Mr. Banks and Timothy Fletcher stood in Captain Wigmore's hall, breathing quietly and straining eyes and ears. All was silent. All seemed safe. Banks opened the door. The little porch was empty. He stepped across the threshold, followed closely by the staggering Fletcher. They pushed open the door of the porch, and stumbled out of that horrible house, into the frosty moonshine, onto the crisp snow. No lurking danger confronted them. They were free.
"Thank God!" cried Harvey P. Banks, hysterically.
The air was bitterly cold, and the two fugitives were without overcoats. They were so overjoyed to find themselves free men again, however, that they felt no discomfort from the gnawing of the frozen air. The little servant clung to the big sportsman; and so they moved down the narrow path and through the gate onto the highway.
"He's played his last dirty trick on me—or any one else," mumbled Fletcher. "I've stood 'im too long—too long! Now, he'll go back where he come from—the grinnin' snake!"
He leaned heavily on Banks' arm and laughed shrilly.
"Which way?" asked Banks.
"Don't care," replied Fletcher.
"We'll head straight for Rayton's, then," said Banks. "It seems a month since I've seen Reginald. Then we'll smoke a cigar. Then we'll hunt up our friend—and put the boots to him."
The cold, clean air strengthened them, and they were soon stepping out at quite a respectable pace. They even crawled over fences and took short cuts across snow-drifted meadows and pastures. They did not meet or see a human being, for by this time the searchers were all miles away from the settlement. They rested for a minute against Rayton's front gate, then went quickly up the long, twisting road toward the low house and glowing windows.
"There's company," said Timothy. "Maybe they're havin' another game o' poker." He grinned at Banks. "Oh, you're easy! A baby could fool the lot o' you," he added.