“That brute,” I thought, “was once a gentleman, and crime or drink has destroyed him!”
Darke continued to gaze at Swartz and the gray woman as they plied their busy work; and once or twice be pointed to drawers which they had failed to open. These directions were promptly obeyed, and the work went on. The few words which the parties uttered came in an indistinct murmur only through the window at which I was stationed.
Such was the scene within the mansion, upon which I gazed with strong curiosity: suddenly the neigh of a horse was heard in a clump of woods beyond the front gate; and Darke quickly raised his head, and then came out to the portico.
He passed within three feet of me, but did not perceive me, as I was concealed by one of the open venetians. Then he paused and listened. The wind sighed in the foliage, and a distant watch-dog was barking—that was all. No other noise disturbed the silence of the July night.
Darke remained upon the portico for some moments, listening attentively. Then turned and re-entered the house. Through the window, I could see him make his appearance again in the illuminated apartment. In response to the glances of inquiry from his companions he made a gesture only, but that said plainly:—
“Nothing is stirring. You can go on with your work.”
In this, however, he was mistaken. Darke had scarcely re-entered the apartment, when I discerned the hoof-strokes of horses beyond the front gate—then the animals were heard leaping the low fence—a moment afterward two figures came on at full gallop, threw themselves from the saddle, and rapidly approached the house.
The rattle of a sabre which one of them wore attracted Darke’s attention. He reached the door of the room at a single bound—but at the same instant the new comers rushed by me, and burst in.
As they passed I recognized them. One was Mohun, the other Nighthawk.