Beneath the trees a shadow carpet lay, its edges tropically sharp; and fully ten yards from the first of the group, we two, hatless both, and sharing a common dread, paused for a moment and listened.

The car had stopped at the further extremity of the common, and now with a moan that grew to a shriek was rolling on its way again.  We stood and listened until silence reclaimed the night.  Not a footstep could be heard.  Then slowly we walked on.  At the edge of the little coppice we stopped again abruptly.

Smith turned and thrust his pistol into my hand.  A white ray of light pierced the shadows; my companion carried an electric torch.  But no trace of Eltham was discoverable.

There had been a heavy shower of rain during the evening just before sunset, and although the open paths were dry again, under the trees the ground was still moist.  Ten yards within the coppice we came upon tracks—­the tracks of one running, as the deep imprints of the toes indicated.

Abruptly the tracks terminated; others, softer, joined them, two sets converging from left and right.  There was a confused patch, trailing off to the west; then this became indistinct, and was finally lost upon the hard ground outside the group.

For perhaps a minute, or more, we ran about from tree to tree, and from bush to bush, searching like hounds for a scent, and fearful of what we might find.  We found nothing; and fully in the moonlight we stood facing one another.  The night was profoundly still.

Nayland Smith stepped back into the shadows, and began slowly to turn his head from left to right, taking in the entire visible expanse of the common.  Toward a point where the road bisected it he stared intently.  Then, with a bound, he set off.

“Come on, Petrie!” he cried.  “There they are!”

Vaulting a railing he went away over a field like a madman.  Recovering from the shock of surprise, I followed him, but he was well ahead of me, and making for some vaguely seen object moving against the lights of the roadway.

Another railing was vaulted, and the corner of a second, triangular grass patch crossed at a hot sprint.  We were twenty yards from the road when the sound of a starting motor broke the silence.  We gained the graveled footpath only to see the taillight of the car dwindling to the north!

Smith leaned dizzily against a tree.

“Eltham is in that car!” he gasped.  “Just God! are we to stand here and see him taken away to—­”

He beat his fist upon the tree, in a sort of tragic despair.  The nearest cab-rank was no great distance away, but, excluding the possibility of no cab being there, it might, for all practical purposes, as well have been a mile off.

The beat of the retreating motor was scarcely audible; the lights might but just be distinguished.  Then, coming in an opposite direction, appeared the headlamp of another car, of a car that raced nearer and nearer to us, so that, within a few seconds of its first appearance, we found ourselves bathed in the beam of its headlights.