The dark figure on the machine, pedalling suddenly forward, made his way in front of the carriage, dismounted lightly, and threw down the cycle upon the ground in such a way that the horses could not proceed without stepping upon it. Moggin, perforce, drew up hurriedly, and bent forward in an endeavour to scrutinise the features of the strange bicyclist. In the darkness he was unable to perceive more than the mere outline of his form, but even that was sufficient to cause his feelings of surprise to give way to a sensation of horror. There was something strange, what he did not know, about the man who had so suddenly and silently compelled him to draw up in the dreariest part of the great bare moor. He shuddered, and noticed that the horses were both trembling.
Meanwhile let us return to the inmates of the carriage.
Laurence had vainly endeavoured to draw his father into conversation, but the old man seemed so engrossed in his meditations that his son eventually ceased from lamenting Mr. Carrington's peculiar behaviour, and gave himself up to the enjoyment of his cigarette and pleasant thoughts, in which the central figure was none other than Miss Selene Scott, his newly made acquaintance.
Of a sudden the old man sprang up in his seat, and clutched wildly at Laurence's arm.
"Good heavens!" he cried in accents demonstrative of mortal dread, "did you see that face at the window?"
"Don't be absurd, Dad," exclaimed Laurence somewhat angrily, "if you scream like that, old Moggin will be getting down to see if I'm murdering you. Gracious me," he added after a pause, "what's the fellow stopping for?"
The young man did not have to wait long for an answer to his last question. With startling suddenness the right-hand window of the vehicle was struck by something outside that could not be seen owing to the steam. A loud clatter of falling glass ensued, and for a moment a large jagged hole in the pane yawned at them. Then in this space there appeared first a hideous-looking dark face, and then, when that portion of the intruder's anatomy was withdrawn, a long, bony hand gripping a cocked revolver which was directed precisely at Squire Carrington's head.
The report of a shot rang out, and almost simultaneously the opposite window glass smashed amid a terrific din. Through the smoke that filled the carriage Laurence turned and looked at his father. With a low moan, the Squire had flung up his hands and fallen forward senseless upon the floor!