Then he
whistled, and called again:
"Rufus! Rufus!"
Desmond made a supreme effort to support the strain on his
muscles. The veins stood out at his temples and he felt the blood
singing in his ears. Another minute and he knew he must drop. He
no longer had the power to swing himself up to the window ledge
again.
A bark rang out in the courtyard, followed by the patter of feet.
Desmond heard Strangwise speak to the dog and reenter the house.
Then silence fell again. With a tremendous effort Desmond swung
his legs athwart the pipe, gripped it with his right hand, then
his left, and very gently commenced to let himself down. The pipe
quivered beneath his weight, but it held fast and in a minute he
was standing on the roof of the outhouse, cautiously peering
through the dank fog that hung about the yard.
Screening himself from view behind the tall waterbutt, he
reconnoitred the back of the inn. The upper part of the house was
shrouded in darkness, but a broad beam of light from a half-open
door and a tall window on the ground floor cleft the pall of fog.
The window showed a snug little bar with Strangwise standing by
the counter, a glass in his hand. As Desmond watched him, he
heard a muffled scream from somewhere within the house.
Strangwise heard it too, for Desmond saw him put his glass down
on the bar and raise his head sharply.
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