Some one was coming, was almost upon them. If they had not been so absorbed in their own affairs they would have heard the step minutes before and might have noticed that it had paused as if the person, whoever he or she might be, had stopped to listen. Now the steps came on again and the walker, a man, appeared on the sidewalk opposite. He was evidently looking in their direction. “Hello!” he hailed, after a moment. “Who is that? What’s the matter? Anything?” Bob answered. “No. Nothing is the matter,” he said. “Oh! I didn’t know but there might be.... Say, who are you, anyhow?” There was no reply to this. The man--his voice, so Bob thought, seemed familiar although he could not identify it--took a step forward as if to cross the road. Then he halted and asked, a little uneasily: “You’re out kind of late, ain’t you?” Again it was Bob who answered. “Why, yes, rather,” he said, as calmly as he could, considering the state of his feelings. “We’re all right. Don’t let us keep you. You are out rather late yourself, aren’t you?” In spite of its forced calmness the tone was not too inviting. The man stepped back to the sidewalk. “Why--why, I don’t know but I be,” he stammered, a little anxiously. After another momentary pause he added, “Well, good-night,” and hurried on at a pace which became more rapid as he rounded the other thicket of silver-leaves at the bend just beyond. He passed out of sight around its edge. Bob, who had been holding the Covell arm during the interruption, now threw it from him. “There!” he said, between his teeth. “Now go home, Covell. Go home. Unless,” with sarcasm, “you have more calls to make between now and breakfast time. At any rate, get away from me. I have had enough of you.” Covell did not move. He was breathing rapidly. “You low down spy!” he snarled. “I’d like to know whether you are doing your spying on your own account or whether you were put up to it.... Well,” savagely, “I’ll tell you one thing; your sneaking tricks won’t get you anywhere with--with the one you are trying to square yourself with. You can bet your last dollar on that.” And now it was Bob who sprang forward. Just what might have happened if Covell had remained where he was is a question. Bob was beyond restraint or words. His impulse was to give this fellow what he richly deserved and to do it then and there. But Covell sprang backward. Not with the idea of avoiding battle--he was no coward--but to find space in which to meet it. His leap threw him against the fore wheel of the Townsend carriage and the shock almost knocked him from his feet. The nervous horses reared and pranced. The wheel turned. “Look out!” shouted Bob, in alarm. The warning was too late. Covell fell--fell almost beneath the plunging hoofs. A moment later, when Griffin dragged him from their proximity, he was white and senseless, an ugly gash in his forehead. CHAPTER XVII