he goes again. See him? He is climbing over
my wall--no, he is running along the top of it. Like the wind! And he--"

"Good heavens! Am I--am I goin' blind?" groaned Mr. Crow, his eyes
bulging.

"Now he has disappeared behind the rosebushes down in the corner of the
lot. He must be the same man I have seen--always about this time in the
evening. If he isn't one of your men, Mr. Crow, who in Heaven's name is
he?"

"You--you have seen him before?" murmured the Marshal, reaching up to
make sure that his hat was still in place.

"Four or five times. Last night he climbed up and stood beside that big
chimney up there--silhouetted against the sky. He looked very tall--much
taller than any ordinary man. The night before, he was out here on the
lawn, jumping from bush to bush, for all the world like a harlequin.
Once he actually leaped from the ground up to the roof of the porch, as
easily as you would spring--Where are you going, Mr. Crow?"

"I--I thought I saw him runnin' down the street just now," said Anderson
Crow, quickening his pace after a parting glance over his shoulder at
the tall lady in the gateway. "Maybe I can overtake him if I--if I--But
I guess I'd better hurry. He seems to be runnin' mighty fast."

He was twenty feet away when she called after him, a note of warning in
her voice:

"You are mistaken! He is following you--he is right at your heels, Mr.
Crow."

* * * * *

This was quite enough for Anderson Crow. He broke into a run. As he
clattered past the lower end of the garden wall, a low, horrifying
chuckle fell upon his ears. It was not the laugh of a human being. He
afterwards described it as the chortle of a hyena--hoarse and wild and
full of ghoulish glee.

Alf Reesling's house was two blocks down the street. Mr. Reesling was
getting a bit of fresh air in his front yard. The picket gate was open,
probably to let in the air, and he was leaning upon one of the posts.
His attention was attracted by the sound of approaching footsteps.
Almost before he knew what had happened, they were receding. Anderson
swept past; his chin up, his legs working like piston-rods.

The astonished Alf recognized his friend and adviser.

"Hey!" he shouted.

It was a physical impossibility for Anderson to slacken his speed. At
the same time, it was equally impossible for him to increase it. Alf,
scenting excitement, set out at top speed behind him, shouting all the
time.

Pursued