"I cannot trust myself in there," he muttered. "I simply cannot!"
"Just as you say," said Evan. "I don't suppose they'll let us back now."
With a groan Deaves started ahead. Evan sniffed the trees gratefully.
In the thick of the woods two figures faced them. White cotton masks over their faces gave them an unearthly look. Deaves tremulously held out the package, and it was taken from his hands. No word was spoken. One man snapped on an electric flash, and in the disk of light that it threw the other hastily unwrapped the package and examined the bonds.
Now from the white papers a certain amount of light was reflected back on the man who was holding the flash, and Evan studied him attentively. He was holding a pistol in his other hand. Something familiar in the creases of the suit he wore first arrested Evan's attention. That is to say, these creases suggested the lines of a figure that Evan had often drawn and painted. When in addition he perceived a certain well-remembered involuntary twitching in the figure, amazement and incredulity gave place to certainty.
"Charl!" he cried.
The two masked figures started back. He who held the light took his breath sharply, and Evan knew he was not mistaken. The man with the bonds quickly recovered himself.
"Be quiet!" he sharply commanded.
But Evan in his anger had forgotten prudence. "Charl!" he cried. "What does this mean? Have you turned crook!"
The other man whispered in a passion: "Shoot him if he doesn't shut his mouth!"