shaft of light which streamed from the window, to produce in Val a feeling that he was enveloped by this dark Virginia night; he shivered slightly in the somewhat chilly wind; he watched for a moment or two longer, and slipped back into the shadows, one with the night.
The question was one of expediency. What was to be done? While one could not always be sure, because there was such a variable quality about Teck, yet it appeared to Val as though Teck were planted there for the whole evening—perhaps even the night. There was something so solid, so permanent, about the way he sat on that couch. Something so smug about the way he regarded Jessica when he caught her glancing at her wrist watch; probably he had made up his mind that if he himself was not going to hunt for old Pomeroy’s treasure that night, Jessica would not, either. As to Val, he probably had not given a thought to him to-night, not believing that Val would start an independent hunt of his own.
So Val pondered, every once in a while glancing in at the window again to see whether or not Teck was planted as firmly as before. He was. Always. As he slipped back into the shadows, he thought he heard a movement behind him, slight as the soughing of the wind through the trees, yet distinguishable from the other surrounding night noises.
He whirled instantly, but could make out nothing in the blackness that enveloped him. He shrugged his shoulders and called himself a fool for being as jumpy as a child during a ghost story. It had been just the movement of one of the bushes. He settled into the shadow of the lee of the bush and stayed there for a few moments.
