And, once vanished, they were
lost to him, since he knew neither their names nor dwelling place; and
could, with no certainty, identify them, having seen them only in the
act of struggle and in this uncertain evening light. He felt himself
very nastily planted on the horns of a dilemma, when on a sudden there
arrived help.
A vehicle of some description turned out of the main road and headed
down the lane.
Laocooen-like, flanked on either hand by a writhing youthful figure,
Reginald Sawyer called aloud:
"Hi!--Stop, there--pray, stop."
Darcy Faircloth lighted down out of a ramshackle Marychurch station fly,
and advanced towards the rather incomprehensible group.
"What's happened? What's the matter?" he said. "What on earth do you want
with those two youngsters?"
"I want to convey them to the proper authorities," Sawyer answered, with
all the self-importance he could muster. He found his interlocutor's
somewhat abrupt and lordly manner at once annoying and impressive, as
were his commanding height and rather ruffling gait.
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