Vera’s arm was raised to fling the razor far from her when a hand was clapped over her mouth and she was pulled down in the shadow of the hedge bordering the road. Her startled eyes looked straight at Beverly Thorne.
“Hush!” he whispered. “No noise. Look!”
And following his pointing finger Vera saw a man run across the opposite field, vault the fence and hurry down the road. He was entirely out of sight before Thorne removed his hand from Vera’s shoulder, and, rising, he helped her up.
“Come,” he said, and in silence accompanied her to the Porter mansion.
Vera, her ideas too chaotic for utterance, detained him at the side door. “Who was the man we saw run up the road?” she asked. “His figure looked familiar, but I did not get a clear view of his face.”
“It was Detective Mitchell,” responded Thorne softly, lifting his cap. “Good night.”
Not until she was safely inside the Porter mansion did Vera remember the razor—she gazed blankly at her empty hands. Had she dropped the razor in her excitement or—had Beverly Thorne taken it from her?
CHAPTER XVI
HARE AND HOUNDS
WYNDHAM, taking no precautions to walk lightly, tramped down the hall oblivious of the bright sunshine which streamed through the windows, whistling dismally below his breath. As he came abreast of his cousin’s bedroom the door, which stood partly ajar, was opened fully and Mrs. Hall stepped into the corridor, a finger to her lip. Wyndham halted abruptly.
“Is anything the matter?” he questioned, alarmed by her manner.