A Rogue by Compulsion | Page 9

cap. I pounced on it
joyfully, for it was the one thing I needed to complete my disguise.
Then, wheeling the bicycle past the car, I blew out the match and
reopened the door.
Stepping as noiselessly as possible on the gravel, I pushed the bike
across the yard. There was a large patch of moonlight between me and
the end of the drive, and I went through it with a horrible feeling in the
small of my back that at any moment someone might fling up a
window and bawl out, "Stop thief!" Nothing of the kind occurred,
however, and with a vast sense of thankfulness I gained the shelter of
the laurels.
The only thing that worried me was the thought that there might be a
lodge at the top. If so I was by no means out of the wood. Even the
most guileless of lodge-keepers would be bound to think it rather
curious that I should be creeping out at this time of night accompanied
by his master's bicycle.
Keeping one hand against the bushes to guide me, and pushing the
machine with the other, I groped my way slowly up the winding path.
As I came cautiously round the last corner I saw with a sigh of relief
that my fears were groundless. A few yards ahead of me in the
moonlight was a plain white gate, and beyond that the road.
I opened the gate with deliberate care, and closed it in similar fashion
behind me. Then for a moment I stopped. I was badly out of breath,
partly from weakness and partly from excitement, so laying the
machine against the bank I leaned back beside it.
Everything was quite still. On each side of me the broad, white,
moonlit roadway stretched away into the night, flanked by a row of
telegraph poles which stood out like gaunt sentries. It was curious to
think that they had probably put in a busy day's work, carrying
messages about me.
There was a lamp on the front bracket, and as soon as I felt a little
better I took out my matches and proceeded to light it. Then, wheeling

my bike out into the roadway, I turned in the direction of Devonport
and mounted. I felt a bit shaky at first, for, apart from the fact that I was
worn out and pretty near starving, I had not been on a machine for over
three years. However, after wobbling wildly from side to side, I
managed to get the thing going, and pedalled off down the centre of the
road as steadily as my half-numbed senses would allow.
For perhaps a quarter of a mile the ground kept fairly level, then,
breasting a slight rise, I found myself at the top of a hill. I shoved on
the brake and went slowly round the first corner, where I got an
unexpected surprise. From this point the road ran straight away down
through a small village, across a bridge over the river, and up a short
steep slope on the farther side.
I took in the situation at a glance, and, releasing my brake, I let the old
bike have her head. It certainly wouldn't suit me to have to dismount in
the village and walk up the opposite slope, and I was much too
exhausted to do anything else unless I could take it in a rush.
Down I went, the machine flying noiselessly along and gathering pace
every yard. I had nearly reached the bottom and was just getting ready
to pedal, when all of a sudden, I caught sight of something that almost
paralyzed me. Right ahead, in the centre of the village square, stood a
prison warder. His back was towards me and I could see the moonlight
gleaming on the barrel of his carbine.
CHAPTER III
A DUBIOUS REFUGE
I was going so fast that everything seemed to happen simultaneously. I
had one blurred vision of him spinning round and yelling to me to stop:
then the next moment I had flashed past him and was racing across the
bridge.
Whether he recognized me for certain I can't say. I think not, or he
would probably have fired sooner than he did: as it was, my rush had
carried me three quarters of the way up the opposite hill before he

could make up his mind to risk a shot.
Bang went his carbine, and at the same instant, with a second loud
report, the tire of my back wheel abruptly collapsed. It was a good shot
if he had aimed for it, and what's more it came unpleasantly near doing
the trick. The old bike swerved violently, but with a wild wrench I just
succeeded in righting her. For a second I heard