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have； never in the wide world。
She came abreast of the tree that hid him； passed on down without a glance over at it。 She couldn't； of course； know exactly where he was。 All she had to rely on was his assurance that he and Belmonte would be watching from somewhere close by。
The swans were gliding in to meet her； each leaving a spreading fan of ripples in its wake。 They'd already spotted the little white ball the napkin of crumbs made in her hand。
She reached the water's edge at last。 Manning was now roughly midway between her and the carriage。 He was watching the terrain around him on all sides； now； more than he was her。 Nothing could get at her from in front； across the water； and to reach her from the rear it would have to pass his tree first。 Belmonte's position protected her on the right； and his tree； again； did as much for her on the left。
He saw her looking for the locket。 With her free hand she had lifted the hem of her skirt a little to avoid wetting it and was picking her way along the water's edge； head attentively bent。 The hungry birds； meanwhile； were banked nearly solidly around her on the water side； jostling and nudging one another aside； and the whole body of them moving first up the shore； then down it； in pany with her own slow coursing。
Behind her heroically oblivious back； nothing stirred； nothing moved。 There wasn't a rustle from the dark feathery masses of bush and underbrush all about。 Not the snap of a twig。
She'd found it at last。 He saw her dip suddenly； draw something from the outermost inch or two of water that winked in the moonlight as she straightened with it； holding it semialoft。 She hovered with proprietary delight over it for a moment or two； in clever pantomime。 Drying it； turning it this way and that。 Then she put it in the bag on her wrist。 Now she began her feeding of the swans。 Her arm went out toward them； in toward the napkin； held back a moment； then out toward them； in toward the napkin； while she slowly strolled along； a bountiful lady on the banks of the Styx。
Manning's position had changed slightly when she had first e into view。 The one alteration was： his forearm was up now； holding his gun motionless at belt…buckle level； butt against his body。 His head kept swiveling slowly from side to side； covering every inch of ground within a i8odegree arc。
Suddenly he heard the horse； unseen up there on the driveway and motionless until now； whinny uneasily。 Its hoofs shifted about a little within the confines of the traces。
His head was instantly pulled tautly around the other way…toward her。 The swans were streaking out away from her like so many black rays across the silvery lake surface。 In a moment more she was standing there alone at the water's edge； hand extended uselessly with offered crumbs。
Manning drew the gun up higher； to the level of his bottom rib； froze it there。
She was standing still； facing the receding swans。 A shimmering line of brightness coursed down her motionless back。 Was she trembling at the imminence of danger； or was it just the moonlight rippling on the beads sewn to her dress？ He couldn't tell。
The horse's forelegs struck the ground sharply； as though its full weight were behind the impact； and the carriage joints groaned and strained protestingly。 It must have reared and then dropped down again； Manning realized。 It neighed rebelliously。 He started his own leg downward out of the tree socket； let it dangle to within a foot of the ground in readiness； on the water side； where the trunk hid it。
And still the space between； from up there where the carriage was to down below where she was； remained blankly inscrutable。
She didn't look around； although she must have heard the telltale sounds from the driveway as plainly as he had。 She was bending slightly forward above the waist now； pretending to try to coax the recalcitrant swans back within range。 They refused to e。 Finally； with a studied gesture of impatience； she flung the napkin holding the remainder of the rejected crumbs away from her； as if disappointed at their lack of interest。
She fumbled in the small bag looped to her wrist； he heard the crackle of wax paper； and a match flare glowed before her face as she lit the test cigarette he had told her to。 All without turning her head。
It was the height of courage； he had never seen anything like it before。 For； for all she knew； something might be creeping up behind her at that very moment。 He was in a position to see that nothing was； but she wasn't。
The horse took an abortive two or three rapid steps forward； as if about to break into a headlong run； then was quickly reined in； backed up again； with further creaking protests of the carriage joints and a jiggling of the wheel rims。
A halo of cigarette haze about her head in the moonlight； she was following his instructions to the letter。 She began to saunter aimlessly still further along the lake margin； well out of sight of carriage and driver…but fortunately over toward the side on which the reeds lay； although she could not have known that there was a safeguard in their midst。 She stopped about halfway to them； well out of sight of the carriage； and stood there as if idly contemplating the lake； arms folded tight across her chest。 The red mote of her cigarette made an occasional spiral Out from them and up to her mouth and down again。 Manning could barely see her any more at this distance； she was just a white blur in the gloom over there； for she had stepped out of open moonlight into the shadow of some trees。 It was up to Belmonte now to guard her； over on the side where he was。
There wasn't a sound； except for an occasional pawing or clump from the horse up above； whose restlessness had bee chronic by now but apparently was being kept under strict control by the driver。 The animal's whole demeanor showed there was some unseen danger close at hand in the shadows of the Bosque； but it stubbornly remained concealed。 failed to materialize。 The tableau of palpitant tension protracted itself almost unbearably； the two hidden men and the visible girl； the magnet midway between them； smoking down by the water's edge as if lost in thought。
At last she finished it。 Its red dot described an arc and went out in the water。 She turned and began to make her way back。 Once she stumbled slightly； and he knew it was in sheer terror； but to someone else it might only have seemed as if her toe had caught in a root。
She came out into the open moonlight again and started up the slope。 She passed the tree where Manning was； as unseeing as the first time； and went on up the rest of the way； over the lip of the declivity； onto the level where the roadway was； and out of his direct line of vision。
He let his tentatively suspended leg reach down the remaining foot or two to solid ground； and let the other one trail down after it。 The blood came rushing back into them in excruciating repossession。
Her voice carried clearly to him as she reached the carriage once more。 〃All right； now you can take me back。〃 The footrest creaked as she mounted it。 The coachman didn't even have to click his tongue or use the whip to start the horse； Manning could tell。 At the first slackening of the reins he had been pulling in so tightly until now； the terrified horse instantly broke into a rapid trot that soon became a headlong gallop； so anxious was it to get away from the threatening spot。
Manning sidled noiselessly out from under the tree and stood waiting for his panion…in…hiding to break cover and join him。 The reeds failed to part at his whistle。 When he had repeated it a second time and still no sign of Belmonte； he made his way over to them himself； a strange sort of foreboding beginning to chill him。
〃Raul！〃 he whispered urgently； picking his way into their midst across the waterlogged stones。 The reeds were empty。 He could see some of them bent flat； around where his panion had been crouched； but there was no one in them any more。
He emerged； went back； and started up the slope alone。
The road was empty in the moonlight when he reached it。 He had hardly taken a preliminary step or two along it than he became aware of some sort of disturbance； offside to him。 On the side away from the lake； that is。 He stood rigid； listening。 It came again； a muffled scuffling or threshing sound； as of a large animal caught in a trap or incapacitated in some way and trying to free itself。
He veered toward it； moving warily。 It came a third time； unmistakable now： a violent； frantic agitation against leaves or plants； an attempt at extrication。 He drew his gun； plunged in off the road toward it； warding off branches and briars as he went。
The thrashing accelerated； as though driven to a frenzy of haste by his very approach。
A moment later he went down flat and his gun crashed deafeningly； set off by the fall itself。 Something or somebody lying tied up in his path had tripped him。
He groveled around rearward； wiping a smarting powder smudge off his cheek； found his light； and thumbed it on。 It revealed a huddled human form lying face down； hands bound behind it with a knitted necktie evidently taken from its