I suppose we were not more than a dozen paces from the lamp when we heard the
thudding of the motor. The car was backing out!
It was a desperate moment, for it seemed that we could not fail to be discovered. Nayland
Smith began to look about him, feverishly, for a hiding-place, a quest in which I
seconded with equal anxiety. And Fate was kind to us--doubly kind as after events
revealed. A wooden gate broke the expanse of wall hard by upon the right, and, as the
result of some recent accident, a ragged gap had been torn in the panels close to the top.
The chain of the padlock hung loosely; and in a second Smith was up, with his foot in
this as in a stirrup. He threw his arm over the top and drew himself upright. A second
later he was astride the broken gate.
"Up you come, Petrie!" he said, and reached down his hand to aid me.
I got my foot into the loop of chain, grasped at a projection in the gatepost and found
myself up.
"There is a crossbar on this side to stand on," said Smith.
He climbed over and vanished in the darkness. I was still astride the broken gate when
the car turned the corner, slowly, for there was scanty room; but I was standing upon the
bar on the inside and had my head below the gap ere the driver could possibly have seen
me.
"Stay where you are until he passes," hissed my companion, below. "There is a row of
kegs under you."
The sound of the motor passing outside grew loud--louder--then began to die away. I felt
about with my left foot; discerned the top of a keg, and dropped, panting, beside Smith.
"Phew!" I said--"that was a close thing! Smith--how do we know--"
"That we have followed the right car?" he interrupted. "Ask yourself the question: what
would any ordinary man be doing motoring in a place like this at two o'clock in the
morning?"
"You are right, Smith," I agreed. "Shall we get out again?"
"Not yet. I have an idea. Look yonder."
He grasped my arm, turning me in the desired direction.
