In a panic he resolved to recover the purse he had hidden, and put as great a distance between himself and this accursed spot as it was possible to do before morning. He found the stick he had thrust into the ground to mark where it lay, and, as carefully as his terror would let him, drew out the stone. Had he turned round just then he would have seen the Shadow standing immediately behind him. But he was too absorbed in his task, and too much afraid to think of such a precaution. Hence the glittering eyes watched his every movement undisturbed. The moment he stood up, however, the Shadow shrank back into the yielding greenery of a passion-flower, which had taken possession of a young pine-tree. For a moment there was an awful pause. Then the swagger, forgetting his fears in a triumphant sense of his own foresight, held up the purse to the moonlight to be certain that he had it. Instantly the Shadow stretched forth a bony hand, and seized it, the three fingers of the right hand exactly fitting the three bloodstains on the leather. With a shriek, which echoed sadly through the garden, the swagger started back, and rushed blindly up the path to the house, falling across the threshold with a heavy thud.
And that was how the man, who had been accused of murdering the young farmer, came to be found in the self-same position on the doorstep as his supposed victim. A judgment said the settlers, but the doctor said it was heart-disease.
