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“CAMPE!” cried Bat Scanlon, his eyes upon the fleeing man, and his hand going, with the instinctive movement of an old gun man, to his hip. “And giving his little performance outside once more.”

But the keen eyes of the crime specialist had picked up details which the other had missed. He shook his head.

“No,” said he. “Campe is a young man, you say. This is one past middle life. And also he seems sadly out of condition, and does not run at all like a man who once took middle distance honours.”

The searching column of light still clung to the running man; again and again came the light shocks of the distant rifle.

“The woman has faded out of the lime-light,” observed Scanlon.

“And the man is trying his best to duplicate the feat. Look—there he goes!”

With a wild side leap, the fugitive vanished into a shallow ravine, out of range of both the ray and the rifle. At this the searchlight was snapped off and darkness once more settled over the hills.