"No!" Spruce rose from grovelling on the ground, and from a tearful martyr was suddenly changed into a wild beast. His lips curled, showing his teeth. He drew back towards the window, and his eyes flashed fire. If he had had a weapon in his hand there is no doubt he would have killed both the men. "You shan't catch me, hounds that you are. I shall escape; I shall----"
"Look out, Owain, he's trying for the window!"
But Vane's warning came too late. With a surprising spring, the miserable little creature flung himself through the window into the garden. Before the two men could recover from their surprise he was over the low garden wall and racing for the churchyard. Terror winged his feet, and he flew onward like an arrow from the bow. Hench leaped after him immediately, and followed close behind him, while Vane rushed out to see if the police had arrived with the warrant. Two men were there in plain clothes, with a village constable, and in a few hurried words the barrister related how the man wanted had escaped. With the rapidity of lightning the news spread, and in a wonderfully short space of time half the village, headed by the police, Vane and Bottles, were making for the churchyard. Far ahead they could see Hench running swiftly through the twilight, but of the fugitive they could see no trace.
It was no wonder that the pursuers could not gain a glimpse of their wretched quarry, for Spruce flew on with amazing speed. Behind him were the dogs of justice, and he knew that once they pulled him down all that remained for him to do was to face the death he had earned by his cowardly crime. But he was not a man, only a creeping crawling thing saturated with evil, a bird of prey, a snarling tiger--and he did not wish to receive the reward of his wickedness. Instinctively he made for the wood wherein his crime had been committed. Once in its dark recesses he hoped to remain hidden until he could escape over seas. Behind him he caught sight of Hench, and longed to have a knife or revolver to shoot or stab the man he hated. Gasping, and streaming with perspiration, he plunged into the wood, broke from the path which led to the Gipsy Stile, and struggled through the dry, rustling undergrowth. They would never catch him, he swore, and even as he did the miserable creature heard the beat of Owain's feet in pursuit.
A thought struck him. The wood was dry, and would burn like tinder. Hench, being in the wood and unprepared, would be probably burnt to death. Without thinking of the danger to himself in his mad fury--only resolved to make an end to Owain and to place a blazing screen between himself and his pursuers---Spruce took out a silver box and struck a match. Then another, and another, until all round him, in the grass and the moss and the undergrowth, were stars of fire. The stars grew into blazing suns, as the flames caught the tall, dry trees and roared upward. With inconceivable rapidity the fire spread, and now it was time for Spruce to fly from the death he had created. As he plunged onward he came suddenly into the open, and fell, catching his foot in a fallen tree-trunk. He tried to rise and could not, as his ankle was twisted. So he lay shrieking on the verge of a fiery furnace, unable to move, and condemned by his own evil act to a far more terrible death than that which he would have suffered at the hands of the law. Shouting for help, and only anxious now to escape the immediate doom, Spruce heard the cries of the villagers, when they saw the tall columns of flame rising from the wood. Hench was lunging here and there amidst the undergrowth seeking for Spruce, and continued to do so until a barrier of flame cut him off from further search. Before that terrible heat he was forced to retreat, and made for the pathway so as to get back into the open. Vane's voice, high, clamorous and clear, could be heard shouting for him, and in the roar of the flames Hench heard the shrieking of the wretched creature who had lighted the funeral pyre of himself. He made for the direction whence the cries came, as they appeared to be near at hand. Fighting the flames, he stumbled into the open space round the Gipsy Stile and saw Spruce writhing on the edge of the clearing under a canopy of fire. It blazed overhead; it ran along the moss and grass, licking up everything with greedy avidity; and all round the wood was like a seven-times heated furnace.
"Save me; save me!" yelled Spruce, seeing his enemy.
Wicked as the creature was, Owain did his best. He ran towards the spot where Spruce lay in agony, and tried to reach him. But the flames came out with a gust of the hot dry wind, which now was blowing furiously, and the young man fell back, shielding his face with his arms. When he removed them he heard a wild cry of agony, and saw a tall bulky tree falling slowly down. Spruce was beneath it, and saw its gradual descent. He cried to Hench for help; he cried to God for pardon; but the tree dropped inch by inch in the midst of that hell until it suddenly crashed down on the doomed man. Then there was silence, save for the roar of the flames rejoicing over their prey.
Hench turned and fled, skirting the flaming trees and getting round to where the police and villagers were by slipping along the park wall. Blackened and burnt, dizzy and faint, he staggered into the open space, where all watched the great bonfire. Vane rushed forward and caught him in his arms.
"Are you hurt--are you hurt?"
"No. I'm all right. But Spruce----!" He gasped at the memory of the horror.