Who the assassin was and why he had so suddenly desisted, I knew no
more than you do! That he had attacked was natural enough; for whoever
took first possession of no-man's-land in those days either murdered
his rivals or sold them to slavery. But why had he flung his sword
down at the moment of victory?
The pelting of the rain softened to a leafy patter, the patter to a
drip, and a watery moon came glimmering through the clouds. With my
enemy's rapier in hand I began cutting a course through the thicket.
Radisson's fire no longer shone. Indeed, I became mighty uncertain
which direction to take, for the rush of the river merged with the
beating of the wind. The ground sloped precipitously; and I was
holding back by the underbrush lest the bank led to water when an
indistinct sound, a smothery murmur like the gurgle of a subterranean
pool, came from below.
The wind fell. The swirl of the flowing river sounded far from the
rear. I had become confused and was travelling away from the true
course. But what was that sound?
I threw a stick forward. It struck hard stone. At the same instant
was a sibilant, human--distinctly human--"Hss-h," and the sound had
ceased.
That was no laving of inland pond against pebbles. Make of it what you
will--there were voices, smothered but talking.
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