My involuntary haste must have made me seem to brandish it.
I heard a perfectly civilized scream from Madame Mauer, receding into the
background--which shows that I was, myself, acquiring full speed ahead.
By the time Follet reached the gate, Ching Po moved. I saw Follet
gaining on him, and then saw no more of them; for my feet acting on some
inspiration of their own which never had time to reach my brain, took a
short cut to the water front. I raced past French Eva's empty house,
pounding my way through the gentle heat of May, to Stires's
establishment. I hoped to cut them off. But Ching Po must have had a
like inspiration, for when I was almost within sight of my goal--fifty
rods ahead--the Chinaman emerged from a side lane between me and it. He
was running like the wind. Follet was nowhere to be seen. Ching Po and I
were the only mites on earth's surface. The whole population,
apparently, had piously gone up the mountain in order to let us have our
little drama out alone. I do not know how it struck Ching Po; but I felt
very small on that swept and garnished scene.
I was winded; and with the hope of reaching Stires well dashed, my legs
began to crumple. I sank down for a few seconds on the low wall of some
one's compound. But I kept a keen eye out for Follet.
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