is way cautiously as he
set the stage for a game of cat-and-mouse. He pushed the chair that
Ocky had used directly in front of the open window and settled himself
in its depths, his hot eyes staring into the night and challenging it
to yield its secrets.

He moved only once during the next half-hour. That was to pour himself
another drink, which he sipped slowly while he continued to watch the
neighborhood of the big birch that Ocky had indicated. Would he come
back? Would he? Varr waited for the answer to that, waited and waited
while a murderous rage filled his breast and grew ever more intense
with each succeeding mouthful of raw drink. Would he come?

Yes!

The empty glass slipped from his fingers to fall with a light thud on
the carpeted floor as he slowly rose from his seat. He rubbed his
eyes, quite unnecessarily, for they were now used to the dim starlight.
No possible doubt existed--the ominous black figure was _there_!
Straight and tall, it stood, exactly as he remembered seeing it at the
head of the trail. Now it was on a concrete path that bisected the
kitchen garden, motionless, apparently inspecting the darkened house of
the man it pursued.

Stealthy as a cat, nearly as swiftly, Simon rushed from his room and
out of the house by the front door. His plan was to circle the
building, taking advantage of every shadow, and get as close to his
enemy as he could before revealing himself. Suppose the fellow took
alarm and got off to a running start? Could he hope to catch him? For
the first time in his life, he wished he had a revolver.

Less than ten yards intervened between them when he finally broke cover
and hurled himself furiously forward, hatred in his heart, a deep oath
on his lips. At last! His fingers itched for the throat of his enemy.

It was disconcerting suddenly to realize that he had not taken his foe
by surprise; his swift approach was slightly checked as he saw that the
figure was facing him, watching him--waiting for him! It was still as
any statue up to the very instant when he flung out his arms to seize
it; then it fell back a pace and its left hand went slowly up to lift
the black veil that masked its countenance.

If another emotion as strong as his hatred existed in Simon's breast,
it was curiosity as to the identity of his relentless enemy. His
advance came to an almost involuntary halt as he thrust his head
forward the better to distinguish the features of that f