“I've seen him. He's the man that shot your friend. He was the man I shot at when he looked in the window.”
“Sure, Arlie?”
“Dead sure, Dick. He's an escaped convict, and he has a grudge at your friend. He is afraid of him, too. Look out for Lieutenant Fraser to-night. Don't let him wander around outside. If he does, there may be murder done.”
Even as she spoke, there came a sound from the wooded hillside—the sound of a stifled cry, followed by an imprecation and the heavy shuffling of feet.
“Listen, Dick!”
For an instant he listened. Then: “There's trouble in the grove, and I'm not armed,” he cried.
“Never mind! Go—go!” she shrieked, pushing him forward.
For herself, she turned, and ran like a deer for the house.
Siegfried was sitting on the porch, whittling a stick.
“They—they're killing Steve—in the grove,” she panted.