Over to the disused estate the quarry and its watchful shadow moved.
The pilot turned up a slope and climbed the smooth turf.
Sandy, waiting until he got to a shrubbery, moved so it was between him and his quarry. He, too, crossed the ascending turf.
It startled Sandy to see Jeff turn in at the old house, climb the veranda steps, cross the porch to the door—and go in.
Sandy stayed behind some shrubbery.
Jeff could watch from the doorway. He might see a figure in the open space of the lawn around the house.
He thought he guessed Jeff’s ruse.
The pilot, he reasoned, would go through the house after seeing that no one seemed to be following; but to be doubly sure he would go on to the front, coming out there, or to the side opposite where he had entered. Sandy matched his plans to the chance. He went, Indian-still and crouched, to a point where an ornamental tree would be in line with his movement from the side door, then in that shelter moved back to the hedged path, bent low and ran down to a cross path that took him to another point of the grounds.
From that he could observe the whole lawn around the house.
But, when a half hour had elapsed and no one had come out, he was puzzled. Had his maneuver been executed too late? No, Jeff could not have gotten out of sight because the lawn was too wide to cross in the brief time Sandy used up.