In a few moments they had reached the brow of the hill over which Lawrence had seen the figure disappear. They paused for a moment to look about them. Out of range of the lights of the school, the mists were less confusing and the moonlight more effective. Tony was searching the beach with his eyes. “I can’t make out a thing,” he said. “Do you see anything of him, Ned?”
“Not a thing,” Clavering answered. “Are you sure, Jim, you saw him a moment ago?”
“Dead sure. Look there! isn’t that him?”
“Where?”
“Down by the road—near the marshes.” He pointed eagerly.
“Yes, yes,” cried Tony. “Come on. He’s no good at running. We ought to catch him before he reaches the Pond. If he gets to the Woods, there’s no knowing where to find him.”
They started down the hill at a rapid pace.
“He would have to go round the Pond to get into the Woods,” said Clavering as they ran. “The ice is rotten; he can’t cross the Pond. So let’s go to the north and cut him off.”
“You do that, Ned,” suggested Tony. “Cut in at the farmhouse by the head of the Pond; Jim and I will keep right on. He may never stop to think that the ice has gone rotten.”