“Thin face, freckles, a peaked——”
My uncle gave a hoarse scream.
“That’s ’im! that’s ’im! ’e’s come! God be merciful to me, a sinner!” He went click-clacking about the room with his great foot like one distracted. There was something piteous and baby-like in that big bald head, and for the first time I felt a gush of pity for him.
“Come, uncle,” said I, “you are living in a civilized land. There is a law that will bring these gentry to order. Let me drive over to the county police-station to-morrow morning and I’ll soon set things right.”
But he shook his head at me.
“E’s cunning and ’e’s cruel,” said he. “I can’t draw a breath without thinking of him, cos ’e buckled up three of my ribs. ’e’ll kill me this time, sure. There’s only one chance. We must leave what we ’ave not packed, and we must be off first thing to-morrow mornin’. Great God, what’s that!”
A tremendous knock upon the door had reverberated through the house and then another and another. An iron fist seemed to be beating upon it. My uncle collapsed into his chair. I seized a gun and ran to the door.
“Who’s there?” I shouted.
There was no answer.
I opened the shutter and looked out.