And then, just as he had begun to
contemplate the possibility of abandoning the whole adventure and
returning home, he was jerked back to boyhood again by the sound
of voices.
He shrank farther back into the bushes. A man--The Man--was
approaching, accompanied by his female associate. They passed so
close to him that he could have stretched out a hand and touched
them.
The female associate was speaking, and her first words set all Mr
Pickering's suspicions dancing a dance of triumph. The girl gave
herself away with her opening sentence.
'You can't think how nervous I was this afternoon,' he heard her
say. She had a soft pleasant voice; but soft, pleasant voices may
be the vehicles for conveying criminal thoughts. 'I thought every
moment one of those newspaper men would look in here.'
Where was here? Ah, that outhouse! Mr Pickering had had his
suspicions of that outhouse already. It was one of those
structures that look at you furtively as if something were hiding
in them.
'James! James! I thought I heard James in those bushes.'
The girl was looking straight at the spot occupied by Mr
Pickering, and it had been the start caused by her first words and
the resultant rustle of branches that had directed her attention
to him. He froze. The danger passed.
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