The second figure also glanced upwards at the balcony, but was too close to perceive the slender form above moving against one of the vine-covered pillars when the figure draped in white bent over as though trying to decipher the features under the big hat, and just as the second comer made a smothered attempt to clear his throat, something white fell at his feet.
“Sweet Evilena!” he said, picking it up. “Faith, the mother has told her and the darling was waiting for me. Delaven’s private post office!” He laid down the guitar and fumbled for a match, when the watcher from the shadows leaped upon him from behind, throttling him that no sound be made, and while he pinned him to the ground with his knee, kept one hand on his throat and with the other tried to loosen the grasp of Delaven’s hand on the papers.
“Give me that paper!” he whispered fiercely. “Give it to me or I’ll kill you where you lay! Give it to me!”
In the struggle Delaven struck the guitar with the heel of his boot, there was a crash of resonant wood, and a wail of the strings, and it reached the ears of Masterson and the orderly, who were about to enter the side door from the arbor.
Masterson halted to listen whence the crash came, but the orderly’s ears were more accurate and he dashed towards the corner.
“Captain,” he called in a loud whisper, as he saw the struggling figures, and at the call and the sound of quick steps Pierson leaped to his feet and ran for the shrubbery.
“Halt!” called Masterson, and fired one shot from his revolver. The fugitive leaped to one side as the order rang out and the bullet went whistling past. He had cleared the 343 open space and was in the shrubbery. The orderly dashed after him as Masterson caught Delaven, who was scrambling to his feet, feeling his throat and trying to take a full breath.
“Who are you?” demanded Masterson, shaking him a trifle to hasten the smothered speech. “Doctor Delaven! You! Who was that man?”
“It’s little I can tell you,” gasped the other, “except that he’s some murderous rival who wanted to make an angel of me. Man, but he has a grip!”
Margeret suddenly appeared on the veranda with a lamp held high above her head, as she peered downward in the darkness, and by its light Masterson scanned the appearance of Delaven with a doubtful eye.