. A brandy bottle stood upon the
table. They had evidently been doing what they could to restore him
to consciousness. Terrible though the sight was, Arnold found
something else in that little room to kindle his emotion. Two of the
men were unknown to him--dark-complexioned, ordinary middle-class
people; but the third he recognized with a start. It was Isaac who
stood there, a little aloof, waiting somberly for what his
companion's verdict might be.

Apparently, after a time, they gave up all hope of the still
motionless man. They talked together, glancing now and then towards
his body. The window was open at the top and Arnold could sometimes
hear a word. With great difficulty, he gathered that they were
proposing to remove him, and that they were taking the back way.
Presently he saw them lift the body down and wrap it in an overcoat.
Then Arnold stole away across the lawn toward a gate in the wall. It
was locked, but it was easy for him to climb over. He had barely
done so when he saw the three men come out of the back of the house,
carrying their wounded comrade. He waited till he was sure they were
coming, and then looked around for a hiding-place. He was now in a
sort of lane, ending in a _cul de sac_ at the back of Mr.
Weatherley's house. There were gardens on one side, parallel with
the one through which he had just passed, and opposite were stables,
motor sheds and tool houses. He slipped a little way down the lane
and concealed himself behind a load of wood. About forty yards away
was a street, for which he imagined that they would probably make.
He held his breath and waited.

In a few minutes he saw the door in the wall open. One of the men
slipped out and looked up and down. He apparently signaled that the
coast was clear, and soon the others followed him. They came down
the lane, walking very slowly--a weird and uncanny little
procession. Arnold caught a glimpse of them as they passed. The two
larger men were supporting their fallen companion between them, each
with an arm under his armpits, so that the fact that he was really
being carried was barely noticeable. Isaac came behind, his hands
thrust deep into his overcoat pocket, a cloth cap drawn over his
features. So they went on to the end of the lane. As soon as they
had reached it, Arnold followed them swiftly. When he gained the
street, they were about twenty yards to the right, looking around
them. It was a fairly populous neighborhood, with a row