Part 19 (1/2)

”Very well,” I said, for it usually fell to me to put guests in the ways of that enormous house.

That day, and the following, pa.s.sed uneventfully, and I heard nothing of any tragic discovery being made beyond Brigstock, therefore the suspicion that a second crime had been committed seemed negatived. I had driven over to Gretton in the afternoon to give instructions to one of the keepers, and returning about seven o'clock, was walking along the corridor to my room when, at the further end, in the fading light, I saw two figures, one a guest, and the other Slater, the butler.

”This is Mr Smeeton, sir,” the old servant explained. ”He's just arrived, and been shown his room. His lords.h.i.+p said you would entertain him until he and her ladys.h.i.+p returned.”

The newly-arrived guest came forward from the shadow to greet me, and as he did so the light fell straight across his face.

I stood open-mouthed, unable to utter a word in response.

The guest was none other than Richard Keene himself!

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

WHICH TEACHES THE VALUE OF SILENCE.

The man's audacity in coming there openly and boldly as Lord Stanchester's guest so utterly astounded me that my very words froze upon my lips. Was this some further development of the intrigue in which one man had already lost his life?

Yet the visitor, bluff and hearty of speech, stood smiling at me with a calmness that was absolutely amazing. In the first instant, I wondered whether the dim light of the corridor had deceived me, or whether his face only resembled in a marked degree the dusty wayfarer who had refreshed himself with such gusto at the _Stanchester Arms_. Suddenly I recollected that although I had watched him on that hot afternoon, he had been unable to see me where I remained in the publican's back parlour. There was a screen on purpose to hide any person seated in the little low inner room from the vulgar gaze of those in the tap-room, and at the moment he had faced me I had been peeping round the corner watching him. As I crossed the room he had seen my back, of course, but his self-a.s.surance at the moment of our meeting made it quite plain that he did not recognise me.

The dim light having concealed my surprise, I quickly regained my self-possession, and with effusive greeting asked him into my room.

”Lord Stanchester, her ladys.h.i.+p, and most of the party are still out,” I explained. ”There's been a big shoot to-day. He asked me to entertain you until he returned,” I said, when he had seated himself in an armchair.

His tall figure seemed somewhat accentuated; his dark face, however, no longer wore that expression of weariness, but on the other hand he seemed hale and hearty, and had it not been for his rather rough speech, he might, in his well-cut suit of grey tweed, have pa.s.sed for a gentleman.

”Oh! her ladys.h.i.+p is at home, then?” exclaimed the man who called himself Smeeton. ”I've not yet had the pleasure of meeting her. In fact I haven't been in England since the Earl's marriage.”

”You're a big-game hunter, I hear,” I remarked.

”I shoot a little,” was his modest rejoinder. ”I shot with Lord Stanchester in Africa, one season, and we had fair sport. I notice that he has some of his trophies in the hall. By Jove!” he added. ”He's a splendid sportsman--doesn't know what fear is. When we were together he got in some very tight corners. More than once it was only by mere chance that there was an heir left to the t.i.tle. It wasn't through recklessness either, but sheer pluck.”

He at any rate seemed to possess an unbounded admiration for my friend.

”You spend most of your time abroad?” I remarked, hoping to be able to gather some further facts.

”Well, yes. I have a house abroad,” he answered. ”I find England a nice place to visit occasionally. There's no place in the world like London, and no street like Piccadilly. But I'm a born wanderer, and am constantly on the wing in one or other of the five continents, yet at infrequent intervals I return to London, stand for a moment beside the lions in Trafalgar Square, and thank my lucky planet that I'm born an Englishman.” He laughed in his own bluff hearty way.

And this was the man of whom both Lolita and Lady Stanchester lived in such mortal terror!

He took a cigarette, lit it, and leaned back in the chair with an easy air of comfort, watching the smoke ascend.

”Pretty country about here, it seems,” he remarked presently. ”The drive from Kettering station is a typical bit of rural English scenery.

The green of the fields is refres.h.i.+ng after the scorched lands near the Equator. What's the partridge season like? It seems an age since I shot a bird in England.”

”Oh! They're fairly strong,” I replied. ”The spell of wet was against them in the early season, but I believe the bags are quite up to the average.”

”And who's here just now?”

I enumerated a list of his fellow-guests, in which I saw he was greatly interested.

”There's Lord and Lady Cotterstock, Sir Henry Kipton, General Bryan, Captain Harper, the Honourable Violet Middleton, Count Bernheim, the German Amba.s.sador, Lady Barford, Mr Samuel Woodford--”