clean
strides, through the solitude, inevitably as Fate--the symbol of
Justice in pursuit of Crime. He watched with fascination how the
distance between the hunter and the hunted narrowed; only one thing
could save the criminal from capture--the intervention of Murder
Point.

And then the cloud rolled back again; he closed his eyes, and lost
consciousness in untroubled forgetfulness.

CHAPTER VI

THE PURSUER ARRIVES

He was awakened by a man bending over him and holding a lighted match
to his face. Careless as usual of preserving his life, he did not
attempt to rise or defend himself, but simply gazed back indifferent
and a little bewildered. He did not recognise the man; he was an utter
stranger. As if wearied with an inspection which did not interest him,
he turned his eyes away, and found that the room had become dark. How
many hours he had slept, he could not calculate; perhaps nine or ten.
He wondered what had made the night return so quickly. He looked
toward the window, and saw that it was blinded with snow; and, as he
listened, could hear the roaring of the wind, and, in the lull which
followed, the rustling and settling down of the flakes. Then the match
went out, and neither of them could perceive the other's face. Granger
arose and pushed back the shutter of the stove, that so they might get
a little light. "I needn't ask you to make yourself at home," he said;
"you've done that already."

The stranger did not reply, but surveyed him closely all the while.

"You must have had good company out there to be so silent now that you
have arrived."

Then the man spoke. "What's your name?" he asked abruptly. "Is it
Granger?"

"I was always told so, and have as yet found no good reason for
believing otherwise."

"Then this is the store of Garnier, Parwin, and Wrath, to which I was
directed by Robert Pilgrim of God's Voice?"

"That is right, but I don't often have the pleasure of entertaining
guests from God's Voice."

The stranger paused in doubt, as though choosing the best words to
say; then he blurted out, "But you're a gentleman?"

"I hope so."

"An Oxford man?"

"Yes."

"What college?"

"Corpus."

"Did you row in the Eight?"

"Yes."

"I thought so. At what time?"

"When Corpus went up five places and bumped the House on the last
night."

"I was stroke in the 'Varsity boat that year, and rowed at six in the
Christ Church Eight that night."

"Then you must be Strangeways?"