"I'll do it," the cabman said hoarsely. "I haven't earned ten shillings to-night. Now come on, sir."
Uzali was lifted bodily into the cab and as the driver reached the box the wounded man whispered a few, terse peremptory words to Wilfrid. A moment later the cab was out of sight. Wilfrid wondered what was going to happen next. He made his way back into the square again to the thicket of evergreens where he had dropped his cigarette case. He could see the houses opposite now. He could see that a flare of light had flashed upon the second floor in Samuel Flower's residence; quite plainly against the blinds were the shadows of two men struggling together. It was only for a moment, then all was thick darkness again. Wilfrid stood there rubbing his eyes in bewilderment.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE LONG DARK HOUR
Even had Wilfrid Mercer had a stronger head and a steadier nerve, he might still have been pardoned for a feeling of dread at that moment. He had been on the rack nearly an hour and was, besides, more worn out than he was aware. As the first faint glow of the dawn filled the eastern sky it was impossible to piece together the tangled puzzle. In the first place it was idle to imagine what had happened to Uzali, and who was responsible for the murderous attack upon him. And it seemed purposeless now to conjecture why he had been in such a hurry to get away without at least trying to explain the drift of events to Mercer.
He wondered if those strange kinsmen of Uzali's had had anything to do with it, but so far as they were concerned the victim had been so confident, so absolutely sure of them, that this theory appeared unlikely. There was nothing for it but to turn his attention to Samuel Flower's house and attempt to discover what had been going on there. Anything was better than standing still in the chilly dawn trying to solve a problem which was seemingly beyond human skill.
He must be up and doing. Mechanically he grabbed for the cigarette case and placed it in his pocket; then he crossed the grass and made his way over the railings of the square close to Samuel Flower's residence. The house was in pitch darkness. There was no sign of any trouble within. Wilfrid's first impulse had been to alarm the inhabitants and let them know what he had seen, but in cooler blood he dismissed this notion.
He stood in the uncertain shadow of the trees making up his mind what to do and letting precious moments slip, though, for all he knew, some terrible catastrophe might have taken place under his very nose. As he watched, doubting and hesitating, a figure crept along the other side of the square and entered Flower's house. The handle of the door was turned boldly and resolutely. It closed as firmly, but Wilfrid's ear caught not the slightest sound. Then he noticed that the light in the hall sprang up, followed by another light in one of the bedrooms at the top of the house.
"They are clever as they are daring," Wilfrid murmured. "Anybody passing would think the servants were up and about. I wonder what time it is."
At that moment an obliging clock struck the hour of five.