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 that he would be caught thus; no better than a mere—­

But needs must, when the devil drives; the devil was driving him now hard.  To attempt to reach the gate, to get out to Surrey Road,—­little doubt existed as to what awaited him there; so, crouching low, he forced himself to linger a little longer where he was.  As thus he remained motionless, sharp twinges again shot through his shoulder; then, on a sudden, he became unmindful of physical discomfort; a plan of action that had flashed through his brain, held him oblivious to all else; it offered only the remotest chance of escape—­but still a chance, which he weighed, determined to take!  It had come to him while listening to the merry voices within the room near him talking of the gay dinner just ended, of the box party at the theater that was to follow.

Already cabs were at the door; the women and the men, several of the latter flushed with wine, were ready to go.  A servant walked out and unlocked the gate and with light badinage the company issued forth.  As they did so, John Steele, unobserved, stepped forward; in the semi-darkness the party passed through the entrance into the street.  Taking his place among the last of the laughing, dimly-seen figures, John Steele walked boldly on and found himself a moment later on the sidewalk of Surrey Road.  He was aware that some one, a woman, had touched his arm, as if to take it; of a light feminine voice and an abrupt exclamation of surprise, of the quick drawing back of fluttering skirts.  But he did not stop to apologize or to explain; walking swiftly to one of the last cabs he sprang in.