"Steady, sir! Lookout!"
The near wheel missed a native woman by a fraction of an inch, and
her shrill scream followed them. But Kirby kept his eyes ahead, and
the shadows continued to flash by them in a swift procession until
Warrington leaned forward, and then Kirby leaned back against the
reins.
"There he is, sir!"
They reined to a halt, and a drenched trooper jumped up behind to
kneel on the back seat and speak in whispers.
"No sign of him at all?" asked Kirby.
"No, sahib. But there has been a light behind a shutter above there.
It comes and goes. They light it and extinguish it."
"Has anybody come out of that door?"
"No, sahib."
"None gone in?"
"None."
"Any other door to the place?"
"There may be a dozen, sahib. That is an old house, and it backs up
against six others."
"What we suffer from in this country is information," said
Warrington, beginning to hum to himself.
But Kirby signed to the trooper, and the man began to scramble out
of the cart.
"Between now and our return, report to the club if anything
happens," called Warrington.
The whip swished, the horse shot forward, and they were off again as
if they would catch up with the hurrying seconds. People scattered to
the right and left in front of them; a constable at a street crossing
blew his whistle frantically; once the horse slipped in a deep
puddle, and all but came to earth; but they reached the club without
mishap and drove up the winding drive at a speed more in keeping with
convention.
Pages:
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72