“Yes.”
“Now—go.”
“I—Oh, Evan.”
She was in his arms, and her lips to his. “I—If they kill you I shall die, too.”
He opened the door and stared into the dimly lighted hall. “It is clear. Go.”
“Good-by.”
“Go. You’re wasting time.” He pushed her through the door. “Our best hope is that they—to my surprise—have underestimated me.... Good-by.... I—er—seem to have underestimated myself.... I seem to have been—exceptionally inefficient in a field quite foreign to my previous activities. Hasten.”
He shut the door and Carmel stood alone, dependent upon herself, without other hope or reliance than in her own expedients. She moved softly down the hall, reached the top of the stairs which led downward to another hall and the front door. She listened. There was no alarming sound.... She descended halfway and stopped again. The lower hall, apparently, was in the middle of the house. To the left was the room which had been the bar in the days when liquor might be sold openly; at the right was the dining room. The door to the dining room was closed; that into the bar stood open—and there was her danger. She must pass that door without being seen. Once outside, the danger decreased almost to a minimum. Could she reach the shelter of the woods, she felt she would be safe.
She crept downward; reached the ground floor and flattened herself against the wall. What if the front door should open and somebody should enter?... She hesitated, then peered cautiously through the door and into the bar.... As she did so she heard an automobile drive up in front and stop.... In the bar she saw Peewee Bangs sitting, his feet on a table, reading a newspaper.
Feet ascended the steps outside, and she cowered. A hand rattled the knob, and she heard Bangs drop his feet to the floor, with the scrape of his chair as he turned.... The door opened. Something, not conscious volition, moved Carmel. As the door opened and a man stepped in, she sprang forward, brushed past him, and ran down the steps. Behind her she heard a shout—the squeaky voice of Peewee Bangs.... Before her stood a Ford, its engine agitating the whole car, and she ran toward it and threw herself into the seat. In an instant she had grasped the wheel and adjusted her foot to the clutch.... Then she was conscious of a jar, and out of the corner of her eye saw Bangs’s face, distorted with rage, saw his hand reaching for her arm.... She screamed. Then her hand, chance led, fell upon the seat, encountered a heavy wrench.... She lifted it, dashed it with all her strength into that inhuman face.... It vanished.... The next thing of which she became clearly conscious was of speed, of a rocking, bounding car.... She was free, had escaped her pursuer, and was rushing with every ounce of power the little car possessed toward Gibeon....