Out into the rain we ran and down the gravel path. Soar had the gate open in a twinkling, and a woman carrying a brown leather grip, but who was so closely veiled that I had no glimpse of her features, leapt through on to the drive.
"Lend a hand, two of you!" cried a vaguely familiar voice—"this way!"
Hilton and Soar stepped out into the road. The driver of the cab was lying forward across the wheel, apparently insensible, but as Hilton seized his arm he moved and spoke feebly.
"For God's sake be quick, sir!" he said. "They're after us! They're on the other side of the lane, there!"
With that he dropped limply into Hilton's arms!
He was dragged in on to the drive — and something whizzed over our heads and went sputtering into the gravel away up toward the house. The last to enter was the man who had come in the cab. As he barred the gate behind him he suddenly reached out through the bars and I saw a pistol in his hand.
Once — twice — thrice — he fired into the blackness of the lane.
"Take that, you swine!" he shouted. "Take that!"
As quickly as we could, bearing the insensible man, we hurried back to the door. On the step the woman was waiting for us, with her veil raised. A blinding flash of lightning came as we mounted the step — and I looked into the violet eyes of Carneta! I turned and stared at the man behind me.
It was Earl Dexter.