Читать книгу Special Detective (Ashton-Kirk) онлайн

33 страница из 68

As they stood gazing about, Ashton-Kirk’s head suddenly went up. He bent forward in the attitude of listening.

“What is it?” asked the big man.

“Hark!”

Far away, among the hills to the north, came a deep muttering, Scanlon clutched the crime specialist’s arm.

“That’s it!” he cried. “Listen to it lift. It’s the thing I heard roaring in the night.”

Low, growling, ominous at first, the sound grew in volume. Then it pealed like a mighty voice, rolling and echoing from hill to hill, finally subsiding and dying in the muttering with which it began.

“According to custom,” remarked Scanlon, in an uneasy tone, “Campe is now due to take his gun in hand and dash for the gate. And, if he does, they’ll do more than slash him. I’ve got an idea they’ll get him this time.”

As he said the last word, a shaft of brilliant light shot from the tower of Schwartzberg, and flashed to and fro across the countryside.

Then came the quick, far-off pulsation of a rifle; in the widening beam of white light they saw a woman crouching down as though in fear; and then they caught the figure of a man, running as though for his life.