Not a sound disturbed the stillness of the garden except for
sibilant rustlings of the leaves, occasioned by a slight breeze.
Paul Harley retreated step by step to the bushes. He held the
pistol tightly clenched in his right hand.
He had heard his own death sentence pronounced and he knew that
it was likely to be executed.
CHAPTER XIX. WHAT HAPPENED TO HARLEY--CONCLUDED
He regained the curve of the drive without meeting any
opposition. There, slipping the pistol into his pocket, he
climbed rapidly up the tree from which he had watched the arrival
of the three cars, climbed over the wall, and dropped into the
weed jungle beyond. He crept stealthily forward to the gap where
he had concealed the racer, drawing nearer and nearer to the
bushes lining the lane. Only by a patch of greater darkness
before him did he realize that he had reached it. But when the
realization came one word only he uttered: "Gone!"
His car had disappeared!
Despair was alien to his character: A true Englishman, he never
knew when he was beaten. Beyond doubt, now, he must accept the
presence of hidden enemies surrounding him, of enemies whose
presence even his trained powers of perception had been unable to
detect. The intensity of the note of danger which he had
recognized now was fully explained. He grew icily cool, master of
his every faculty. "We shall see!" he muttered, grimly.
Feeling his way into the lane, he set out running for the
highroad, his footsteps ringing out sharply upon the dusty way.
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