about in that way? At last, at a
distance of six feet away from her, he stopped altogether. She could
no longer see him, but she felt his presence. She almost knew that he
was silently peering through the wall of foliage, endeavouring to probe
into the shadows. The suspense grew unbearable, she felt she must
scream out, "Here I am! What are you going to do about me?"

Suddenly other steps approached, those of two or three people. She
listened eagerly: then she heard voices talking in quite unintelligible
French, interspersed with laughter. She visualised a group of
returning workmen. Just opposite her one of them spat on the pavement
and broke into a snatch of song. Hardly had they passed by when others
came--the desert was populated once more. She felt a merciful degree
of security. At any rate Holliday would not dare now to come and seize
her, or even if he did she had a better chance of creating an effectual
disturbance. But where was Holliday? Had he departed, or was he still
standing there, searching for her? She could not tell, and she was
afraid to move to see better. What seemed an infinitude of time went
by; then at last, realising how late it was growing and that she must
not waste the precious minutes, she raised her head and took a cautious
look through an open patch in the leaves towards the doctor's door. A
few minutes ago it had stood open, emitting a bar of yellow light. Now
the place was in complete darkness. That argued that Holliday had gone
back whence he had come. Dare she rise to her feet and hasten on her
way? She knew that she must dare; to stop here longer might easily be
fatal to her project.

Yes, he was nowhere in sight, had apparently relinquished the pursuit.
She did not stop to wonder why, or if he had anything up his sleeve.
Instead she turned out of the gate to the side-walk, her clothing damp
and clinging to her, her limbs trembling. She had passed one terror,
but she was faced with a second almost as bad. Had the doctor already
reached the Villa Firenze? Could she possibly contrive to forestall
him? She must at once get to a telephone; it was her one chance.

A telephone--there must be one in this next villa; she would ring the
bell and ask. With her knees giving under her at every step she
hurried up the walk of a gingerbread pseudo-chalet, vilely
prosperous-looking, and pressed her finger firmly on the electric
button. There was a shrill peal, echoing thr