He could see the lights of Longdean Grange below him; but they seemed a
long way off, whilst that steady pursuit behind had something relentless
and nerve-destroying about it.
They were pounding through the village now. Henson gave vent to one cry
of distress, but nothing came of it but the mocking echo of his own voice
from a distant belt of trees. Merritt shot out a short, sneering laugh.
He had not expected flagrant cowardice like this. He made a sudden spurt
forward and caught Henson by the tail of his coat.
With a howl of fear the latter tore himself away, and Merritt reeled
backwards. He came down heavily over a big stone, and at the same moment
Henson trod on a hedge-stake. He grabbed it up and half turned upon his
foe. But the sight of Merritt's grim face was too much for him, and he
turned and resumed his flight once more.
He yelled again as he reached the lodge-gates, but the only response was
the barking and howling of the dogs in the thick underwood beyond. There
was no help for it. Doubtless the deaf old lodge-keeper had been in bed
hours ago. Even the dogs were preferable to Merritt.
Pages:
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553