“For God’s sake, Smith, what was it?”
“Don’t ask me, Petrie. I have seen it twice. We—”
He paused. Rapid footsteps sounded below. Over Smith’s shoulder I saw Forsyth cross the road, climb the low rail, and set out across the common.
Smith sprang impetuously to his feet.
“We must stop him!” he said hoarsely; then, clapping a hand to my mouth as I was about to call out—“Not a sound, Petrie!”
He ran out of the room and went blundering downstairs in the dark, crying:
“Out through the garden—the side entrance!”
I overtook him as he threw wide the door of my dispensing room. Through it he ran and opened the door at the other end. I followed him out, closing it behind me. The smell from some tobacco plants in a neighboring flower-bed was faintly perceptible; no breeze stirred; and in the great silence I could hear Smith, in front of me, tugging at the bolt of the gate.
Then he had it open, and I stepped out, close on his heels, and left the door ajar.
“We must not appear to have come from your house,” explained Smith rapidly. “I will go along the highroad and cross to the common a hundred yards up, where there is a pathway, as though homeward bound to the north side. Give me half a minute’s start, then you proceed in an opposite direction and cross from the corner of the next road. Directly you are out of the light of the street lamps, get over the rails and run for the elms!”