Coming out from their cover, John and Christina continued to follow the path, but now at a quick walk and making as little noise as possible. Temporarily they had escaped from the likelihood of immediate capture; but people calling to one another from the centre of the garden told them that Jules, Upson, and perhaps some of the other servants had come out to join in the hunt; and where the shrubbery was thinnest John twice caught the flash of torches.
He knew that now there was little chance of slipping unseen out of the gate down by the port, and was desperately casting about for some place where they might hope to lie concealed when the hunt moved in their direction. By this time they were nearly at the bottom of the garden and could see part of the wall that ran parallel with the shore. Above it showed the starry sky, but at the corner where the two walls met a patch of blackness reared up to double their height, its faint outline having the appearance of a square, topped by a triangle. After a second John realised what it was, and whispered
`That's a gazebo just ahead of us. With luck they will think we got away along the road. They may not look in there. Anyhow, it's our best bet. We must chance it.'
`A what?' murmured Christina.
`A gazebo a raised summer house built on the corner of the wall, to give a view of the bay.'
Swiftly but cautiously, they covered the short distance to the end of the path and made their way up the curving wooden stair they found there. The door of the gazebo was not locked, but it squeaked a little and, fearful of being heard; when they had crept inside they closed it gently behind them. For a moment they could see nothing, then panels of greyness showed the position of the windows and they realised that the place was sexagonal with a window in each of its sides except that occupied by the door. By groping about they found that it held basket chairs with cushions in them, a table and a low cupboard. Lowering themselves into two of the chairs, they subconsciously stilled their breathing while listening anxiously for sounds outside.
Muffled now by the wooden walls of the garden house, they could still hear the calls of the searchers. Once they caught the quick tread of heavy feet nearby, and the reflected glow from a torch lighted one of the windows on the garden side; but after a quarter of an hour of agonising apprehension no sound had reached them for several minutes, so it seemed that the search had been abandoned.
Till then neither of them had dared to speak from fear that one of Jules' people might be hunting about in the shrubbery beneath them: but now John thought it safe to ask in a whisper
`How is your ankle?'
`Not too bad,' Christina whispered back. `It gave me hell while we were running; but since I've had it up on a chair the pain has eased a lot. I don't think it's sprained only twisted.'
`It ought to have a cold compress on, but there's no hope of that. Still, I could bind it up tightly, and that may help when we have to move again. Shall I try what I can do?'
By this time their eyes had become a little accustomed to the darkness; so he could just make out her nod. `I wish you would; but do you think you can see enough?'
`We could use my cigarette lighter, but I don't like to risk it. This place may be visible from the house.' As he spoke he knelt down and groped about till he found her foot. Having taken off her shoe, he felt the ankle gently with his finger tips. It was swollen, but not very much. Getting out his silk handkerchief, he folded it on the seat of a nearby chair, as well as he could by touch, cornerwise in a long strip. Then he said
`You had better take off your stocking.'
She undid the suspender and rolled it down for him. He peeled it off and for a moment held her bare foot in his palm. It was cool, firm and delightfully smooth. His hand closed round it easily, and on impulse he remarked
`You were grumbling this afternoon about the size of your feet. I can't think why. This is a lovely little foot.' The words were scarcely out when he regretted them from the sudden fear that she might take the compliment as an amorous overture. He had experienced how swiftly she could be aroused to uncontrollable passion during the dark hours, and the last thing he wished for was to have to repel advances of which she would be ashamed in the morning light.
His fears were not altogether unfounded. After a second's hesitation, she said very softly, `If you like to kiss the place that might make it well.'
Instead, he laid on the bandage. It was the handkerchief he had used to bathe his face in the cabin, so it was still damp and cold. As it touched her she gave a little gasp, and, to distract her mind from the thoughts on which he felt sure it was running, he told her about the use to which he had put it; then, as he drew the bandage tight and tied the pointed ends in a knot a few inches above her heel, went on to describe the hurts he had received on the yacht.
The ruse served to some extent, as she immediately became all concern. Then leaning forward she found and stroked his face, as she murmured, `Poor John! You've had a frightful time. And all for my sake. But I'll do anything I can to make it up to you.'
He got her stocking on over the bandage, then told her to pull it up; but she gave a low laugh.
`No; you do it for me, darling. I'm glad you like my feet; although you'd find them much bigger than you think if you saw them. Of my legs, though, I have real reason to be proud. They are a lovely shape and above the knees as soft as satin. Just feel, here by my suspenders.'
Suddenly taking his hand, she pulled it forward till it touched the inner side of her thigh on a line with the top of her other stocking. The flesh there was like a cushion of swans down under a taut stretched skin of tissue thin rubber; it had that indefinable quality of being cool at first touch, then instantly radiating heat. The back of his fingers were pressed for only a second against it. Jerking them away, he tore his hand from hers, and snapped
`That's quite enough of that! Do it up yourself.'
For a moment she was silent, then she said in a voice near to tears, `Oh, John, you are unkind. Have you been playing with me? Don't you love me at all?'
His mouth had suddenly become dry. He swallowed, but his words came huskily in the darkness. `If you want to be seduced, ask me to fix your stockings for you tomorrow afternoon. But I'm damned if I'll make love to you now, while you are under some accursed influence.'
She sighed. `But it's now I want you to. I'd make you if I wasn't so tired.'
He laughed a little grimly. `You would probably succeed if I wasn't so tired myself. My ribs are still giving me gyp, and I'm one big ache all over. It must be past four o'clock, too; so it is over twenty hours since we had any sleep,
except for our nap in the olive grove.'
`That was nice.' Her tone was warm at the memory.
`But I'm such a stupid little fool in the daytime. I was nervous of you then.'
`I like you better when you are like that, because you are your real self.'
`What is my real self?' she asked cynically. `My feelings are as real by night as they are by day. I shall be the way you like me best again soon, though. The change always comes an hour or so before dawn, and I can feel it coming on. But you can't have it both ways. If they find us here and we have to try to escape again I'll probably behave like an hysterical schoolgirl, and I'll never have the pluck to fire that gun.'
`Don't worry. I have it, and I felt it over soon after we got in here. There are still two bullets left in it. They should be enough to give us a sporting chance of a breakout if we are found here, but it looks as if they have made up their minds that we got away along the road. The thing that troubles me is your ankle. I should like to give them another half hour, then go out and reconnoiter. If no one is about it would be the perfect opportunity to slip away inland behind the chateau. No one would ever find us up there in the marquis. But there is always the chance that we might be spotted leaving the garden and have to run for it again; and, anyway, I'm sure your ankle would never stand up to a long tramp over broken ground up into the hills.'