"I've ordered dinner for half-past eight," said Aunt Mary, "so don't be later than eight if you can help it. We shall all be famished by then."
"We shall be before that," returned Maurice. "The flight's about half-past six, and it's only half an hour's walk from the marsh."
We were standing in the drive with our guns—he and I and York and Vane. A slack afternoon, succeeded by an early tea, had followed the tennis, and now we were just setting out upon our duck-shooting expedition. Baradell had declined to make one of the party, presumably preferring the society of his wife.
"We'll make a round through the fields first," said Maurice. "It's no use getting to the water before six, and we may pick up a few pheasants and hares if the light's good enough."
I did not wait for instructions, but slipped into a place between York and Vane. I thought it very unlikely that Maurice would himself attempt anything in the gun-accident line, but even so, there was no point in running unnecessary risks. You never know what sudden happy inspiration may illuminate the mind of an embarrassed heir.
Off we went, the dogs ranging round us, and a couple of nondescript gentlemen in corduroy trousers bringing up the rear. It relieved my mind to perceive that neither of them had guns.
This sort of shooting was, of course, quite new to me, but I have too often been dependent upon my gun for my supper to be likely to miss anything in the nature of a confiding English bird. Indeed, when York sang out his congratulations to me for toppling over a fast-flying pheasant, I began to think that perhaps it would be more judicious if I restrained my abilities. Except for his money-getting and love-making talents, I was so confoundedly in the dark as to what Northcote could do.
About half-past five we arrived at the bank of a long salt-water creek. It was perhaps a quarter of a mile wide, and protected from the sea by a strip of land running parallel with the coast. A desolate sort of spot, very like bits of the Argentine seaboard, without so much as a cottage or a hut to break the loneliness of the surrounding marsh. The only object in sight was an old punt, moored to a stake under the bank.
"We must split up now," said Maurice, turning to the rest of us. "There are four or five places where you can get a good shot at the duck as they come over, and this is one of them. What do you say, Stuart? Would you like to stay here?"
He asked the question with such frank carelessness that for a moment I wondered whether it was really possible that he was planning my extinction. Anyhow, I had no intention of refusing. I wanted to see what was going to happen.
"I'll stay where I am, certainly," I said. "What's the programme?"
He pointed to a small, sandy spit covered with reeds, half-way across the creek.
"You must punt over to that," he said, "and tie up the boat this side. About half-past six the duck will come right over you, and if you're well hidden you ought to get in a couple of good shots at least."
I nodded approvingly. "Where will you be?" I asked.
He jerked his head toward the right "Oh, we shall be down the coast. Do you think you know your way to the house?"
"I guess I can find it," I said, smiling. The idea of being "bushed" on three miles of Sussex mud-flats struck me as a rather entertaining one.
"Well, then," said Maurice, "p'raps you won't mind finding your own road back when the flight's over. It will save us coming round this way again. Don't bother about the duck. If you leave them in the punt, I'll tell one of the men to come back and bring them up to the house."
"We'll send him along with a trolly—what?" put in the humorous Vane.
They tramped off, leaving me alone in my glory. For some few minutes I sat on the bank, watching them walking away down the creek, and wondering what pleasant surprise Maurice's arrangements might foreshadow. That there was mischief of some sort on foot I felt certain, but it was difficult to guess exactly what shape it would assume. Standing up, I cast a wary eye over my surroundings. As far as I could see, with the exception of the little island to which Maurice had directed my attention, and the long strip of land opposite, there was no cover anywhere sufficiently big to conceal a rabbit. Of Billy I could see nothing: if he was hanging about in a boat, it must be round the bend of the coast away to the left, where the sea wall jutted out into the saltings.
Untying the punt, I stepped in and pushed off towards the island. It struck me that if the danger lurked there, it would be just as well to land before the rest of the party were out of hearing. Unless York and Vane were in the plot, which seemed highly improbable, my safety would be pretty well assured so long as they were within reasonable distance.
A few strokes of the paddle brought me to my destination. The island, though thickly covered, was sufficient to show that I had it entirely to myself. I tied the punt to a snag on the landward side, and after one last look round settled myself down to wait for the duck, or whatever else might turn up.
I had been there for perhaps ten minutes, when from the strip of land on the farther side of the creek came the weird, melancholy cry of a curlew. I took my gun and started to rise cautiously to my feet. As I did so, a sudden inspiration—a veritable flash from the gods—leaped into my mind. I sank down again and, taking off the slouch hat I was wearing, placed it on the barrels of my gun. Then, very slowly and cautiously, I raised it above the reeds.
Bang!
Off spun the hat, with a bullet-hole clean through the middle, and a violent tingling jar in my arm told me that part of the barrel had apparently gone with it. I dropped the gun, and without a moment's hesitation jumped high into the air, crashing down full-length amongst the reeds.
It was a trick highly popular with the ingenious Indians of Bolivia, who by this means tempt their guileless and well-pleased opponent to come within reach of the knife which they invariably carry. Something of the same purpose was at the back of my mind, and it was with a grim smile of satisfaction that I discovered that one of my gun barrels was still undamaged. Lying there, hidden by the thick vegetation, I quickly extracted the cartridge from the other. Then, stealthily as a puma, I wriggled my way forward until I reached the edge of the island. Parting the rushes, I peered cautiously through.
From the strip of land away to my left a small boat was just putting out into the creek. It contained two men, and even at that distance I could see that one of them was without doubt the "Eyetalian" aristocrat whom Billy had stalked on the previous evening. The other, who carried a rifle in his hand, I put down as my Park Lane friend.
For a lop-sided sculler, the big chap certainly made his boat travel. It fairly bounded towards me across the creek, the passenger crouching in the bows, his gun ready for immediate action. Like Robert Brace's friend, they were evidently coming to "mak' siccar."
With a gentle smile I cuddled myself back under cover, pushing forward my gun so that only the extreme point of the barrel protruded through the reeds. There was no mercy in my heart, though, as a matter of fact, I felt little personal resentment against either of my approaching visitors. It was Northcote, not me, that they were really trying to shoot, and their reasons were probably very commendable. Nevertheless, it was my intention to plug them both as accurately as possible so soon as they came within effective range of my twelve-bore. If there was any subsequent trouble, I had a bullet-hole through my hat to give evidence in my favour; and after all, when certain death is in one side of the balance, it's not much good bothering about the other.
Nearer and nearer they came, the man in the bows peering forward and searching the island with a keen gaze. I placed another cartridge ready beside me, and then, levelling my gun straight at his chest, put my finger on the trigger. It was at that moment that the boat stopped.
For one moment I thought my trick had been discovered, and I as nearly as possible loosed off without waiting for any further developments. Then, just as I was hesitating, there came the unmistakable crack of a Mauser pistol, and I saw a big splinter fly up off the side of the boat. With an oath the big fellow swung round and sculled off furiously down the creek, while his companion, raising his rifle, blazed back in the direction from whence the bullet had come.
I can tell you I didn't waste any time. Wriggling back out of my ambush, I crawled swiftly through the rushes to the farther side of the island, and there, as I expected, I saw the faithful William. He had shipped his oars and, kneeling in his boat, was just taking a careful aim after the retreating pleasure-party.
"Chuck it, Billy!" I sang out.
Down went the pistol, and in another moment, with a triumphant shout, he was pulling in towards the island.
"Damn it, Jack!" he said, as the boat ran up the bank and he leaped on shore. "I thought they'd downed you in that time. Look at the blighters!"
He pointed down the creek, where our late assailants were travelling away from us with a vigour which would have done credit to a championship pair at Henley. Then, sitting down on the bank, he burst into a roar of laughter.
"Oh, great!" he gasped, when he had sufficiently recovered. "Jack, my son, you're all right when it comes to gunning. You had me on as clean as a whistle. I'd have sworn they'd got you."
"If you hadn't come cruising around in that fashion, Billy," I said, "I should have got them. You've saved me from the horrid sin of shedding blood."
"I could have pipped them all right myself," he protested. "That Dago with the gun couldn't shoot for sour apples. How did it all come about?"
As briefly as possible I put him in possession of the facts. "It was a plant," I finished: "there's no doubt about it now. I should have been found shot, if I'd ever been found at all. Mr. Guarez and his pal would have cleared out, and Maurice, with a beautiful fat alibi to keep him out of trouble, would have stepped into the family property. It's a wicked world, William."
"You're right," said Billy, shaking his head; "but fortunately it makes a bloomer sometimes. I saw the whole thing. I'd tied my boat to the sea wall round the point there, and crawled up on to the top. I watched you punt over to the island and I was just coming along to keep you company when that misbegotten skunk let drive. I thought you were a goner, Jack! You did that stunt so devilish well it took me in completely."
"I hope you felt sorry," I said,
"Sorry!" laughed Billy. "I was in a black rage, I can tell you. If you hadn't popped up like a Jack-in-the-box, I'd have filled those two Dagoes fuller of lead than a racing yacht."
"I'm glad you didn't, Billy," I answered. "I'm looking forward to doing something in that line myself." Then I looked at my watch. "It's half-past six," I added. "That's the time the duck were due to arrive. I'm afraid we've frightened them!"
"I reckon we have," said Billy. "If I was a duck, I should steer clear of this place for a fortnight. You'd better come round with me to the point, and then we'll cut across land to Woodford and have a drink. You can be back at the house by eight."
"Good!" I said. "If I'm a bit late, it will keep Master Maurice guessing. He isn't likely to have seen his pals, so it will be a pleasant little surprise for him when I roll up safe and sound."
Leaving the punt where it was (I was not in the mood to save Maurice's keepers any superfluous trouble), we pushed off in Billy's boat, and sculled rapidly up the creek. There was no sign anywhere of our late friends, but a faint sound of shots down the coast told us that the rest of my party were apparently busy with the duck.
"I wonder if Maurice is shooting straight," I said, with a chuckle. "He must have heard our little fusillade, and I suppose he thinks the whole thing over by now. Rather trying for the nerves, coming into a fortune all of a sudden!"
"It will be a lot more trying coming out of it," retorted Billy. "I'd give a fiver to see his face when you walk in."
We left the boat at a small landing-stage the other side of the point, and making our way across the fields, came into Woodford over the railway line. I spent about half an hour with Billy at the Plough, drank a couple of sherries and bitters, and talked over our future campaign.
"There's nothing like leading trumps," I said. "I shall tell them straight out when I get back that someone tried to shoot me. I want to hear Maurice's explanation."
Billy nodded. "That's the right game," he answered. "If you lie low, he'll know that you suspect him. Play the hand for all it's worth, and see what happens."
"I mean to," I said briskly. "I shall even go so far as to tell him that I have a witness in the shape of a kind tourist staying at the Plough, who happened to be out shooting. Perhaps he'll come and see you, Billy!"
"I hope so," said Billy; "I know so few English gentlemen!" Then he chuckled in characteristic fashion. "Meanwhile," he added, "I'm going to do a bit more scouting. I don't know whether your pals will clear out after this little 'fox pass,' but I mean to have a squint round the Hollies to-night and see what's going on. I don't approve of 'Eyetalian' noblemen waltzing around with rifles. They want watching."
"And washing too," I said, "from the glimpse I had of them." Then I got up. "I must be off now," I added, "or I shall be late for the resurrection."
Billy came with me as far as the door. "Shall I meet you somewhere to-morrow?" he asked, "or can you manage to look in here?"
I reflected a moment. "I'll come round in the afternoon," I said. "I'll tell them I want to see how the repairs to the car are getting on."
Feeling pleasantly elated at the thought of the surprise in store for Maurice, I struck out along the road to Ashton at my most brisk pace. I had covered about three-quarters of the distance, and was just turning the corner where I had met Billy before breakfast, when I noticed ahead of me a small boy with a rather dirty face lounging against the bank. As I came up, he straightened himself, looked at me keenly, and stepped out into the road.
"Beg pardon, sir," he said, "but are you Mr. Northcote?"
"That's right, my son," I replied.
Putting his hand in his pocket, he produced a well-thumbed envelope. "Lady asked me to give you this, sir."
I took the letter and opened it. By the rapidly fading light I could just see to read the contents—
"If you put any value on your life, you will leave Ashton immediately. Guarez and the others have followed you down, and your cousin is in league with them. It is my fault, so I take this last chance of warning you. I can do no more. If you are indeed wrongly accused, I pray God that you will escape while there is yet time. Destroy this letter. M.S."
"Where did you get this?" I asked.
He hesitated. "Lady told me not to tell."
I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out five shillings. "Look here, my son," I said, "I'll give you that if you'll answer my question."
He shook his head sturdily. "I promised the lady, guv'nor."
I put back the money, feeling rather ashamed. "Tommy," I said, "you're a good boy. How did you know I was Mr. Northcote?"
"Lady described yer, guv'nor. Said yer was a big gent with a brown face."
"Did she!" said I, laughing. Then I paused a moment, thinking rapidly. "Will you take a note back for me?" I asked. "The lady didn't say you weren't to do that, did she?"
He shook his head.
"Very well," I said; "you do it, and I'll give you ten shillings."
The magnitude of the sum fairly staggered him.
"'Arf a quid!" he gasped.
"The terms are synonymous, Tommy," I said, producing the coin. "Here you are."
He clutched it tightly in his little brown paw, and while he was recovering from the shock I tore out a page from my pocket-book and wrote my message—
"Will you meet me to-morrow at three o'clock at the Plough at Woodford, or else leave a note for me there, saying where I can see you?
"STUART NORTHCOTE."
This I folded up and handed to the boy. "There you are," I said. "Give that to the lady as soon as you can."
His sudden access of fortune seemed to have paralysed his tongue, for he contented himself with another nod, and then darted off up the road as fast as his legs would carry him.
I waited until he was out of sight, and then I lifted up Mercia's melodramatic little warning and kissed it. If it had come a trifle late, it was none the less welcome—and as for its wording, well, it was good enough for me. My heart was filled with a kind of wild triumph, for surely the fact of her trying to save me was sufficient proof that she had believed my word in the face of all evidence to the contrary.
If I could only see her to-morrow, I would leave her in no doubt as to my feelings. I longed to clear up the whole infernal mystery, but my oath to Northcote rose like a wall between me and my desire. In love as I was, I couldn't bring myself to betray his secret until the accursed three weeks had run their span.
Tearing up the note into tiny fragments, I scattered them judiciously to the breezes, and, continuing my way, turned in at the side gate. It was now quite dusk, and even if anyone had been watching, I doubt if they would have seen me approaching across the lawn.
As it was, I got right up to the terrace without being spotted. The French window, which led into the smoking-room, was open, and, keeping away from the light which streamed out in a great golden beam, I advanced cautiously until I was within a couple of paces.
Then I heard Maurice's voice. "It's a most extraordinary thing," he was saying. "The punt was tied up to the island, according to George, and yet there wasn't a sign of him anywhere."
I smiled softly.
"I hope to God he hasn't fallen into the creek," said York's voice anxiously. "We'd better all turn out, hadn't we, and have a good hunt, before we tell the women?"
"That will be best," said Maurice. "I really am uncommonly anxious about him."
I stepped in quietly over the threshold. "In that case, Maurice," I said, "let me hasten to relieve your feelings."
I don't think I shall ever forget Maurice's face! His cheeks went the colour of grey ash, and for several seconds he stared at me with a sort of incredulous horror. If I had any remaining doubt as to his guilt, it was certainly settled in that dramatic interval.
At last, with a great effort, he recovered himself sufficiently to give a sickly laugh.
"By Jove, you gave us a start, Stuart!" he said. "We were just wondering whether you'd fallen into the creek."
"No," I replied cheerfully, "it was only my hat that went in." And taking off the article in question, I held it up to the light so that they could all see the bullet-hole.
"Great Scott!" cried York, "what's the meaning of that?" He seized the hat, and began examining the damage with vast interest, Sir George peering over his shoulder.
"It means," I retorted, "at least twenty-five shillings. That's one of Lincoln & Bennett's best." Then, with a kindly eye on Maurice, I proceeded to relate my spirited and entertaining experiences.
When I had finished there was a short silence. It was broken by Sir George, who, with his usual intelligence, went straight to the heart of the matter.
"B—b—but that was murder," he stammered, "cold-blooded murder!"
"I should describe it rather as hat slaughter," I said coolly, "but the intention seems to have been pretty obvious."
Maurice, whose face had not regained its colour, broke in with an oath. "It's those infernal marshmen!" he cried. "I've had trouble with them before, but never anything of this kind."
"What do you mean?" asked York, looking up from the hat.
"Why, there's a gang of scoundrels round the coast who make their living shooting duck. I was cautioned about them when I took the place. They think they own the marsh, and that no one else has a right to shoot there. I've heard lots of stories about their blackguardly tricks, but of course I never imagined for a moment they'd go as far as this." He turned to me. "My dear chap," he added, "I can't tell you how sorry I am."
I thought I could tell him very accurately, but I contented myself with shaking the hand that he thrust impulsively out.
"Don't worry about it, Maurice," I said. "These little accidents will happen."
"You take it uncommonly coolly, Northcote," broke in Sir George. "If it had happened to me, I'd have had the whole damned countryside arrested by now—by Gad, I would!"
"I shall put it in the hands of the police at once," said Maurice. "Do you think you could recognise the two men?"
I should love to have said yes, just for the pleasure of watching his face; but I thought it might be a bit awkward to make such a statement in view of a subsequent visit from the police.
"I couldn't swear to them," I said, "but I dare say the obliging stranger at the Plough could. He got a better sight of them than I did."
This, without committing Billy, could, I thought, at least give Maurice an unpleasant quarter of an hour.
"Well, it's disgraceful!" burst out Vane; "that's what it is—disgraceful! It's all this confounded Government—setting class against class—that leads to this kind of thing. If I had my way, I'd shoot them down—every man Jack of them."
I was a little in the dark as to who Sir George's imaginary victims might be, but, in any case, the sentiment struck me as being a fairly sound one.
"Perhaps we'd better not say anything further about it to-night," I suggested. "I don't want the loss of a hat to disturb the whole house."
There was a look of relief on Maurice's face. "You're right, Stuart," he said. "It would only upset the women. We'll go over to Woodford first thing in the morning and see the Inspector. I'll have these brutes run to earth: you may be sure of that."
With this comforting assurance, we separated to dress for dinner.
The latter meal, and indeed all the rest of the evening, passed off cheerfully enough. Lady Baradell and Miss York both seemed to be in excellent spirits, chaffing us unmercifully over the very minute bag of duck (one and a half couple) which we had managed to bring back from our expedition. I could not help wondering what they would have said if they had known as much about the sporting possibilities of the Suffolk coast as I did.
I went to bed early, and just for a change passed a quite uneventful night. I had become so used to entertaining beautiful ladies or grappling with would-be assassins that for a time I felt positively neglected. However, if the night was dull, the next day promised to be exciting enough, so I consoled myself with this reflection and went peacefully off to sleep.
The topic of our visit to the police was broached tactfully at breakfast next morning by Maurice.
"I am afraid Stuart and I will have to run over to Woodford on business," he announced.
There was an immediate chorus of protest from the ladies. "Oh, but we've promised to give them their revenge at tennis," said Miss York.
"I didn't know there was any business at Woodford," remarked Lady Baradell. "I thought the entire population spent their time talking politics at the street corners."
"Oh, it's only a little matter," said Maurice. "It won't take us long. We'll drive over in the trap, and I'll be back here by eleven."
"Well, if you must go," put in Aunt Mary, "you might tell Cooper to send some marmalade. You remember, Stuart; Maurice is sure to forget."
I pledged my word that the marmalade should be faithfully dispatched; and with these two somewhat incongruous errands before us, we set forth after breakfast in a dogcart. Maurice, who was handling the reins, seemed to be a little depressed.
"I hope the police will be able to find the scoundrels without making too much fuss about it," he said, flicking the steed viciously with his whip. "One doesn't want the papers to get hold of a thing like this."
I quite believed that nothing would annoy him more. "We must hope for the best," I said cheerfully. "I don't mind a little trouble, if I can help you clear the neighbourhood of a gang like that."
I have no doubt that he was grateful for this magnanimous sentiment, but he didn't trouble to express it in words. We tooled on down the road in silence, and passing through the outskirts of Woodford, drew up at the police station, where a polite gentleman in corduroy trousers shambled forward from a side-walk and took the horse's head. On the steps stood a depressed-looking constable, who touched his helmet when he recognised Maurice.
"Is the Inspector in?" asked the latter.
The constable at once brisked up. "Yes, sir; just come along 'arf a minute ago. D'ye want to see him, sir?"
Maurice nodded, and clambering out of the trap, we followed Robert up the steps and into the office.
The Inspector, a large, solid-looking person, was seated at a desk laboriously writing. As we entered he laid down his pen with a sigh and wiped his fingers on his trousers.
"Good morning, Mr. Furnivall," he said. "What can I have the pleasure of doing for you this morning?" Then, seeing me, he added politely: "Good morning, sir."
"Good morning, Inspector," said Maurice. "We have come on rather a serious business."
The Inspector assumed what I can only imagine he meant for an official expression. Placing his hands on his knees and turning his toes in, he leaned forward and scowled at us.
"How's that, sir?" he inquired.
I felt a wild desire to retort, "Not a bit like it!" but fortunately Maurice took up the dialogue. In curt and apparently indignant phrases he described the gross outrage of the previous day, turning every now and then to me to confirm his statements.
"Poaching and robbery," he finished, "I can put up with, but when it comes to a cold-blooded and deliberate attempt to murder one of my guests, I think it is time that the police interfered."
A more dumbfounded man than that poor police inspector I have seldom seen. He listened to the story with an amazement that bordered on the pathetic, and when Maurice had finished, produced a red cotton handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
"Lord bless us, Mr. Furnivall!" he observed. "Who'd have thought it?"
Then his professional instincts got the better of him. "I'll make a note or two of your statement while it's fresh in me mind," he added, pulling out a large notebook. "What time might the incident have occurred?"
"The incident," I replied, "occurred as nearly as possible at a quarter to six."
"Ah!" said he, jotting down the fact; "and maybe, sir, you'd be able to recognise the men?"
I shook my head. "I doubt it," I said. "It was getting a bit dusk, and I wasn't exactly in a position to stare at them. You'd better try the gentleman at the Plough who came to my rescue. He had a much better sight of them."
"Ah!" said the Inspector, "his name being——?"
"Oh, Loman," said I, "or something like that."
The Inspector wrote it down, and then shut his notebook with a determined air.
"I'll look into the matter at once, gentlemen," he said. "I don't want to make no promises, but I reckon that by to-morrow we ought to know something about it. They're a rough lot, them marshmen, but this'll be a lesson to 'em. I'll teach them they can't go shooting at gents promiscuous like—not while I'm Inspector."
This little personal touch rather appealed to me.
"Thank you," I said. "I'm sure the case couldn't be in more efficient hands. I'm going over to the Plough now, so I'll tell Mr. Loman, or whatever his name is, that you'd like to see him."
We went outside, where the gentleman in corduroy trousers was still affectionately clutching the horse's bridle under the critical eye of the constable.
"Are you coming with me?" I asked Maurice. "I should like to introduce you to my rescuer—he seems rather a decent sort of chap."
Maurice shook his head, I thought a trifle sullenly. "I must get back for the tennis," he said. "Ask your friend over to Ashton to-morrow—he might like to see the cricket."
Considering that he believed Billy to be responsible for spoiling his admirable arrangements, this seemed to me really handsome.
"Right you are," I said cheerfully. "I shall have a look at the car afterwards, so don't expect me till you see me. By the way, isn't there a tea-fight or something on this afternoon?"
Maurice nodded. "The Cuthberts are giving a garden-party, and I believe Aunt Mary said some of us might stroll over. But don't you bother about it, if you've made other arrangements." He brought out the latter remark with a kind of suggestive leer, that told me plainly he was thinking of Lady Baradell.
"Thanks," I said coolly. "You're an ideal host, Maurice." And leaving him to chew over this compliment at his leisure, I strolled across the street in the direction of the Plough.
I found Billy sitting alone in the bar parlour reading the morning paper, and taking an occasional pull at a large tankard of ale.
"I hope I'm not interrupting your breakfast, Billy," I said.
He jumped up smiling, and flung down the paper on the seat.
"I guessed you'd be over early," he said.
"Then you guessed more than I did," I retorted. "Why this confidence?"
He walked round behind the bar, and taking down an envelope which was sitting up among the bottles, tossed it across to me.
"Here's your love letter, my son," he said. "I told the barmaid you'd be in for it this morning."
I picked it up, remembering with a sudden thrill of pleasure my message to Mercia.
"When did this come, Billy?" I asked.
"A boy brought it last night about half-past nine. I happened to be in here, so I told them you were staying at Ashton, and would no doubt be calling round after breakfast. Not a bad shot—eh? Who is it? The lady with the gun?"
I tore open the envelope and quickly read the contents—
"I will be in the old windmill just beyond Barham Bridge at four o'clock."
There was no signature, but I didn't need one.
"Since you took up detective work, Billy," I said, "your powers of deduction are improving."
He chuckled, and coming back from behind the bar flung open the French window.
"Let's go out into the garden," he said. "I've tons to tell you, and the barmaid will be back here in a minute."
We went down the steps which led to the square patch of lawn behind the house, and seated ourselves on an old wooden bench in the sunshine.
"Things are moving," I said, taking out a pipe and beginning to fill it with some care. "Maurice and I have just been interviewing the local inspector. The attempted murder of Mr. Stuart Northcote is now a problem for the police."
Billy whistled. "That's good," he observed. "Did Maurice give 'em any tips?"
"No," I returned; "they're looking to you for those. I've explained how an obliging tripper, residing at the Plough, sailed in and rescued me. You're quite a hero, Billy. The police want to see you as soon as possible, and Maurice has asked me to invite you over to Ashton to-morrow to watch the cricket match."
Billy slapped his knee. "That's good travelling," he observed, "precious good. But don't think you're the only one who's making history. I've got a little shock to spring on you that knocks spots off any of your news." He paused, and then tapped the note which I was still holding in my hand. "Do you know where your fair assassin's hanging out?"
I shook my head.
"Miss Mercia Solano," said Billy, leaning back and folding his arms, "is, at the present moment, the honoured guest of M. Baretti."
I jumped up off the bench. "Good Lord, Billy!" I said, "is that a fact?"
He nodded. "And what's more," he added, "I've seen her. Last night, after that note came, I slipped out and went up to the Hollies. First of all I had a good look at the place from the road. All the blinds were down and the shutters closed in front, so I made a bit of a circle and got in through the plantation at the back. There was a window open there on the second floor, with a light in the room. Well, to cut the yarn short, I climbed up one of the trees nearest the house and had a squint in."
"And you actually saw Mercia?" I demanded.
"I saw the whole charming bunch of 'em," said Billy. "There was Dot-and-carry-one; and the gentleman who put a bullet through your hat; and a frowsy-looking sort of female; and last, but not least, your own particular bit of trouble. At least, I suppose it was. A well-built sort of girl, with stunning eyes?"
I looked at him with pity. "You have your points, Billy," I said, "but don't try to describe a beautiful woman. What were they doing?"
"Jawing at her, as far as I could make out," he answered, with a grin. "Of course, I couldn't hear anything—I was too far away; but I could see them waggling their hands and shrugging their shoulders in the best Dago fashion. Looked to me as if they were trying to persuade her to do something she didn't want to—stick a knife into you, I expect."
"I shouldn't wonder," I said, "but I'll find out this afternoon. She's going to meet me at four o'clock."
Billy frowned. "Isn't that rather running your head into it unnecessarily?" he asked. "She's staying with them in the house, and, after all, you know precious little about her."
"That's just the reason why I want to find out some more," I retorted. Then, laying my hand on his shoulder, I added more seriously: "I've got to see her Billy; I can't get on without her any longer."
He grunted. "Well, it's no good saying anything if you've made up your mind: I know that. All the same, I think you're an ass, my son. What are your plans?"
"Well," said I, "I thought I'd hang about here and look at the car and do a bit of shopping while you went across and interviewed the police. Then we might have some lunch, and after that I'll go off and meet Mercia."
"Where's the trysting tree?" inquired Billy.
I gave him the note.
He read it through, grunted again, and then handed it back to me. "You know your own business best," he said, "but, if you take my tip, you'll shove a gun of some sort in your pocket. Where is this blessed windmill?"
"I don't know," I said, "but I'll find out while you're making love to the Inspector."
"What am I to say to him?" demanded Billy.
"Oh, just tell him that you were out duck-shooting, and spotted two sportsmen blowing holes through my hat. If he asks you whether you could recognise them, you'd better say they were a couple of rough-looking blackguards something like police constables. We don't want him to get on to the Hollies yet awhile."
Billy laughed. "All right," he said, getting up; "I'll handle him with gloves on. I may as well be off now. Don't get into any more mischief while I'm away."
We parted company outside the hotel, Billy going off to the police station, and I strolling up the street in search of Aunt Mary's marmalade. Having secured this, and given instructions that it was to be sent to Ashton at once, I proceeded to make a further inspection of the old town. My wanderings brought me eventually to the bar parlour of the Bull, the second principal hotel, which struck me as a very suitable place for making inquiries as to the whereabouts of Barham Bridge.
I was enlightened on this point by a genial, clean-shaven gentleman in sporting get-up, who was engaged in shifting a morning sherry-and-bitters.
"Barham Bridge!" he said. "Oh yes; it's about two miles up the road to the left. You can't mistake it, because there's an old ruined mill standing back in the field just beyond."
I thanked him, and we chatted away cheerfully for about a quarter of an hour, in the course of which I discovered that his name was Cumming, that he lived in the neighbourhood, was a keen yachtsman, and by profession a well-known writer of bloodthirsty adventure-stories for the popular weekly papers. I only regretted that circumstances prevented me from being equally confidential. But for my promise to Northcote, I felt that I could have given him a plot which would have made him my friend for life!
Returning to the Plough, I received the key of the garage and indulged in a brief inspection of the car. My knowledge of motors is decidedly limited, but as she started up all right, it seemed to me that there couldn't be much the matter with her. So I contented myself with filling up the petrol tank and pumping in some oil. It was while I was engaged in the latter operation that Billy reappeared.
"They told me you were out here," he said. "Nothing the matter with the car, is there?"
"No," I said, "she's all right. I was only filling her up, because I'm thinking of using her this afternoon. How did you get on with the Inspector?"
Billy smiled wickedly. "We've made great friends," he said. "I'm going down on the marsh with him this afternoon to help hunt out the criminals. He says it's a dangerous job."
"It will be a pretty thirsty one," I returned, "if you stick to it long enough. I'm afraid you've been stuffing the poor man up shamelessly, Billy."
"He didn't want it," chuckled Billy, thrusting his arm through mine. "I do, though. Come inside and have some grub. The chase starts at half-past two."
We entered the long dining-room, where an elderly waiter brought us an excellent lunch of cold partridge and Stilton cheese, which we assisted in its progress with a couple of bottles of Jacob's Pilsener. As Billy said, "You can't hunt murderers on air," a remark which I considered applied with equal force to the nice conduct of a somewhat complicated love scene.
"Besides, that's not all my day's work," he added. "When I get back, I'm going to pay another call at the Hollies. There's a drain pipe under that window which looks as if it would bear my weight all right."
"Look here, Billy," I protested, "it's my show and you're doing all the dangerous part of it."
"That's a matter of opinion," he laughed. "Anyhow, I'm quite satisfied. If you'll tackle Miss Mercia Solano, I'll take on Humpty Dumpty and the others with the greatest pleasure."
He got up, glancing at his watch. "I must be off," he added. "I promised to call for Sherlock at a quarter-past, and one mustn't keep the Law waiting. I'll tell you all about it to-morrow. What time does the cricket match start?"
"Oh, Goodness knows," said I: "about eleven, I suppose."
"Well, I'll be around some time in the morning. So long, old son, and don't forget that all women are born liars."
"Except Mercia," I added.
I pulled up the car just this side of Barham Bridge, and turned her on to the strip of level grass that ran parallel with the road. Mercia seemed to have chosen a pleasantly isolated meeting-place. Away to my right, on the top of a small hill, stood an old weather-beaten, half-ruined windmill; but with this exception, nothing broke the flat monotony of the far-stretching Suffolk pastures.
Opening the gate, I made my way up the rough track, which in more spacious days had apparently been the miller's roadway. It struck me that if Mercia was playing me false, I was offering a really beautiful target to anyone in the mill; but I don't think it can have been this reflection that was sending the blood dancing so cheerfully through my veins.
Anyhow, I strode on briskly till I reached the top, where I took a final glance back to see if I was till unobserved. Then, as I looked round again, I found Mercia. She was standing in the doorway of the mill, pale and beautiful as ever, and at the sight of her my heart gave a great jump that seemed almost like a shout of triumph. It was only with a big effort that I stopped myself from picking her up in my arms and kissing her.
"Ah, it's good to see you again," I said, holding out my hands.
She drew back with a quick, frightened gesture.
"You have not been followed?" she whispered.
I stepped inside. "No," I said; "I came in the car. It's down at the bottom of the hill."
She gave a little gasp of relief. "I was so afraid. I thought they suspected. It's madness our meeting like this."
"Then I pray God I shall never be sane," I said, with a low, reckless laugh. "Oh, Mercia,—my sweet, white, wonderful Mercia,—do you think life has anything for me that I wouldn't throw away with both hands for the sake of seeing you!"
The passion in my voice brought a faint tinge of colour into her face. She leaned against the side of the mill and put up her hands with a little pleading gesture.
"Ah, don't, don't!" she whispered.
I shook my head, smiling down at her tenderly. "Anything else, Mercia mine," I said; "but you might as well tell the sun not to shine as tell me not to love you."
I tried to take her hand, but she wrenched herself free.
"You mustn't say these things to me," she cried, half sobbing. "Isn't it enough that I should have tried to save you? Are you quite merciless? Oh, go, while there's yet time. Go out of my life, and let me forget you."
"I won't," I said obstinately. "I love you with every beat of my heart, Mercia, and all the murdering half-castes in South America shan't come between us."
She looked at me piteously. "Do you know what you are saying? Don't you understand how impossible it is that the daughter of Manuel Solano can ever be anything to you?"
"No," I said stoutly, "I don't. I've already sworn to you that I had no hand in your father's death, and you believe me—I know that you believe me."
She raised her eyes to mine. "Yes," she said, more calmly, "I do believe you. Should I be here if I didn't? I believe you against my own eyes, against the evidence of all San Luca, against reason itself. That is why I am trying to save you from the others."
A thrill of triumph shot through me at her words.
"Mercia," I whispered softly, "Mercia."
She lifted her hands again, as though to motion me back.
"But if you did not kill my father," she went on, "you know who did. Tell me the truth—ah, for God's sake, tell me the truth!"
The broken pleading of that piteous cry nearly shattered my resolve. But I had pledged my word to Northcote, and with a great effort I steeled myself to be true to it.
"I know nothing for certain," I said. "If the others believe me guilty, they are wrong. But why not leave them to take their own vengeance? They seem quite capable of it."
She drew herself up with a shudder. "It is too late now. There is only one escape from the League—death. When they came to me and told me that you were still alive, I joined them gladly, recklessly. I thought that at least I should be able to avenge my father. Then that night in Park Lane I learned, for the first time, that I was wrong. I deceived them, I lied to them. It would have been no good my telling them the truth: they would never have believed it. Even now, I think they suspect me."
Her half-incoherent sentences gave me my first glimpse of the real truth.
"Mercia," I said, "who do you think I am?"
She stared at me in bewilderment.
"You are Ignace Prado," she said slowly.
"Before God," I answered, "I am nothing of the kind."
There was a moment of strenuous silence. Then, with a wild, impulsive gesture, she laid her hand on my arm.
"Who are you?" she whispered fearfully. "Speak, tell me! I feel as if I was going mad."
I caught her hands and drew her towards me. "Mercia, my heart," I said, holding her tightly in my arms and looking down into her dear, startled eyes, "you must give me your trust, as I have given you my love. We have got caught up, you and I, into a tangle of the Devil's own spinning, and God knows how it's all going to end. Listen. I swear by my love for you that I am not Ignace Prado, and that I know nothing of your father's death. More than that I can't tell you for the present, but you must believe me, Mercia—youshallbelieve me," I added, almost savagely, as she freed herself from my embrace and leaned back panting and pale against the wall.
"I feel that you are speaking the truth," she gasped, "but oh! you are in terrible danger. Guarez and the others will kill you, as surely as the sun rises, unless you leave here at once—unless you disappear altogether. They at least are convinced that you are Ignace; and your cousin, Maurice Furnivall—he is the man that has betrayed you—it was he who first told the League that you were in London."
"Yes," I said grimly, "I fancied I was indebted to Master Maurice for that kindness."
"And you will go, you will go immediately?"
"I shall go, Mercia," I said, "at precisely the same time that you do. If you imagine I am going to clear out and leave you alone with that cheerful gang of cut-throats, you're making a mistake."
"Oh, but you must," she said beseechingly. "I am in no danger. Really, I am in no danger."
"I don't believe you," I said bluntly. "Does Sir Henry Tregattock know where you are?"
She looked confused "He—he thinks I am with friends," she stammered. "I am going back there in a day or so. I will go directly you have disappeared."
"You'll do nothing of the kind," I said. "If I go, you'll come with me. I won't stir a step from Woodford unless it's to take you back to London."
She gazed at me despairingly. "What's the use?" she cried. "They will only kill us both."
"Will they?" I said. "At present, I think they've got their hands full in trying to kill me."
She shook her head. "The League never fails. It's only a matter of time. Within a week, you will be dead—you and your friend too. Oh, you don't know what danger you are in. Listen. There were four others besides Prado and Lopez whom the Council condemned, and every one of them has been killed since. You know what happened to Lopez."
"I don't," I said. "I know nothing about the infernal business except that they've bungled me three times, and that somehow or other they've managed to get hold of the wretched Milford. I should stick it out now in any case, if only for the sake of revenging him."
"Milford," she repeated, looking at me in horror. "Is that the man they tried to poison?"
"Yes," I said. "He vanished two days ago, and Heaven knows what's happened to him by now."
She drew a deep breath. "Ah," she whispered, "that explains the disappearance of Da Costa. He was watching the house, and he was to write to Guarez every day. We have heard nothing."
I gave an exclamation of surprise. "By Jove!" I cried, "perhaps Milford's—"
A sudden sound of voices outside pulled me up abruptly. Instinctively, I whipped my hand to my pocket, and for a moment we stood there in absolute silence. Then came the noise of footsteps, followed almost immediately by a remark in a man's voice, and the little trill of a woman's laugh. I recognised the latter at once, and in a flash I had made up my mind.
"Come, Mercia," I whispered quickly. "It's two of our own party from Ashton. We must see this through. Leave it to me to explain."
She made no answer, and we stepped out through the doorway into the sunshine.
About ten paces away, York and Lady Baradell were coming up the hill towards us. As we appeared in the opening they stopped, and for a moment all four of us stood looking at each other in a prettily embarrassed silence.
York was the first to speak. "Then it was you, Northcote!" he observed. "Lady Baradell declared it must be your car."
"Lady Baradell was right," I returned cheerfully. "Let me introduce you all. Miss de Rosen, Lady Baradell, Captain York."
Lady Baradell, who had favoured Mercia with one swift, incisive scrutiny, smiled sweetly.
"We were walking over to the Cuthberts'," she remarked, "and we happened to see your car standing on the grass. I had no idea you were an antiquary, Mr. Northcote."
"No," I said coolly; "I have so many hidden talents."
York, who seemed to feel that the atmosphere was strained, made a tactful effort to clear it.
"Car all right?" he inquired sympathetically.
"I was just testing it," I said, "and, in the course of doing so, I as nearly as possible slaughtered Miss de Rosen."
Mercia smiled with delightful composure. "I have always told Mr. Northcote he drives much too fast. I thought I should be safe from him in the wilds of Suffolk, however."
"You're staying here?" put in Lady Baradell, in a smooth voice.
"Quite close by with some friends," answered Mercia carelessly, "and that reminds me I ought to be getting back, or they'll be wondering what's happened to me. Good-bye, Mr. Northcote; thank you so much for your ride. You must come over and see us before you go away. Good-bye."
She smiled graciously to the others, and turned as if to go.
"May I have the pleasure of seeing you back, Miss de Rosen?" I suggested. "I have been guilty of bringing you all this way out of your road."
"Oh no," she said, laughing. "I can take a short cut across the fields. I am quite used to walking about the country alone, really."
She gave me a little wave of her hand, and set off at a brisk pace across the hill. Her coolness left me flabbergasted.
Lady Baradell, who had been looking at me with a kind of malicious amusement, smiled mockingly.
"What a popular man you are, Mr. Northcote," she observed. "You can't get away from your friends, even in Suffolk."
"No," I said. "The country seems to be sown with them. Next time I want a little seclusion, I shall stop in London."
"Pretty girl, that," said York, looking approvingly after Mercia's retreating figure.
I was not going to be drawn into any further confidence.
"Suppose I motor you on to the Cuthberts'?" I suggested. "I'll promise to drive carefully."
"That's a sound idea," answered York, with enthusiasm.
"Well, it must be very carefully," said Lady Baradell. "You fortunate men aren't bothered with clothes and hair. I don't want to arrive looking like a suffragette after a fight with a policeman."
It was so impossible to conceive Lady Baradell in such a condition that we both laughed.
"There is no danger," I said. "You saw how unruffled Miss de Rosen was."
"It was quite remarkable," admitted her ladyship sweetly.
Down the hill we went, and two minutes later, with York beside me and Lady Baradell ensconced in the back I was carefully steering the car over Barham Bridge and along the winding Suffolk road, which twisted in and out between the lush meadows and small coppices.
York, of course, knew the way, and following his directions, we soon came in sight of an old Jacobean mansion rather the worse for wear, standing back in pleasantly timbered grounds.
"How are you going to get back?" I asked.
"Furnivall and my sister are coming over in the carriage," said York, "and there'll be plenty of room for us."
"In that case," I said, "I think I'll desert you basely at the door."
"Oh, come along in," protested York. Then, turning to Lady Baradell, he added laughingly: "Tell him he's got to; he'll obey you."
She shook her head. "I am afraid I sympathise with him. I am sure he can find a much more pleasant way of spending his time than talking about turnips and the vicar."
York groaned. "Well, I call it uncommon mean of you, Northcote," he grumbled, as we turned in at the lodge. "You and Vane have both shied off."
"It's the privilege of age," I said, slowing up the car as we came round to the front door. "I'll meet you at dinner, and hear all about it."
Any remark York may have wished to make was cut short by the appearance of the butler.
Lady Baradell, looking extremely unlike a suffragette, stepped daintily out, and in another minute I was speeding away again down the drive on my way back to Woodford.
I was burning to tell Billy about my latest discoveries, but when I reached the Plough I discovered, as I had feared would be the case, that he had not yet returned from his man-hunting expedition on the marshes. I put the car away in the garage, and hung about for the best part of an hour and a half in the vain hope that he would turn up. Finally, I went into the lounge and wrote him a short note, which I gave to the barmaid. I told him that I had made some novel and highly interesting additions to our stock of knowledge, and begged him to turn up at Ashton next morning without fail. Then, feeling that I had already been long enough away to excite Maurice's suspicions, I set off on my way back to the house.
I reached Ashton, curiously enough, just at the same time as the carriage. As a matter of fact, it passed me in the drive, and when I got up to the front door, I found Maurice and the others standing round the porch.
"Well, I hope you are properly ashamed of yourself, Northcote," cried York, with a laugh. "Here we are, four hopeless wrecks, while you and Vane and Baradell have been selfishly enjoying yourselves."
"Was it as bad as that?" I asked sympathetically. "How is the vicar, and how are the turnips?"
"The vicar's all right," returned Miss York, with a wry face. "He was there at tea."
"Was that the vicar?" observed Lady Baradell dryly. "I thought it was one of the turnips."
There was a general laugh, which was interrupted by the appearance of Maurice's man, carrying a telegram on a silver tray.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he observed, "but this came this afternoon just after you had left. I thought it might be important."
Maurice took the wire, and as he began to open it we resumed our conversation, Miss York demanding a laughing explanation as to how I had been spending my afternoon.
In the middle of my answer, which I must admit was not of a wholly truthful nature, I happened to look up in Maurice's direction.
Over the top of the wire I got a glimpse of his eyes, staring at me with a kind of devilish mixture of hatred, triumph and incredulity. It was only for an instant. As our glances met the expression vanished from his face as though it had been wiped off by a sponge, and with a short laugh he crushed the wire in his hand.
"Well, this is a pretty sort of nuisance," he remarked.
There was a chorus of, "What's the matter?"
"I am afraid I shall have to go up to London to-night. There's—there's some confounded trouble about a trusteeship or something—I don't quite understand from the wire; but they want me to come and talk it over as soon as possible."
Everybody, except myself, hastened to express their sympathy.
"Oh, it doesn't really matter," said Maurice. "I have no doubt I shall be able to get down again to-morrow, or at the latest the day after. You mustn't think of breaking up the party—any of you. I dare say this silly business won't keep me more than a few hours, after all, and Aunt Mary will be only too delighted to look after you. Ah, here she is."
Aunt Mary, who had just joined us from the hall, was immediately acquainted with the news.
"Must you really go, Maurice dear?" she said. "What a horrid nuisance! I suppose you have to catch the 9.50 from Woodford. Of course, I won't hear of anyone cutting short their visit. Stuart will play host for you while you are away, and we'll manage to amuse ourselves somehow."
"Yes," said Maurice, looking at me with a friendly smile. "You'll see to things, won't you, old chap? I'll just run in now and put my traps up. Dinner at the usual time, of course."
As he spoke, the dressing gong sounded, and we all trooped into the house.
I made my way up to my own room, where I lit a cigarette and sat down on the bed.
"Now what the dickens," said I to myself, "can have been in that wire?"
It was not York's fault that I took no part in the cricket match. His persistent and pathetic appeals to me at breakfast to fill the vacant place in his eleven were worthy of a more hopeful cause.
"Oh, leave Mr. Northcote alone, Bertie," broke in his sister at last. "You've got ten people already, and that's quite enough for the silly game."
"Ten!" retorted her brother. "What's the good of ten, and half of them village boys? Orbridge are a frightfully hot side."
"They'll be hotter still by the time the match is over," I said, looking out contentedly into the blazing sunshine. "It's no day for violent exercise. I'm going to sit in the shade and criticise."
"You'll get on very nicely, I'm sure, Captain York," put in Aunt Mary consolingly. "You always make such a lot of runs yourself."
"Besides," suggested Lady Baradell, with a characteristic smile, "think of the honour of winning against odds. If Mr. Northcote played, it would be a foregone conclusion."
"Well, it's just my luck," grumbled York dejectedly. "If I'd known Furnivall was going off to London like this, I'd never have got the match up. We shall have no one to bowl now, and we shall probably be fielding all day."
"A most healthy form of exercise," I observed. "Think of the appetite you'd have for dinner."
York, however, declined to be comforted, and it was in a very dispirited frame of mind that after breakfast he marshalled his team in the well-kept cricket field at the bottom of the garden. They consisted chiefly of local talent from Woodford, assisted by York himself and a sporting young doctor in the neighbourhood, who arrived on a motor bicycle. The Orbridge team drove over in a brake, reaching the ground about a quarter to eleven.
While the preparations were on foot, I strolled about with Miss York, keeping a watchful eye for Billy. I don't think I showed any outward symptoms of disturbance, but my interview with Mercia on the previous day had left me very uneasy in my mind, and I was naturally anxious to hear if Billy had made any further discoveries. Besides, I felt sure that in some way or other Maurice's hurried departure for London was connected with my humble affairs—a fact which by no means relieved my perplexity. Whom he could have heard from, unless it was the missing "Da Costa" (whom I imagined to be none other than my old friend "Francis"), I was quite unable to conceive.
Lady Baradell, Aunt Mary, and Sir George came out just before the match started. Baradell himself had been persuaded by the energetic York to don flannels, though as he pathetically observed, he had not touched a cricket bat for a dozen years. The rest of us established ourselves in chairs under the shade of a couple of large elm trees, and resolutely prepared to take an interest in the proceedings.
Lady Baradell glanced across at her husband with an expression of amusement. "Charles looks charming," she observed to Miss York. "Your brother's clothes fit him to perfection. I hope he won't get too excited."
"You're not to laugh at him, my dear," said Aunt Mary. "I think it's simply splendid of him to play. I am sure he is setting an example to all of us—especially to you, Stuart."
"Charles," remarked Lady Baradell, "always sets an example. It's his profession."
Miss York laughed. "Do you set an example too, Mr. Northcote?" she inquired, turning to me.
"Only on the principle of the 'awful warning,'" I said; "but it's just as effective."
"Mr. Northcote," put in Lady Baradell softly, "is a law to himself. It is a very convenient arrangement if one has the strength of mind for it."
"Who's this coming?" interrupted Aunt Mary suddenly.
We all glanced up in the direction she was looking, and there, just clambering over the stile that led into the field, was a figure in grey flannels which I recognised at once as Billy.
I hastened to explain. "He's a man named Logan," I said, "who's staying at the Plough. We met him when we were out shooting, and Maurice asked me to invite him up to the cricket."
Aunt Mary, who was evidently the soul of hospitality, beamed good-naturedly. "Oh, how very nice!" she said. "Perhaps he'd play."
"I dare say he would, if you asked him," I replied mischievously, getting up from my chair.
Billy, who has never suffered from shyness, came straight across to where we were sitting, and took off his hat. In a few words I made the necessary introductions.
"I am so glad you were able to come, Mr. Logan," said Aunt Mary graciously. "Won't you take part in the game for us? Captain York is one man short, and I know he'd be delighted if you would help him."
I watched Billy's face with quiet enjoyment. "I am afraid cricket is not much in my line," he replied politely. "In fact, to tell the truth, I have never even seen it since I was at school. But surely Mr. Northcote is playing."
"Mr. Northcote is doing nothing of the kind," I observed, with a threatening look at Billy. "He knows his limitations."
"Uncommon modest chap, Northcote," put in Vane, with a chuckle, "especially on a hot day."
Our conversation was interrupted at this period by the appearance of the Orbridge eleven, who, having lost the toss, streamed out on to the field, tossing the ball to each other in the most approved fashion. York and one of the villagers, heavily protected against casual concussion, followed them to the wickets.
The match started, and for the next half-hour our comments were chiefly confined to laudatory ejaculations, such as "Good shot, sir," "Oh, pretty stroke." Knowing nothing about the phraseology of the game, I was careful to follow Vane's lead in this respect, a piece of strategy which I noticed that Billy was also adopting.
When York was eventually bowled for thirty-six, in a well-intentioned but misdirected effort to hit the ball into the neighbouring county of Norfolk, I thought the time had arrived for a little private conversation with William. I nudged him gently so as to give him the tip, and then getting up from my chair, I suggested that we should stroll round to the pavilion and congratulate the dismissed batsman upon his impressive performance.
"I'm glad you got a move on," said Billy, as soon as we were out of hearing. "I've some pretty interesting news for you, my son. And what's more, I'm dying for a smoke."
"Well, we'll just go and pat York on the back first," I said. "Lady Baradell's sure to be watching us."
Billy looked at me suspiciously. "Who is Lady Baradell?" he asked. "Seems to me you've been keeping her dark. Another of 'em—eh?"
"Lady Baradell," I answered cheerfully, "is a very charming woman, but she doesn't come into our particular trouble—at least, not officially."
"I see," said Billy.
We caught York at the entrance to the pavilion, flushed with his exertions and magnificent in a red and yellow blazer. I introduced Billy as the gentleman who had rescued me from the marshmen, and we chatted away for a few minutes about the attempted crime, and congratulated York upon his spirited innings.
"You're the hero of the hour," I said, waving my hand towards the small group under the elm trees; "go and receive your laurels."
He sauntered off, protesting with true English mock modesty that he had played "a rotten innings," and Billy and I made our way to a deserted bank on the farther side of the field.
"Not bad news, I hope, Billy?" said I, a little anxiously.
"It's not altogether serene," he answered, in a rather grave voice. "I'm afraid your girl's in a bit of a mess."
My heart seemed to tighten.
"Nothing serious yet," he added quickly; "but those beauties up at the Hollies have found out, somehow, that she met you yesterday, and, unless I'm badly mistaken, they've locked her up."
"How did you hear this?" I demanded.
"Through the window," said Billy. "If it had only been a little wider open I'd have heard a lot more, but fresh air's death to a Dago." He lit his pipe and puffed away energetically for a moment. "I climbed up the drain-pipe," he added. "It was as easy as falling off a tree."
"You're a brick, Billy," I said warmly. "What did they actually say?"
"Well, you know the way Dagoes jabber—half-Spanish, half-English, and going nineteen to the dozen all the time. As far as I could hear—I was hanging on by my eyelids all the time, you must remember—someone had sent a message telling them that you and Mercia had been spending the afternoon together. They were devilish sick about it, and seemed to be discussing what to do with her. The gentleman who plugged you was very vicious. If he'd been running the show, I wouldn't have given twopence for Mercia's chances; but fortunately old Dot-and-carry-one's the top dog there. He stuck it out that there must be no violence at present, and the others finally agreed with him."