It was dark, utterly dark--save that the window showed
dimly like a faint transparent square set in the blackness.
He could not see, but he could _sense_ the other standing there in the
doorway, motionless, silent, as though listening. Perhaps a minute
passed. There was something nerve-racking now in the silence, something
sinister, something pregnant with menace. And then, suddenly, there
came a low, scratching sound, and a match flame spurted through the
darkness, and lighted up a face--a face that was thrust forward through
the doorway with a sort of pent-up and malicious eagerness; a vicious
face, with sharp, restive black eyes under great, hairy eyebrows; a
face with a huge jaw, outflung now, that was like the jaw of a beast.
It was the Wolf!
CHAPTER X
THE CHASE
It held for the fraction of a second, that light--no more. It
travelled upward past the face, as though the Wolf were holding it
above his head to get his bearings; and then, with a sharp and furious
oath, the match was hurled to the floor, there was a scuffling sound--
and then silence again.
Jimmie Dale's automatic was thrust a little forward in his hand, as he
crouched against the wall.
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