There was no sound save the gently lapping of the
water upon the bank.
He would have like to bathe his throat and to quench his feverish
thirst, but a mingled hope and despair spurred him and he set off
along the narrow path towards where dimly above some trees he could
discern in the distance a group of red-roofed buildings. Having
proceeded for a considerable distance, he stood still, listening for
any sound that might guide him to the search-party--or warn him that
he was followed. But he could hear nothing.
Onward he pressed, not daring to think of what the future held for
him, not daring to dwell upon the memory, the maddening sweetness, of
that parting kiss. His eyes grew misty, he stumbled as he walked, and
became oblivious of his surrounding. His awakening was a rude one.
Suddenly a man, concealed behind a bush, sprang out upon him and bore
him irresistibly to the ground!
"Not a word!" rapped his assailant, "or I'll knock you out!"
Stuart glared into the red face lowered so threateningly over his own,
and:
"Sergeant Sowerby!" he gasped.
The grip upon his shoulders relaxed.
"Damn!" cried Sowerby--"if it isn't Dr. Stuart?"
"What is that!" cried another voice from the shelter of the bush.
_"Pardieu!_ say it again! ... Dr. Stuart!"
And Gaston Max sprang out!
"Max!" murmured Stuart, staggering to his feet--"Max!"
_"Nom d'un nom!_ Two dead men meet!" exclaimed Gaston Max. "But
indeed"--he grasped Stuart by both hands and his voice shook with
emotion--"I thank God that I see you!"
Stuart was dazed.
Pages:
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246