“I cannot say,” replied the first voice, “but it looks to me as though he could not have crossed that open space unseen.”
Both of the men had spoken in low and serious tones and were recognized by the intent listeners in the room above as Sam and Smith.
They were evidently baffled and in a quandary as to the direction Rutley had taken after escape from the officer, and approached the house to warn the servants of Rutley’s escape.
“Maybees,” resumed Smith in the same low, cautious voice, “he whint up the hill be way ave the ravine, over beyant there.”
Sam made no reply. He had caught sight of the profile of Virginia’s face. Her eyes, terrified and tensely drawn, were askance and looking in his direction. The handkerchief over her mouth he first mistook as an evidence of physical suffering. He stepped back a pace, thinking to obtain a better view. He was disappointed.
What he had seen was a reflection of her face in the “dresser mirror,” that by some strange chance had been adjusted at an angle which deflected objects downward.
He had aimlessly halted at a point directly in line of the reflection cast by the mirror over the casement, and upon looking up saw through the screened window the reflection.
Those terrified eyes he had seen, suddenly set him in a ferment. “Probably—by God!” he muttered under his breath.
“Phwat be yees lookin’ at? Sure, I can say nothin’,” exclaimed Smith.
“I’ll just step in the house and ’phone for a sheriff’s posse to search the timber, and prevent his escape from the hill. You wait near-by for me.”