“All the same,” muttered the other, continuing on down the front steps beside his comrade.
Renoux shrugged good-humouredly his disapproval of such precaution, but made no further protest. Nobody was visible anywhere on the grounds. The big iron gates were still locked, but the wicket was open. Through this they stepped out onto the macadam.
A little farther along stood a touring car with two men in it.
“You see?” began Renoux—when his words were cut by the crack of a pistol, and the red tail-light of the car crashed into splinters and went dark.
“Well, by God!” remarked Renoux calmly, looking at the woods across the road and leisurely producing an automatic pistol.
Then, from deeper in the thicket, two bright flames stabbed the darkness and the crash of the shots re-echoed among the trees.
Both men in the touring car instantly turned loose their pistols; Renoux said, in a voice at once perplexed and amused:
“Go home, Barres. I don’t want people to know you are out here.... I’ll see you again soon.”
“Isn’t there anything——”
“Nothing. Please—you would oblige me by keeping clear of this if you really desire to help me.”