He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. And now, only twenty-four hours behind him … that is, if he wasn't paddling by on the return route to Hong-Kong or had dropped down to Macao. "He must be somewhere hereabouts," cried one of the horsemen, dismounting. This accident rather confirms than checks my purpose. A sea voyage under sail will be the making of him.
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