"Yes. Is that you, Ray?" asked Tom.
"Ray? No! who are you?" came the query.
Tom felt his heart sink. Had he made a mistake? He did not know what to do.
Through the darkness a shape loomed up near him. He started back, and then came a dazzling flash of light. It shone in his face—one of those portable electric torches. By the reflected glare Tom saw that it was held and focused on him by a ragged man—by a man who seemed to be a tramp—a man with a broad, livid scar running from his eye down his cheek nearly to his mouth!
CHAPTER XXIII
THE PURSUIT
They stood staring at each other—Tom Fairfield and the ragged man, the latter holding the electric torch so that it was focused on our hero. And yet this did not prevent some of the rays from glinting back and revealing himself. He seemed too surprised to make any move, and, as for Tom himself, he remained motionless, not knowing what to do. He had come out in the storm expecting to meet a certain person, and a totally different one had appeared, and yet one whom he much desired to meet.
"Well," finally growled the ragged man. "What is it, young feller?
Was you lookin' for me?"
"Not exactly," replied Tom with a half smile, "and yet I'm glad to see you."
"Oh, you are, eh? Well, I don't know as I can say the same. What do you want, anyhow?"