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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Frontier Stories"

There was but one chance of escape left now--the forehold he
had just quitted. He might hide there until the alarm was over. He
glided back to the hatch, lifted it, and closed it softly over his head
as the upper hatch was simultaneously raised, and the small round eyes
of Abner Nott peered down upon it. The other footsteps proved to be
Renshaw's, but, attracted by the open door of the loft, he turned aside
and entered. As soon as he disappeared Mr. Nott cautiously dropped
through the opening to the deck below, and, going to the other hatch
through which the Lascar had vanished, deliberately refastened it. In a
few moments Renshaw returned with a light, and found the old man
sitting on the hatch.
"The loft-door was open," said Renshaw. "There's little doubt whoever
was here escaped that way."
"Surely," said Nott. There was a peculiar look of Machiavellian
sagacity in his face which irritated Renshaw.
"Then you're sure it was Ferriferes you saw pass by your window before
you called me?" he asked.
Nott nodded his head with an expression of infinite profundity.


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