"That's Peter, the groom," cried the stranger. "He drove her.
The beasts have pulled him off and clubbed him. Let him lie;
we can't do him any good, but we may save her from the worst
fate that can befall a woman."
We ran frantically down the path, which wound among the trees.
We had reached the shrubbery which surrounded the house when
Holmes pulled up.
"They didn't go to the house. Here are their marks on the left
-- here, beside the laurel bushes! Ah, I said so!"
As he spoke a woman's shrill scream -- a scream which vibrated
with a frenzy of horror -- burst from the thick green clump of
bushes in front of us. It ended suddenly on its highest note
with a choke and a gurgle.
"This way! This way! They are in the bowling alley," cried the
stranger, darting through the bushes. "Ah, the cowardly dogs!
Follow me, gentlemen! Too late! too late! by the living Jingo!"
We had broken suddenly into a lovely glade of greensward
surrounded by ancient trees. On the farther side of it, under
the shadow of a mighty oak, there stood a singular group of
three people. One was a woman, our client, drooping and faint,
a handkerchief round her mouth.
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