“And what about your ankle?” demanded Joan.
“Oh, that? I happened to arrive at the door fairly quickly after the lights went out. Just as I got to it, a fellow came dashing out; and I made a grab at him as well as I could in the dark. But one can’t see what one’s doing; and I didn’t get a decent grip on him as he charged out on top of me. He landed me a fairly effective kick—right on the ankle-bone, by bad luck—and then, before I could get my hands on him properly he tore himself clear and was off down the hall towards the front door. I hobbled after him as best I could; and there he was—a fellow dressed in Pierrot costume—running quite leisurely over the gravel sweep and making for the woods. I couldn’t go after him; but he was quite clear in the moonlight and he’d a long way to go before getting into cover; so I raised a hue and cry at once, and quite a crowd of stout fellows are after him. He’ll have to run a bit faster than he was doing, if he expects to get off. These pine-woods have no undergrowth to speak of; and he’ll find it difficult to conceal himself in a hurry.”
As Sir Clinton ended his narrative a servant came hurrying up the hall, bringing a tall pair of steps with him.
“Is that the new lamp?” Sir Clinton demanded. “All right. Light a match or two, Mold, to let him see where to put the steps. And don’t tramp about too much while you’re fixing them up, please. I want to see things undisturbed as far as possible.”
CHAPTER IV.
The Chase in the Woods
In earlier days, Michael Clifton had been reckoned among the more creditable runners in the School Mile; and he had never allowed himself to fall out of training. Thus as he joined the throng of would-be pursuers emerging from the house, he felt a certain confidence that the fugitive would at any rate have to put his best foot foremost if he was to avoid being run down. Before he had covered twenty yards, however, Michael found himself handicapped by his costume. The full-bottomed wig dropped off almost immediately, and the shoes were not so troublesome as he had feared; but the sleeves of his coat interfered with his movements, and the long skirts hampered his legs.
“I wonder if these coves in the eighteenth century ever ran a step,” he grumbled. “If they did it in this kit, they must have been wonders. I must get rid of the truck.”
He pulled up and stripped off the full-skirted coat; then, as an after-thought, he removed the long waistcoat as well. While doing this, he glanced ahead to see how the chase was progressing. The light of the full moon, now at its highest in the cloudless heavens, lit up the whole landscape before him almost as clearly as daylight. Far ahead, he could see the white figure of the escaping thief as it ascended the long, gentle slope towards the pine-woods.
“I wonder what tempted the beggar to choose that particular costume on a night like this,” Michael speculated. “It’s the most conspicuous affair he could have put on. Well, all the better for us.”
The quarry had evidently secured a fair start, for the nearest group of pursuers was still a considerable distance behind him. The hunters were strung out in an irregular file, knotted here and there with groups of three or four runners; and the line extended back almost to Michael’s position. Behind him, he could hear fresh reinforcements emerging from the house, shouting as they came.