Shepard walked swiftly toward the narrower and more obscure streets,
and Harry followed at equal speed. The night grew darker and the rain,
instead of coming in gusts, now fell steadily. Twice Shepard stopped
and looked back. But on each occasion Harry flattened himself against a
plank fence and he did not believe the spy had seen him.
Then Shepard went faster and his pursuer had difficulty in keeping him in
view. He went through an alley, turned into a street, and Harry ran in
order not to lose sight of him.
The alley came into the street at a right angle, and, when Harry turned
the corner, a heavy, dark figure thrust itself into his path.
"Shepard!" he cried.
"Yes!" said the man, "and I hate to do this, but I must."
His heavy fist shot out and caught his pursuer on the jaw. Harry saw
stars in constellations, then floated away into blackness, and, when he
came out of it, found himself lying on a bed in a small room. His jaw
was bandaged and very sore, but otherwise he felt all right. A candle
was burning on a table near him and an unshuttered window on the other
side of the room told him that it was still night and raining.
Harry looked leisurely about the room, into which he had been wafted on
the magic carpet of the Arabian genii, so far as he knew.
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