and motioned the others not to come too near.
“A car has been standing here recently,” he announced. “Look, there are a couple of matches upon the ground and a half-burnt cigarette.” He picked the latter up and handed it to the sergeant.
“The match has been freshly lit,” he continued. “You can tell that by the condition of the wood, and the burnt end is scarcely cold. The man whom we are after left his car here, came back to it, dropped the first cigarette, lit another, and drove off down— don’t you call it the Middle Way, Andrew?”
“The Middle Way,” the latter assented. “It leads to the village of Charlton, and there isn’t a turning on either side.”
“A good three miles,” the sergeant murmured. “Lucky I’ve got my bicycle.”
“I don’t think,” Sir Richard reflected, “that there’s anything further we can do to help you for the moment, Sergeant. If you take my advice, you will mark off this little section of land until the morning, fetch that bicycle you were speaking of, and get down to the village as quickly as you can. Never mind waking the people up. Try everywhere you can to find out if any one has seen or heard a car go by at any time within the last two hours. From what I can see of the ground there, I don’t believe it was anything more than a two-seater, or perhaps a Ford.”
“Would you mind telling me your name, sir?” the police sergeant begged. “His lordship did mention it, but I should like to have it in my book.”
“My name is Sir Richard Cotton. I am fairly well-known as a criminal lawyer.”
“Do you think I ought to telephone Scotland Yard, sir?”
Sir Richard looked down that long “Middle Way.” For half a mile or so it seemed to pass through-a tunnel of leaning trees. Afterwards there was a long stretch of open country, shimmering in the moonlight. There were many things which flashed through the lawyer’s mind in those few moments whilst the sergeant waited anxiously for his decision.
“I believe in doing everything to help establish the truth, Sergeant,” he said calmly. “At the same time, I’ve seen many cases in which the local police have done all the work, and some one from Scotland Yard has come down and got the credit.”
“That’s so, sir,” the sergeant assented with much eagerness. “That there arson case last year now. We were on the man’s tracks all right, but the’ Chief Constable, he wasn’t satisfied. He got one of them big men down from Scotland Yard who just went on with our work and got all the credit.”
Sir Richard nodded understandingly.
“Unless Lord Glenlitten is of another opinion,” he said, “I should give you a chance. Leave Scotland Yard alone for the moment, and see what you can do for yourself. You’ll ring up your own Chief Constable at Winchester, of course, and he can decide if he wants the London men down. You seem to have picked the thing up very well. You’ll get an impression of those footprints under the window, naturally, also of the tyres of the car for several revolutions. You will make all the usual enquiries as to whether any one suspicious has been hanging about lately. In short, go about the job your own way. If you fail utterly, there’ll be time enough then to ask for help.”
“That’ll suit me fine, sir,” the sergeant acquiesced. “Charlton be but a small place, and it’ll be a queer thing if some one or other didn’t hear which way the car went.”
They turned back towards the house. The sergeant, with very little pressing, betook himself to the servants’ hall for refreshment. Glenlitten, loitering upon the doorstep, found himself back in time to say good-bye to the two men from the barracks and their guest. The latter expressed his regret with grave but courteous emphasis.
“I cannot tell you, Lord Glenlitten,” he said, “how much I sympathise with you and your wife. It is terrible to have had such a tragedy happen in one’s house, and it is more terrible still that it should have taken place actually in your wife’s presence. When you come to London, I hope that you will permit me to call and assure myself that she has not suffered.”
“Pleased to see you at any time,” Glenlitten replied politely but without marked enthusiasm. “I’ll let you fellows know when we shoot,” he added, turning to Fraser. “There’s always room for a couple of you, especially if you don’t mind a walk.”
“Very kind of you.”
“Very good of you indeed.”
The car drove off. Glenlitten and Sir Richard turned into the library, and the former asked the question which had been troubling him for the last ten minutes.
“Tell me, old chap,” he begged, looking suddenly across at his companion, with his hand upon the whisky decanter, “why did you discourage the sergeant from sending to Scotland Yard? You could see for yourself as well as I could the sort of ass the fellow is.”
Sir Richard said nothing for a moment. He was standing upon the hearthrug, with his hands behind his back, his long, lean body a little bent, his thin brows furrowed with thought.
“I had an idea ,that I’d like to think the matter over a little myself first, Andrew,” he confided at last.
“But why?” his host persisted. “What is there to think about? The whole thing seems to me as plain as a pikestaff.”
Sir Richard helped himself to a very modest drink.
“There’s no doubt whatever,” he confessed, “that the possession of a mind trained in the subtleties of the law is inclined to make one a little, shall we say, finicky. The murder of that poor fellow De Besset, and the theft of your wife’s jewels, certainly seems, on the face of it, a very simple and a very brutal affair, and yet before I make up my mind I should like another half an hour in your wife’s room, and, if she is well enough, just one word with her.”
“You’re not suggesting?”
“My dear fellow,” the lawyer interrupted, laying his hand affectionately upon his friend’s shoulder,
“I’m suggesting nothing. It’s just as I told you— my peculiar turn of mind. There are one or two little matters I should like to understand, and a few hours’ delay will do no harm. Of course every one must realise that the burglary was a clumsy piece of work. The fellow who would rely upon a ladder which he found upon the premises, leave a car in a patch of mud, wear ordinary boots, and drop a cigarette out of his case, is certainly not in the first flight. We can afford to give him a few hours’ start, believe me. I shouldn’t wonder,” Sir Richard concluded, sipping his whisky and soda, “I shouldn’t be greatly surprised even if our friend the sergeant didn’t bring this little affair off himself. Let’s give him the chance, Andrew. Think what it will mean to him. Promotion, and something to talk about for the rest of his life.”
Glenlitten’s fingers shook a little as he replenished his glass, drained it, and set it down empty.
“What about turning in?” he suggested.
The lawyer glanced at the clock and nodded.
“You won’t mind if I just finish that article in the Times,” he begged. “I’ll follow you in a quarter of an hour. You needn’t bother about the lights. I have my torch.”
He stretched out his hand for the Times and relapsed into an easy- chair. Glenlitten lingered for a moment.
“Nothing more to say to me, have you?” he asked abruptly.
The lawyer looked over the top of his paper, with a faint air of surprise.
“Why, no, Andrew,” he replied. “What should I have to say to you? We’ll have a talk to-morrow, if there’s anything to talk about.”
Glenlitten swung around and presently disappeared in the shadows of the great house, dimly lit here and there with lamps and candles. Sir Richard laid down the Times and listened for his host’s departing footsteps.