“All right. Look, he’s slowing up.” They could see with fair distinctness.
Finch, for it was he, had reached the foot of the hill. He paused for a moment, seeming to hesitate between the Old Beach Road and the path across the marshes; and apparently chose the latter, for he crossed the road, and climbed the stone wall. Ignorant that he was so closely followed, he had not been running very fast, so that our friends were rapidly gaining upon him. By the time they had reached the foot of the hill, he was only halfway across the marshes; and was forced to pick his way, for he was not very familiar with the ground, and was handicapped by his frequent stumbling against a stone. In some places the ground was hard and frozen, in others it was wet and muddy.
“Cut across now to the head of the Pond,” said Tony, as the three clambered over the stone wall which divided the marshes from the road. “We can catch him all right.”
Clavering diverged, as Deering suggested, and the other two kept on directly in Finch’s track. It was difficult to run over the uneven ground, and once Jimmie tripped and fell over a boulder, so that they were delayed for a moment. The marshes were about two hundred yards wide, and ended at the high bank which had been built up around Beaver Pond, which was used as a reservoir. Beyond loomed the dark ridges of Lovel’s Woods, ghostly in the pale misty moonlight.
As Finch emerged at last from the uneven, reed-choked ground of the marshes, Tony and Jimmie were scarcely fifty yards behind him. Suddenly he heard the sound of their pattering feet, and turned and stood still like a startled deer to listen. Then, as he made out the dark forms so little behind him, he ran rapidly up the steep bank of the Pond.
“Jake, Jake, wait for me!” Tony called. “It’s Deering—wait a second!”
Finch now on the top of the bank, stopped again. Our two friends out of breath, paused at the bottom. Hardly a dozen yards divided them.
“Wait a second! What’s your hurry?” Tony repeated, starting forward again, but at that very moment his foot caught in a loose stone and he went sprawling, and Jimmie, too late to turn aside, fell on top of him. Finch did not move, but waited a moment, while the two picked themselves up. No damage was done, but they were windless.
“Who are you?” Finch called down.