He was not a
moment too soon.
The police knocked smartly at the door.
The woman opened it.
"Have you got Morrison here?" McMahon asked.
"Look and see," the woman replied.
The two men searched the four rooms of the small house, and then they
sat down upon the bed beneath which, close to the wall, Donald was
concealed!
"There's no use in stopping here," Leroyer said.
"No," replied McMahon, "we may as well go." As he spoke he carelessly
ran the butt end of his rifle under the bed!
Donald grew to the wall, and held his breath!
The rifle conveyed no sense of contact. It was thrust in without
conscious motive.
The police took their departure.
"What a narrow escape!" Donald said, when he had emerged from his
hiding-place. His face showed pale beneath the bronze. The perspiration
stood in beads upon his brow.
The friendly creature who sheltered him trembled like an aspen.
She had expected discovery, arrest, perhaps even bloodshed. She felt all
a woman's exaggerated horror of police, and law, and violence.
"Forgive me," Donald said, "for coming near the house.
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