through his moist body at the discovery, slowly lowered himself and explored the unknown object.
There, directly in his path, he found a pair of shoes. He examined them thoughtfully, uppers and sole, as a blind man might. And he knew they were not his own. Close beside them, a moment later, he found a discarded coat. He felt it over, carefully,slipping a silent finger into its pockets, burying his nose in its folds, and sniffing at it as a hound might. Even before he held it up and made sure of its dimensions, of its length of body and width of shoulder, he knew the coat belonged to Lambert.
He knew then that his enemy was still there; and it was fair to assume he was not asleep. That enemy, in fact, was as prepared for emergency as was his pursuer. He stood as ready for silent retreat or advance as did Kestner himself.
The man with the antennæ-like fingers stood erect, peering about the blackness that engulfed him. He seemed to sniff danger in the air, as an animal upwind sniffs pursuit. Instinctively he reached down to make sure that his revolver was in place. Then he buttoned his coat, and once more stooping forward like a track-runner, moved guardedly on. He began to breathe more freely, digesting his discovery, adjusting himself to the newer condition of things. But he kept warning himself to be cautious, to feel his way carefully, to let no betraying sound announce the secret of his advance.
Then all thought stopped, with the quickness of a lightning flash. His next movement was unvolitioned and spasmodic. It was a movement of sharp recoil.
