Part 32 (2/2)

He tossed the boy a coin, and with a touch of genius which showed him to be a really great detective, halted a moment, scratched his chin, and as the boy again mounted his bicycle, re-entered the gate of The Cedars.

”That's real cute!” murmured Oppner.

The boy having ridden off, Alden slipped warily out on to the road, ran across, and was lost to view. Presently a rustling in the bushes told of his return to Oppner's side.

”It's from Sheard,” whispered the detective. ”Our man must have written him further particulars, same as he said he'd do. It just reads: 'Detained. S.' But it was handed in at Fleet Street, and I haven't any doubt who sent it.”

”He's smart, is Sheard,” said Mr. Oppner. ”He smelled trouble, or maybe he got wise to us----”

_”Sss!”_

”That you, Martin?”--from Alden.

”All right. Everybody seems to be posted. They're all finely out of sight, too.”

”Good. The newspaper man isn't coming. See me get the wire?”

”Yes. I wonder if the rest will come.”

”Hope so. I don't want to have to open the ball, because until some visitors have gone in we haven't got any real evidence that Severac Bablon is there himself.”

”Quiet,” said Martin.

A measured tread proclaimed itself, drew nearer, and a policeman pa.s.sed their hiding-place. When the regular footsteps had died away again:

”If _he_ knew who's leased The Cedars,” murmured Alden, ”he'd be a sergeant sooner than he expects.”

Which remark was the last contributed by any of the party for some considerable time. Alden's description of the road before The Cedars as a lonely one was fully justified. From the time of Martin's return until that when the big car drove up and turned into the drive, not a solitary pedestrian pa.s.sed their hiding-place.

A laggard moon sailed out from a cloud-bank and painted the road white as far as the eye could follow it. Then came a breeze from the river, to sing drearily through the trees. In the intervals, when the breeze was still, its absence seemed in some way, to stimulate the watchers' power of hearing, so that they could detect vague sounds which proceeded from the river. The creak of oars told of a late rower on the stream--a voice was wafted up to them, to be drowned in the sighing of the leaves set swaying by the new breeze.

Then came the car.

The whirr of the motor announced its coming from afar off; but, so swiftly did it travel, that it was upon them a moment later. As it swung around and on to the drive of The Cedars its number showed clearly.

”3509,” said Martin. ”That's Mr. Antony Elschild!”

”Gee!” said Oppner, and his sandy voice shook somewhat, perhaps owing to the chill of the breeze. ”This is getting real exciting!”

The car was delayed some little time before the door of the house, then driven around, and out at the further gate of the drive. It returned by the way it had come, racing down the hill at something considerably exceeding the legal speed. The _thud-thud-thud_ of the motor died away, and became inaudible.

”I'm glad the police aren't with us, and yet sorry,” said Oppner. ”This is a whole-hog conspiracy properly. No wonder he was so hard to catch; look at the cla.s.s of people he's got in with him! Think of Elschild!

Gee! There's goin' to be a scene in a minute.”

”For the present,” said Alden, ”we'll make no move; we'll just sit tight. There's maybe a lot to arrive yet.”

Just before the breeze came creeping up from the river again, _thud-thud-thud_ was borne to their ears. Another car was approaching.

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