"Take it easy. They'll search the rooms first."
The old man whispered tremulously: "What's the matter? I don't understand."
"Be very quiet," returned Evan. "We're taking you home now. Be quiet and there will be no publicity."
It was a magical suggestion. They heard no more from Deaves.
Meanwhile heavy feet were tramping overhead. Doors were flung open. One man ran up-stairs. There were at least three men. Evan did not think it possible they had come in sufficient force to completely surround the house. It was safe enough to flash his light in the depths of the cellar. He led the way to the foot of the stone steps. The stars showed through the broken door overhead.
Making them wait behind him, he cautiously parted the thick screen of bushes and looked out. Nothing was stirring on this side of the house. The grass and weeds were waist high down to the edge of the woods. It was less than fifty yards to shelter. Evan whispered to his little party:
"Hands and knees through the grass. Take it slow. Each one keep a hand on the ankle of the one in front. Corinna, you go first."
It was done as he ordered. Surely a more oddly-assorted party of fugitives never acted in concert to escape the law: girl, negress, multi-millionaire, and artist. Like a snake with four articulations, they wound through the grass. In the most sophisticated man lingers a wild strain; the stiff-jointed millionaire took to this means of locomotion as naturally as the negress.
As they left the house behind them they came more within the range of vision of those who were presumably watching the front and back. At any rate, while they were still fifty feet from the trees, a hoarse voice was raised from the front: "There they go!" And an answering shout came from the rear.
The four fugitives of one accord rose to their feet and dashed for the trees. Gaining the shadows, Corinna whispered: