He was clearly a desperate man and I
recognized that the only hope I had of foiling him lay in acting with
despatch.
This was a perfect night with never a cloud to mar the blue serenity
of the sky, but in spite of its beauty I was more than ever conscious
of that sense of loneliness and desolateness which seemed to be the
most marked characteristic of the country hereabouts. I met never a
soul upon the highway, nor indeed did I encounter any evidence of life
whatever, until, turning into a narrow lane which would bring me to
that road in the valley upon which stood the deserted lodge belonging
to the Bell House, an owl hooted in the trees above my head.
Keenly alert to the possibility that my movements might be watched, I
paused, wondering if the sound--which had proceeded from a low bough
directly above me--had really been made by an owl or by a human mimic.
For the hoot of an owl, being easy to imitate, is much favored for
signaling purposes. Taking my electric torch from my pocket, I
directed its ray upward into the close foliage of the oak tree;
whereupon, with a ghostly fluttering of dark wings, an owl flew away.
I proceeded confidently down the sloping road amid a silence so
intense that my steps seemed to create a positive clamor. Coming to
the corner, I looked along to the left where the lane, alternate
patches of silver and ebony, showed deserted as far as I could see.
This was the direction of the gate of the Bell House, and the road,
which sloped gently downwards on that side rose in a rather sharper
activity on my right.
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