He stood aside.
"To the end of this lane," he said, in his soft queerly modulated
voice, "and along the turning to the left to the river bank. Follow
the bank towards the palace and you will meet them."
"I owe you my life," said Stuart.
"Go! you owe me nothing," returned the Hindu fiercely.
Stuart turned and walked rapidly along the lane. Once he glanced back.
Chunda Lal was looking after him ... and he detected something that
gleamed in his hand, gleamed not like gold but like the blade of a
knife!
Turning the corner, Stuart began to run. For he was unarmed and still
weak, and there had been that in the fierce black eyes of the Hindu
when he had scorned Stuart's thanks which had bred suspicion and
distrust.
From the position of the moon, Stuart judged the hour to be something
after midnight. No living thing stirred about him. The lane in which
now he found himself was skirted on one side by a hedge beyond which
was open country and on the other by a continuation of the high wall
which evidently enclosed the grounds of the house that he had just
quitted. A cool breezed fanned his face, and he knew that he was
approaching the Thames. Ten more paces and he came to the bank.
In his weak condition the short run had exhausted him. His bruised
throat was throbbing painfully, and he experienced some difficulty in
breathing. He leaned up against the moss-grown wall, looking back into
the darkness of the lane.
No one was in sight.
Pages:
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245