The whole thing worked out logically.
The Man, having spied out the land in his two visits to Lady
Wetherby's house, was now about to break in. His accomplice would
stand by with the sack. With a beating heart Mr Pickering gripped
his revolver and moved round in the shadow of the shrubbery till
he came to the gate, when he was just in time to see the guilty
couple disappear into the woods. He followed them. He was glad to
get on the move again. While he had been wedged into the bush,
quite a lot of the bush had been wedged into him. Something sharp
had pressed against the calf of his leg, and he had been pinched
in a number of tender places. And he was convinced that one more
of God's unpleasant creatures had got down the back of his neck.
Dudley Pickering moved through the wood as snakily as he could.
Nature had shaped him more for stability than for snakiness, but
he did his best. He tingled with the excitement of the chase, and
endeavoured to creep through the undergrowth like one of those
intelligent Indians of whom he had read so many years before in
the pages of Mr Fenimore Cooper. In those days Dudley Pickering
had not thought very highly of Fenimore Cooper, holding his work
deficient in serious and scientific interest; but now it seemed to
him that there had been something in the man after all, and he
resolved to get some of his books and go over them again.
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