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So sure was he that he was unobserved that, from the dining-room where in a minute he found himself, he leaned out and carefully pulled the screen up into position, balancing it so it would neither fall by chance nor be a serious obstacle to a sudden exit. Then he put the open knife in his coat pocket, took out his pocket-flash, and tiptoed around the room.
Some one was hammering on the door. He opened without inquiry, which was not the part of wisdom in that country and at that hour. His pocket-flash gleamed on a thin young man in a black-rubber coat who, with head and hands retracted as far as possible from the pouring rain, resembled a disconsolate turtle with an insufficient carapace.
I felt for my pocket-flash and recalled with distress that I had left it behind with my medicine kit when we fled from the gardens. But Rador seemed to need no light. "Grip hands!" he ordered. We crept, single file, holding to each other like children, through the black. At last the green dwarf paused. "Await me here," he whispered. "Do not move. And for your lives be silent!" And he was gone.
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