced from its depths. Once more his outstretched fingers became antenna. Still again his fastidiously exploring stockinged feet became tentacles, feeling ahead of the ever-shrinking body that followed them.
Then his advance came to a stop.
Suddenly one of the tentacles drew back, as natural in its reaction as the recoil of an insect's feeler, for it had come in contact with something unexpected, something unexplained. Kestner, chilling a little
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