Opening the gate, I passed through. For another second I again paused to listen; then with my revolver ready for immediate use I stepped boldly forward into the gloom.
As I did so my foot struck against a piece of wire, which was stretched across the path a few inches above the ground. So sudden was the shock that I had no chance of recovering my balance. The revolver escaped from my hand, and almost before I realised what had happened I had pitched forward full length on the point of my shoulder.
At the same instant there was a crash amongst the bushes and two men hurled themselves on top of me. One of them fell across my legs, clutching me by the knees; the other landed with his full weight right in the middle of my back.
Half dazed, and almost entirely winded, I still had strength to make one desperate effort. Twisting myself sideways, I jabbed back my elbow into the face of the man above me, and a smothered oath told me that the blow had gone home. Before I could repeat it, however, his fingers sank into my throat, and I felt a cold ring of steel pressed against my forehead:
"If you move again, I'll blow your brains out."
It was Manning's voice, and, low as the whisper was, there was no mistaking its savage sincerity.
I ceased struggling, for beneath that suffocating hold it was impossible to do otherwise.
"Hurry up, de Roda," came the sharp command. "Tie his arms and legs and be quick about it, we've no time to spare."
I felt my ankles being lashed together, and then a thrill of pain darted through my shoulder, as somebody jerked my arms roughly behind my back. A minute later I was as helpless as a trussed fowl.
Manning let go my throat and rose to his feet