Directly he was alone Beaumanoir left himself no time for weighing the chances, but took the risk. Squeezing through the window, he climbed down the sloping roof of the woodshed and thence by way of the faggot-pile to the ground. He was well aware that every step, as he groped his way across the clearing into the thicket, might be his last, for doubtless he had been traced to the cottage and the whole pack were somewhere about. His only hope lay in the probability that they were in front of the house, where they could hold themselves ready to obey signals from the kitchen window or a summons from the door.
It might have been that this was the case, for Beaumanoir reached the trees without interference, and at once shaped a course for the edge of the wood. His progress was difficult by reason of the darkness and the density of the undergrowth, but fortune favored him in so far that he presently hit upon a public foot-path, and so came eventually to a stile giving on a high road. At the next cross-ways was a sign-post, which he read by the light of a wax match, and thence onward limped steadily forward for Prior's Tarrant, with growing confidence that he had eluded pursuit.
Great, then, was his dismay when, on turning into his own park, he became conscious that he was being shadowed by someone whose stealthy pid-pad sounded resolutely behind him. As he mounted the terrace steps it grew louder; the man who was following him was close behind and gaining quickly. Something in the Duke's tired brain seemed to snap, and with just a glance at the lighted window of the dining-room where General Sadgrove was in the act of drawing up the blind, he turned at the top of the steps and flung himself, half mad with rage and terror, on the faithful Azimoolah, who had picked him up near the sign-post and shepherded him safely for the rest of the journey.
[CHAPTER XIV—Too Many Women]
General Sadgrove relaxed his grip on Azimoolah's lean neck, not as a consequence of Alec Forsyth's exclamation, but because he and his captive had crossed the threshold of the French window—gone "off," in fact, from the stage on which he had been playing a little comedy for the benefit of an invisible audience. Forsyth guessed at once that the pulley-hauley business on the terrace had only been a sham, from the half-playful push with which his uncle released the now passive Indian, and also from the more than half-contemptuous glance flung at himself.
The next moment the other party to the tussle on the terrace elucidated the matter by walking up to the window instead of running away. It was the Duke himself, outwardly calm, but somewhat disheveled by the fray, and looking very sleepy. Entering the room he gave Forsyth's hand an affectionate squeeze, and turned to secure the window.
"It's all right," he said, in the listless tone that he always used nowadays. "When the train got stuck up I smelt rats, and cleared out from the locality—thought it better to cut across country on foot than to stay about a spot where I was probably being looked for. But this beggar," pointing to Azimoolah, standing at "attention," proudly erect, "must have shadowed me, and caught me up just as I was coming to tap at the window. You will confer a great favor on me by letting him go."
This dogged determination to take no prisoners strengthened the General's suspicions of his host, and there was a harsh ring in the laugh with which he explained that Azimoolah was his own emissary, who, on returning from the scene of the accident, had mistaken the Duke for one of their unknown adversaries. He did not mention that there were two genuine prowlers outside who, but for Azimoolah's intervention, would have fallen on their prey, and who were probably intensely puzzled by finding someone else playing the same game as themselves.
"And now, if your Grace will go to bed, I will guarantee you a good night's rest," added the General. "You must not forget that you will have ladies to entertain to-morrow."
Beaumanoir gave a tired shrug.