Bram heard them.

But he did not stop.

He sped on more swiftly, and again Philip called his name.
"Bram--Bram Johnson--" The laugh came back again.

It was weird and chuckling, as though Bram was laughing at him.
In the starlight Philip flung up his revolver.

He did not aim to hit.
Twice he fired over Bram's head and shoulders, so close that the fugitive must have heard the whine of the bullets.
"Bram--Bram Johnson!" he shouted a third time.
His pistol arm relaxed and dropped to his side, and he stood staring after the great figure that was now no more than a shadow in the gloom.
And then it was swallowed up entirely.