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Page 68
Still as the trees above him he crouched, watching, and
presently, bent forward, questing to right and left, questing in
a horribly suggestive animal fashion, the entire figure of the
man appeared in the roadway.
As Paul Harley had prayed would be the case, his pursuers
evidently believed that he had turned in the direction of Lower
Claybury. A vague, phantom figure, Harley saw the man wave his
arm, whereupon a second man joined him--a third--and, finally, a
fourth.
Harley clenched his teeth grimly, and as the ominous quartet
began to move toward the left, he resumed his slow retreat to the
right--going ever farther away, of necessity, from the only
centre with which he was acquainted and from which he could hope
to summon assistance. Finally he reached a milestone resting
almost against the railings of the Manor Park.
Drawing a deep breath, he sprang upon the milestone, succeeded in
grasping the top of the high iron railings, and hauled himself up
bodily.
Praying that the turf might be soft, he jumped. Fit though he
was, and hardened by physical exercise, the impact almost stunned
him. He came down like an acrobat--left foot, right foot, and
then upon his hands, but nevertheless he lay there for a moment
breathless and temporarily numbed by the shock.
In less than a minute he was on his feet again and looking
alertly about him. Striking into the park land, turning to the
left, and paralleling the highroad, he presently came out upon
the roadway, along which under shelter of a straggling hedge, he
began to double back. In sight of the road dipping down to Lower
Claybury he crossed, forcing his way through a second hedge
thickly sown with thorns.
Badly torn, but careless of such minor injuries, he plunged
heavily through a turnip field, and, bearing always to the left,
came out finally upon the road leading to the station, and only
some fifty yards from the bottom of the declivity.
A moment he paused, questioning the silence. He was unwilling to
believe that he had outwitted his pursuers. His nerves were
strung to highest tension, and his strange gift of semi-
prescience told him that danger was at least as imminent as ever,
even though he could neither see nor hear his enemies. Therefore,
pistol in hand again, he descended to the foot of the hill.
He remembered having noticed, when he had applied to the porter
for information respecting the residence of Ormuz Khan, that upon
a window adjoining the entrance had appeared the words "Station
Master." The station master's office, therefore, was upon the
distant side of the line.
Now came the hardest blow of all. The station was closed for the
night. Nor was there any light in the signal box. Evidently no
other train was due upon that branch line until some time in the
early morning. The level crossing gate was open, but before
breaking cover he paused a while to consider what he should do.
Lower Claybury was one of those stations which have no intimate
connection with any township. The nearest house, so far as Harley
could recall, was fully twenty yards from the spot at which he
stood. Furthermore, the urgency of the case had fired the soul of
the professional investigator.
He made up his mind, and, darting out into the road, he ran
across the line, turned sharply, and did not pause until he stood
before the station master's window. Then his quick wits were put
to their ultimate test.
Right, left, it seemed from all about him, came swiftly pattering
footsteps! Instantly he divined the truth. Losing his tracks upon
the highroad above, a section of his pursuers had surrounded the
station, believing that he would head for it in retreat.
Paul Harley whipped off his coat in a flash, and using it as a
ram, smashed the window. He reached up, found the catch, and
opened the sash. In ten seconds he was in the room, and a great
clatter told him that he had overturned some piece of furniture.
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