"That's what I'm a-going to tell you. You see if you was to bend down, and keep as close to the hedge as you can, as likely as not you'll get to the water without anyone seeing you; though, of course, that frock you've got on does show up----"

"I can change it; I'd rather."

"No, there ain't no time for you to do that--you've wasted too much time already. You do as I tell you and you won't be seen, not in this light, especially as I expect they're all on the lookout for the police on the other side of the house. When you come to the river bend down again, and go along the bank till you come to where the boat's tied up to the steps. You get into the boat and row yourself across to the other side. The other side of the river's in another county. The police what belongs to this county they can't touch you in another county; so if you can get there you're safe as far as they're concerned; and the family here--Miss Frances and that, you know--they can't be made out to have anything to do with you if you are took in another county--see?"

Dorothy did see; or she thought she did--possibly her grasp of the situation was as clear as the other's exposition. Rejecting the other's offer of assistance she climbed, unaided, on to the sill; and, without the slightest hesitation, dropped on to the bed of flowers which was immediately below. The girl above, as if to assure herself that no harm was done, waited for her to stand up straight; then, as, in accordance with her directions, Dorothy, bent nearly double, began to move quickly along in the shadow of the hedge, towards the river, she withdrew her head; and, as stealthily as she had entered, she passed from the room.

CHAPTER XVIII

[THE MAN WHO DID IT]

It was darker than it was wont to be at that season of the year. Black, heavy clouds hung low in the heavens. The air was motionless, hot, oppressive. One needed no keen perception to tell that a storm was brewing. As Dorothy gained the river bank, in the distance was the loud muttering of thunder. She stopped to look about her, still keeping well in the shadow of the hedge. Apparently her flight had been unnoticed. It struck her that, if she had liked, she might have gone long ago, and been far away, ere this, without anyone being one penny the wiser; and so have lessened the chance of "the family" being associated with her ill-fame. As she looked back it seemed to her that the house was badly lighted. There was light in one room on the ground floor; with that exception the whole house was in darkness. Surely it was not the Vernon custom to keep the whole house unlighted when the night came on. There were lights in the windows of houses on the other side of the stream, and there were lights on the river. Tinted lights picked out the outlines of houseboats, making them orgies of colour. Dorothy, who had never seen anything of the sort before, stared at them in amaze, wondering what they were. Small craft, moving here and there, carried Chinese lanterns, slung on cords, which swayed mysteriously in the silent air. In the distance were many lights. The regatta was to be followed by what dwellers by the river call a Venetian Fête: there was to be a procession of illuminated boats, which already was forming afar off. If they wished to keep their procession dry they would be wise to start it soon.

By degrees, as her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, Dorothy became aware that the river seemed to be alive with boats of all sorts and kinds. She had expected to find it deserted; she was surprised to find that it seemed to be more crowded even than it had been in the daytime. Remembering the servant's recommendation to stoop, so that her figure might not be too clearly visible against the skyline, she made the best of her way to the steps, up which Frances had hurried, out of the boat, when she first saw her on the lawn. For one to whom the place was not familiar, in that light they were not easy to find. She stumbled on them more by chance than anything else. She began, cautiously, to descend them. She could not make out how many there were; and had gone down six when, feeling for the seventh, she touched the surface of the water with the sole of her shoe. Starting back just in time to save herself from stepping into the stream, she sat down, unintentionally, and with more force than was quite pleasant, on one of the steps at her back. The unexpected nearness of the water startled her; she did not know what she had escaped. Had she completed that step she might have gone head foremost into the river. She tried to make out where the boat was of which the servant girl had spoken, and presently could see it dimly. It seemed to be a long way off, how was she to get at it? Wholly unacquainted with riverine methods it did not occur to her to look for the cord by which it was tied, and so draw it towards her. Which was perhaps well; for, though she had never been in a small boat in her life, how she was going to navigate one in the darkness, all alone, was a problem she did not stay to contemplate.

As she still sat on the step of which she had so unwillingly made a seat, dubious, fearful, the whole dark world was lit up by a vivid flash of lightning; and in what seemed to her to be its sudden, unearthly glow she saw, right in front of her, the face of the man who had killed George Emmett; saw it for one astounding moment, with more than normal plainness. Then, as suddenly as it came, it went, blotted out by the returning darkness. Whether she had seen a vision, or been the victim of an optical delusion, she had not a notion. For a moment or two all was still. Then a voice came to her through the blackness.

"Can you tell me whereabouts I shall find Mr Vernon's house?"