I fumbled in my pocket and produced two half-crowns, which at once allayed any conscientious squeamishness afflicting the driver at the thought of handing over his treasure-trove to a stranger.
But where was Vera? Where, indeed, were the Thorolds?
The chauffeur continued to overhaul his engine and its complicated mechanism. While he was thus engaged I poured a little of the fluid out of the flask, which was quite full. The colour was a dark, transparent brown, almost the shade of old brandy. Somehow I could not help thinking that this flask might
And yet, why should it prove a clue? What reason was there to suppose it had been dropped by the strange visitor on the previous day, the mysterious Smithson?
Hullo, sir, this is curious!
My driver was bending over the machinery he had been examining so closely. His hands, which had previously been in the gear-box resembled a niggers, only they looked more slimy.
What is it? I asked, approaching him.
The plugs have been tampered with. No wonder she wouldnt start. Look.
He was holding out a damaged sparking-plug.
I own a car and, being well acquainted with its intricacies, saw at once that what he said was true. Somebody presumably while he was wandering about the lawns and back premises must have lifted the bonnet and injured the plugs. There was no other solution. The car could not have travelled out from Oakham, or travelled at all, had that damage been done before.
We looked at each other, equally puzzled.
You aint been playing me a trick, sir? he said suddenly, an expression of mistrust coming into his eyes.
Oh, dont be a fool! I answered irritably.
He turned sulky.
Some one as, anyway, he grunted. And its just a chance Ive some spare plugs with me.
He produced his tool-box, rummaged among its contents with his filthy hands, discovered what he wanted, and adjusted them. Then he shut down the bonnet with a vicious bang and set his engine going.
He was about to step on to his seat, when simultaneously a sharp report a good way off and the zip of a bullet close to us made us spring away in alarm.
Together, without uttering a word, we gazed up towards the wood on the hill, where the sound of the report had come from.
Another shot rang out. This time the bullet shattered the car headlight.
Ah! God! the driver gasped. Help! I I
Poor fellow. Those were his last words. Almost as he uttered them there came a third report, and the driver, shot through the head, collapsed into a heap beside the car.
And then, what I saw as I turned sharply, sent a shiver through me.
I held my breath. What further mystery was there?
Surely some great evil had fallen upon the house of the Thorolds.
Chapter Three
The Name of Smithson.
A man was kneeling, facing me, on the outskirts of the wood on the hill, not a hundred yards away. His face was in shadow, and partly hidden by a slouch hat, so that I could hardly see it. The rifle he held was levelled at me he was taking steady aim his left arm extended far up the barrel, so that his hand came near the muzzle the style adopted by all first-class shots, as it ensures deadly accuracy.
I am bound to confess that I completely lost my nerve. I sprang to one side almost as he fired. I had just enough presence of mind left to pick up the driver in my arms even at the risk of my life I couldnt leave him there lift him into the car, and slam the door. Then I jumped on to the driving-seat, put in the clutch in a perfect frenzy of fear lest I myself should be shot at the next instant and the car flew down the avenue.
Twice I heard reports, and with the second one came the sound of a whistling bullet. But it went wide of the mark.
The lodge came quickly into view. It was well out of sight of the wood on the hill where the shots had been fired. I uttered an exclamation as I saw that the big white gate was shut. It was hardly ever shut.
Slowing down, I brought the car to a standstill within a few yards of the lodge, jumped out, and ran forward to open the gate.
It was fastened with a heavy chain, and the chain was securely padlocked.
Shouting failed to bring any one out of the lodge, so I clambered over the gate and knocked loudly at the door. But nobody answered, and, when I tried to open the door, I found it locked.
There seemed to be but one way out of the difficulty. I have said that I am strong, yet it needed all my strength to lift that heavy gate off its hinges. It fell with a crash back into the road, and I managed to drag it away to one side. Then starting the engine again, I set off once more for Oakham all out.
I went straight to the hospital, but a brief examination of the poor fellow sufficed to assure the doctors that the man was already dead. Then I went to the police-station and told them everything I knew how a man giving the name Smithson had called at Houghton Park to see Sir Charles Thorold; how Thorold had repudiated all knowledge of the man; how Sir Charles and Lady Thorold and their daughter, and Lady Thorolds maid, Judith I did not know her surname had suddenly left Houghton, and mysteriously disappeared; how I had, that afternoon, found the house shut up, though I had seen a man disappear from one of the windows; how I had discovered the butlers body in the lake; how my driver had been shot dead by some one hidden in a wood upon a hill, and how other shots had been fired at me by the assassin.
At first the police seemed inclined to detain me, but when I had convinced them that I was what they quaintly termed a bona fide gentleman, and had produced what they called my credentials, these consisted of a visiting card, and of a letter addressed to me at Houghton Park and given them my London address and telephone number, they let me go. I found out afterwards that, while they kept me talking at the station, they had telephoned to London, in order to verify my statements that I had a flat in King Street and belonged to Brookss Club.
The coffee room of the Stags Head Hotel that night was crowded, for it was the night of the Hunt Ball, and every available bed in the hotel had been engaged some days in advance. Those dining were all strangers to me, most of them young people in very high spirits.
Ive kept this table for you, sir, the head waiter said, as he conducted me across the room. It is the best I could do; the other place at it is engaged.
And by a beautiful lady, I hope, I answered lightly, for I knew this waiter to be something of a wag.
No, sir, he answered with a grin, by a gentleman with a beard. A charming gentleman, sir. Youll like him.
Who is he? What is he like?
Oh, quite a little man, sir, with a nervous, fidgetty manner, and a falsetto voice. Ah, he added, lowering his voice, here he comes.
There was a twinkle of merriment in the waiters eyes, as he turned and hurried away to meet the giant who had just entered the room. I dont think I had ever before seen so tall and magnificent-looking a man. He must have stood quite six feet four, and was splendidly built. His dark, deep-set eyes peered out with singular power from beneath bushy brows. He had a high, broad forehead, and thick black hair. His beard, well-trimmed, reached just below his white tie, for of course he was in evening clothes.
There was a noticeable lull in the buzz of conversation as the newcomer appeared, and all eyes were set upon him as he strolled with an easy, swinging gait across the room towards my table. I saw dowagers raise their lorgnettes and scrutinise him with great curiosity, mingled with approval, as he went along.