For the place occupied by the unfortunate lunatic knew him no more. He had disappeared.
For a second they stared blankly into each others’ faces, then all four moved forward instinctively.
He had been sitting idly, vacantly, perfectly quietly staring into space. In the height of their conversation they had given little heed to his presence. Well, he could not go far, for his legs were so secured as to preclude him making steps of ordinary length.
The place was bushy, but not very thickly so. Spreading out they entered the scrub by the only side on which he could have disappeared.
“There he is!” cried Hoste suddenly, when they had gone about fifty yards.
Slinking along in a crouching attitude, slipping from bush to bush, they spied the poor fellow. That was all right. There would be no difficulty now.
No difficulty? Was there not? As soon as he saw that he was discovered he began to run—to run like a buck. And then, to their consternation, they perceived that his legs were free. By some means or other he had contrived, with a lunatic’s stealthy cunning, to cut the reim which had secured them. They could see the severed ends flapping as he ran.
“Well, we’ve got to catch him, poor chap, so here goes,” said Hoste, starting with all his might in pursuit.
But the maniac wormed in and out of the bushes with marvellous rapidity. Shelton had tripped and come a headlong cropper, and Hoste was becoming blown, but they seemed to get no nearer. Suddenly the bush came to an end. Beyond lay a gradual acclivity, open and grassy, ending abruptly in air.
“Heavens!” cried Eustace in a tone of horror. “The krantz!”