She moved quickly and silently past the big oak hall-stand on which lay a dirty ten-dollar bill. There’ll be money on the hall-stand, Miss Lolly had said. Carol picked up the note: it felt dry and brittle in her nervous fingers. She held it tightly, not quite believing it was real, and went on to the front door.
She opened the door, which creaked sharply, making the nerves in her body stiffen like pieces of wire. She looked back over her shoulder.
Miss Lolly was watching her from the kitchen door. She was crying. Tears ran down her gaunt face and sparkled like chips of ice in her beard. She held the tea-tray before her: the crockery rattled faintly because her hands were trembling.
They stared at each other, sympathy and terror bridging the gulf between them, then Carol ran out on to the verandah, closed the front door behind her, shutting off the sight of Miss Lolly’s triumphant but agonized expression.
Close by the rasp of a saw biting into hard wood jarred the peaceful stillness. Carol paused to reconnoitre the ground. There was an overgrown path that led from the house down to a white-wood gate. Beyond the gate was the by-road, sandy and rutty, that led into the jungle of cypress and brier. It’s a long walk to the main road, Miss Lolly had said.
The sound of the saw abruptly ceased: a silence full of hot sunshine fell over the old plantation house. Carol walked swiftly, and carefully across the verandah to the head of the four rotten wooden steps that led to the path. There she paused again to listen.
She did not hear Sherill come round the side of the house. His naked feet made no sound in the soft, hot sand. She first became aware of him when he arrived at the bottom of the stoop and was staring at her with angry, frightened eyes as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
Beyond his tall, upright figure lay the by-road and freedom.
‘Get back to your room,’ he said harshly.
Carol looked quickly to right and left. The rail of the verandah, rotten as it was, fenced her in. It was impossible to retreat: only the dark hall yawned behind her, but it offered no escape. Escape lay ahead, beyond this angry, frightened man who barred her path.
‘Don’t touch me,’ she said fiercely. ‘I’m going... you can’t stop me...’
‘You’re not,’ Sherill send. ‘Go back to your room. I don’t want to hurt you... but I shall if you don’t go back.’
The thought of further pain made Carol cringe, but she didn’t move, and when Sherill began a cautious approach she still did not move.
‘Get back,’ he said, reached out and caught her arm.
She struck at him then. Her fist caught him high up on his cheekbone, startled rather than hurt him; then she flew at him, kicking and hitting him.
He held her close. His arms, big and hard, encircled her, crushing her to him, smothering her efforts to hit him, driving the breath out of her body. He gave her a hard chopping blow with his clenched fist that landed in the hollow of her neck, turning her sick and faint. She ceased to struggle and he half carried her, half dragged her, into the hall. Then he paused, stared at Miss Lolly, who faced him, a double-barrelled shot-gun in her hand.
‘Put her down,’ she said firmly. ‘Please, Tex, put her down.’
‘Get out of the way,’ Sherill snarled. ‘Have you gone crazy, too?’
Carol suddenly bunched herself against him like a spring coiling, then sprang back against his encircling arms, breaking his hold. She thudded against the wall, staggered, half fell. Miss Lolly pushed the gun against Sherill’s chest.
‘Don’t make me shoot you,’ she pleaded, her eyes wild. ‘She must be allowed to go. We mustn’t stop her. We have no right to keep her here.’
Sherill cursed her, but he made no move as Carol slipped past him, ran blindly into the open towards the white wooden gate.
‘You know what you’ve done?’ he said. ‘You damned old sentimental fool. I shouldn’t have trusted you.’ He went to the door, looked after Carol. She was running very quickly: he was astonished that anyone could move so lightly and yet so quickly over the uneven ground. He knew he had no hope of catching her.
Then he thought of the dog, and without looking at Miss Lolly he ran down the wooden steps, round the building, to the kennels.
Carol kept to the by-road. Each side of her the dense jungle of trees and bushes and high grass shut her in like the walls of a maze. As she ran she listened and heard no sound of pursuit, but she did not slacken her pace until she had gone some distance from the old plantation house; then, panting, a pain in her side, she slowed to a walk.
She had no idea how far she was from Point Breese. She realized that the distance must be great, for she had spent a long time in the rapidly moving Packard. But she had money now: admittedly not much, but enough if she could only reach a bus stop or a railway station.
She realized with something like triumph that the Sullivans had only a few minutes’ start over her. They had the car, of course, but they wouldn’t find Steve quickly. She was certain that Magarth wouldn’t have left Steve in that wood. With any luck she would arrive at Point Breese before the Sullivans found him: that was all she asked for.
Then suddenly she stiffened, her heart fluttering, looked back over her shoulder. Not far away came the bay of a hound, and instantly she began to run again.
If that man had set a dog after her... again she looked back along the twisting, narrow, hedged-in road. Was there any use hiding? She came to an abrupt standstill, looked wildly around for a stick — some weapon with which to defend herself.
A moment later she saw the dog. It came bounding down the narrow road: a great black brute with a spade-shaped head, close hair and a long tail. Its eyes were like little sparks of fire.
Carol caught her breath when she saw this black monster rushing towards her. There was nothing she could do. It was like being in a nightmare, and she stood still, the hot sun beating on her back, her shadow, long and thin, pointing at the dog like a weapon.
When the dog saw her it slowed to a menacing walk, its muzzle only a few inches from the ground, its tail stiff, in line with its back and head.
Carol scarcely breathed. She fixed the dog with her eyes and was as still as if she had been carved out of stone.
The dog slowed its pace, snarled at her: the great fangs as white as orange pith under the black lip. Then its hair stiffened all along its thin, hard back, and it stopped, crouched, uncertain whether to spring or not.
Knowing it was her only chance of escape, Carol willed the dog to remain where it was. She tried to see into the dog’s brain, and now that she had stopped it in its tracks she moved forward very slowly and the dog began to back: like a cartoon film in reverse.
For a full minute they continued to stare at each other, then the dog’s tail gradually lost its stiffness, like a ship striking its flag, then its nerve broke and with a low howl it turned and bolted back down the narrow road, and with a sob of relief Carol turned and fled in the opposite direction.
Sherill was blundering down the hot road when the dog passed him and he stood staring after the dog, the blood draining out of his face. He knew then that Carol had escaped and there was nothing he could do to recapture her.
He stood for some moments, unable to think. If she ain’t here when we get back, you best not be here either, Max had said. The Sullivans didn’t make idle threats. Slowly he turned and walked back to the old plantation house, pushed open the wooden gate, walked stiffly up the garden path.
Miss Lolly sat in the basket chair, a wooden, frightened expression on her face. She looked at him out of the comer of her eyes, but he said nothing, walked past her into the house. He was inside some time, but Miss Lolly continued to sit in the sun, waiting. She had no regrets. She felt that in releasing Carol she had, in some way, justified her own tragic life.