It was a fine night and the conscientious Mr.Gall was walking his beat.

The steady tramp of his heavy shoes had something ominous in it which struck terror into the heart of the wretched fugitive.

With measured tread he came from the direction of the village.

Reaching the cottage he paused and dimly in the starlight Mrs.Goddard could distinguish his glazed hat--the provincial constabulary still wore hats in those days.

Mr.Gall stood not fifteen yards from the cottage, failed to observe that a window was open on the lower floor, nodded to himself as though satisfied with his inspection and walked on.