In the end the greying sky in the East bade him consider his own retreat if he wished to avoid capture. He had committed no crime, of course, but he was very sensible of the awkwardness of trying to explain his own share in the night's doings, should he be taken. He had good hopes that Corinna had escaped by now. He started to make his way westward.
He made a wide detour around the house and struck into the rough track on the other side, travelling softly, and keeping his ears open. He had heard no searchers on this side. After a half mile or so he saw light through the trees ahead. He saw a road bounding the woods on this side, and open fields beyond.
He struck into the woods again, and took a cautious reconnaisance of the road from the underbrush before venturing upon it—the world was filled with ghostly light now. It was well that he did so, for he saw a burly individual loafing in the highway, with his eye on the end of the wood track. He wore civilian clothes, but "policeman" was written all over him.
Evan had to get across that road somehow, but it was so straight the watcher could see half a mile in either direction. And on the other side there was no cover, only cultivated fields. There was one spot some hundreds of yards north where the road dipped into a hollow and was lost to view for a short space. Evan, keeping well within the woods, made for that.
There was a stream with a bridge over it. By hugging the edge of the stream and ducking under the bridge he made the other side of the road. A field of growing corn received him.
That was his last serious hazard. In the sweet coolness of the dawn he made his way over field after field, keeping the sunrise at his back. He crossed the roads circumspectly and gave the villages a wide berth. Finally he climbed a wooded hill, and from the other side looked down into the city of Yonkers. Here he ventured to show himself openly, took a car for town, and an hour and a half later was climbing the stairs to his own room. His heart was heavy with anxiety.
When he entered he saw Charley sitting at his table with his head on his arms, asleep. Evan's heart leaped. He shook the sleeper.
"Is she all right?" he cried.
Charley lifted a sullen and resentful face. "She got home all right," he muttered, and immediately started for the door, still swaying with sleep.
"Wait a minute," said Evan. "Here's your gun."