"
We scrambled from rock to rock, until in a few moments we
had made our way to a point from which we could see the front
door of the inn. Wilder's bicycle was leaning against the wall
beside it. No one was moving about the house, nor could we
catch a glimpse of any faces at the windows. Slowly the twilight
crept down as the sun sank behind the high towers of Holdemesse
Hall. Then, in the gloom, we saw the two side-lamps of a trap
light up in the stable-yard of the inn, and shortly afterwards
heard the rattle of hoofs, as it wheeled out into the road and tore
off at a furious pace in the direction of Chesterfield.
"What do you make of that, Watson?" Holmes whispered.
"It looks like a flight."
"A single man in a dog-cart, so far as I could see. Well, it
cedrtnainly was not Mr. James Wilder, for there he is at the door."
A red square of light had sprung out of the darkness. In the
middle of it was the black figure of the secretary, his head
advanced, peering out into the night. It was evident that he was
expecting someone. Then at last there were steps in the road, a
second figure was visible for an instant against the light, the door
shut, and all was black once more.
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