then, who had quietly picked the lock, as the surest way of getting in.

John Steele looked back; even as he did so, a number of figures abruptly
ran forward from the gate. He waited no longer but drew himself up to a
level with the top of the wall. The effort made him acutely aware of his
wounded shoulder; he winced but set his teeth hard and swung himself
over until one foot came in contact with the iron frame of the
greenhouse next to the masonry. To crawl to the end of the lean-to,
bending to hold to the wall, and then to let himself down, occupied but
a brief interval.

As he stood there, trying to make out a path through shrubs and trees,
he heard behind him an imperative knocking at the front door of Captain
Forsythe's house; the expostulating tones of the serving-man; the
half-indistinct replies that were succeeded by the noise of feet
hastening into the house.

For some time nothing save these sounds was wafted to the listener; then
a loud disappointed voice, sounding above another voice, came from a
half-opened window. John Steele stood still no longer; great hazard,
almost certain capture, lay before him in the direction he was going;
the street this garden led to would be watched; but he could not remain
where he was. Already his enemies were moving about in the neighboring
grounds; soon they would flash their lights over the wall, would
discover him, unless--He moved quickly forward. As he neared the house,
more imposing than Captain Forsythe's, a stream of light poured from a
window; through this bright space he darted quickly, catching a fleeting
view of people within, several with their faces turned toward him. Close
to a side of the square-looking house, he paused, his heart beating
fast--not with fear, but with a sudden, fierce anger at the possibility