captured by, his pursuers. What he had seen in
Santoine's study an hour before was so unbelievable, so completely
undemonstrable unless he himself could prove his story that he felt
that he would receive no credence. Blatchford, who had seen it in the
light in the study, was dead; Santoine, who would have seen it if he
had had eyes, was blind. Eaton, still almost stunned and yet wildly
excited by that sight, felt only, in the mad confusion of his senses,
the futility of telling what he had seen unless he were in a position
to prove it. Those opposed to him would put his statement aside with
the mere answer that he was lying; the most charitably inclined would
think only that what he had been through had driven him insane.

Besides, Eaton was not at all sure that even if he had attempted to
tell what he had seen he would be allowed to tell it, or, if he
attempted to surrender to the men now pursuing him, he would be allowed
to surrender. Donald Avery was clearly in command of those men and was
directing the pursuit; in Avery, Eaton had recognized an instinctive
enemy from the first; and now, since the polo game, he sensed vaguely
in Avery something more than that. What Avery's exact position was in
regard to himself Eaton was not at all sure; but of Avery's active
hostility he had received full evidence; and he knew now--though how he
knew it was not plain even to himself--that Avery would not allow him
to surrender but that, if he tried to give himself up, the men under
Avery's orders would shoot him down.

As Eaton watched, the motor, which from its position on the road he
knew must be Harriet's, backed out from the others and went away. The
other motors immediately afterward were turned and followed it. But
Eaton could see that they left behind them a man standing armed near to
the bridge, and that other men, also armed, passed through the light as
they scrambled across the ravine and gained the road on its opposite
side. The motors, too, stopped at intervals and then went on; he
understood that they were posting men to watch the road. He traced the
motor headlights a long way through the dark; one stopped, the other
went on. He remembered vaguely a house near the place where the car he
watched had stopped, and understanding that where there was a house
there was a telephone, he knew that the alarm must be given still more
widely now; men on all sides of him must be turning out to watch the
roads. He knew