A moment he paused, questioning the silence. He was unwilling to
believe that he had outwitted his pursuers. His nerves were
strung to highest tension, and his strange gift of semi-
prescience told him that danger was at least as imminent as ever,
even though he could neither see nor hear his enemies. Therefore,
pistol in hand again, he descended to the foot of the hill.
He remembered having noticed, when he had applied to the porter
for information respecting the residence of Ormuz Khan, that upon
a window adjoining the entrance had appeared the words "Station
Master." The station master's office, therefore, was upon the
distant side of the line.
Now came the hardest blow of all. The station was closed for the
night. Nor was there any light in the signal box. Evidently no
other train was due upon that branch line until some time in the
early morning. The level crossing gate was open, but before
breaking cover he paused a while to consider what he should do.
Lower Claybury was one of those stations which have no intimate
connection with any township. The nearest house, so far as Harley
could recall, was fully twenty yards from the spot at which he
stood. Furthermore, the urgency of the case had fired the soul of
the professional investigator.
He made up his mind, and, darting out into the road, he ran
across the line, turned sharply, and did not pause until he stood
before the station master's window.
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