There was something uncanny about the man, and he had a
sudden conviction that Shepard had seen him long since and was watching
him. He thrust his hands into his capacious pockets. The pistols were
still there, and he resolved that he would use them if need be.
He went at first toward the Potomac, and he did not look back for a
long time, rambling about the streets in a manner apparently aimless.
Now and then a quiver ran down his back, and he knew it was due to the
mental fear that Shepard was pursuing. When he did look back at last he
did not see him, and he felt immediate elation. It would not be long
now until dark, and then he would make his escape across the river.
Time was slow, but it could not keep darkness back forever, and, as soon
as it had come fully, he turned toward the north. Southern troops would
not be looked for there, and egress would be easier in that direction.
He passed on without interruption and soon was in the suburbs, which
were then so shabby. Then he looked back, and cold fear plucked at the
roots of his hair. A man was following him, and he could tell even in
the dim light that it was Shepard.
A shudder shook him now. A rope was the fate for a spy.
Pages:
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381