At the crest of a low knoll between barracks and Kedsty’s bungalow she stopped for the first time.  He had there, again, the almost irresistible impulse to reach out in the darkness and take her into his arms, crying out to her of his joy, of a happiness that had come to him greater even than the happiness of freedom.  But he stood, holding her hand, his tongue speechless, and he was looking at her when the lightning revealed her again.  In a rending flash it cut open the night so close that the hiss of it was like the passing of a giant rocket, and involuntarily she shrank against him, and her free hand caught his arm at the instant thunder crashed low over their heads.  His own hand groped out, and in the blackness it touched for an instant her wet face and then her drenched hair.

“Marette,” he cried, “where are we going?”

“Down there,” came her voice.

Her hand had left his arm, and he sensed that she was pointing, though he could not see.  Ahead of them was a chaotic pit of gloom, a sea of blackness, and in the heart of that sea he saw a light.  He knew that it was a lamp in one of Kedsty’s windows and that Marette was guiding herself by that light when she started down the slope with her hand still in his.  That she had made no effort to withdraw it made him unconscious of the almost drowning discomfort of the fresh deluge of rain that beat their faces.  One of her fingers had gripped itself convulsively about his thumb, like a child afraid of falling.  And each time the thunder crashed that soft hold on his thumb tightened, and Kent’s soul acclaimed.

They drew swiftly nearer to the light, for it was not far from the knoll to Kedsty’s place.  Kent’s mind leaped ahead.  A little west by north from the inspector’s bungalow was Kim’s Bayou and it was undoubtedly to the forest trail over which she had gone at least once before, on the night of the mysterious assault upon Mooie, that Marette was leading him.  Questions began to rush upon him now, immediate demanding questions.  They were going to the river.  They must be going to the river.  It was the quickest and surest way of escape.  Had Marette prepared for that?  And was she going with him?

He had no time to answer.  Their feet struck the gravel path leading to the door of Kedsty’s place, and straight up this path the girl turned, straight toward the light blazing in the window.  Then, to his amazement, he heard in the sweep of storm her voice crying out in glad triumph,

“We’re home!”

Home!  His breath came in a sudden gulp.  He was more than astounded.  He was shocked.  Was she mad or playing an amazingly improper joke?  She had freed him from a cell to lead him to the home of the Inspector of Police, the deadliest enemy the world now held for him.  He stopped, and Marette Radisson tugged at his hand, pulling him after her, insisting that he follow.  She was clutching his thumb as though she thought he might attempt to escape.