must act for the best. Some one fired that bullet. It nearly tore my father to pieces. I never saw anything like it. It was ghastly – oh, ghastly! The murderer must be found. Why are you losing time? Jump into the car, and Brodie will take you anywhere you want to go. The roads, the railway stations, must be scoured, searched. Oh, do something, or I shall go mad!"
Hilton Fenley did, indeed, wear the semblance of a man distraught. Horror stared from his deep-set eyes and lurked in the corners of his mouth. His father had been struck dead within a few seconds after they had separated in the entrance hall, both having quitted the breakfast room together, and the awful discovery which followed the cry of an alarmed servant had almost shaken the son's reason.
Farrow was hardly fitted to deal with a crisis of such magnitude, but he acted promptly and with fixed purpose – qualities which form the greater part of generalship.
"Bates," he said, turning a determined eye on the keeper, "where was you when you heard the shot?"
"In the kennels, back of the lodge," came the instant answer.
"And you kem this way at once?"
"Straight. Didn't lose 'arf a minute."
"So no one could have left by the Easton gate without meeting you?"
"That's right."
"And you found Mr. Trenholme – where?"
"Comin' away from the cedars, above the lake."
"What did he say?"
"Tole me about the shot, an' pointed out the Quarry Wood as the place it kem from."
"Was he upset at all in his manner?"
"Not a bit. Spoke quite nateral-like."
"Well, between the three of us, you an' me an' Mr. Trenholme, we account for both gates an' the best part of two miles of park. Where is Jenkins?"
"I left him at the kennels."
"Ah!"
The policeman was momentarily nonplussed. He had formed a theory in which Jenkins, that young Territorial spark, figured either as a fool or a criminal.
"What's the use of holding a sort of inquiry on the doorstep?" broke in Hilton Fenley shrilly. His utterance was nearly hysterical. Farrow's judicial calm appeared to stir him to frenzy. He clamored for action, for zealous scouting, and this orderly investigation by mere words was absolutely maddening.
"I'm not wastin' time, sir," said Farrow respectfully. "It's as certain as anything can be that the murderer, if murder has been done, has not got away by either of the gates."
"If murder has been done!" cried Fenley. "What do you mean? Go and look at my poor father's corpse – "
"Of course, Mr. Fenley is dead, sir, an' sorry I am to hear of it; but the affair may turn out to be an accident."
"Accident! Farrow, you're talking like an idiot. A man is shot dead at his own front door, in a house standing in the midst of a big estate, and you tell me it's an accident!"
"No, sir. I on'y mentioned that on the off chance. Queer things do happen, an' one shouldn't lose sight of that fact just because it's unusual. Now, sir, with your permission, I want Brodie, an' Smith, an' all the men servants you can spare for the next half hour."
"Why?"
"Brodie can motor to the Inspector's office, an' tell him wot he knows, stoppin' on the way to send Jenkins here. Some of us must search the woods thoroughly, while others watch the open park, to make sure no one escapes without bein' seen. It's my firm belief that the man who fired that rifle is still hidin' among those trees. He may be sneakin' off now, but we'd see him if we're quick in reachin' the other side. Will you do as I ask, sir?"
Farrow was already in motion when Fenley's dazed mind recalled something the policeman ought to know.
"I've telephoned to Scotland Yard half an hour ago," he said.
"That's all right, sir. The main thing now is to search every inch of the woods. If nothing else, we may find footprints."
"And make plenty of new ones."
"Not if the helpers do as I tell 'em, sir."
"I can't argue. I'm not fit for it. Still, some instinct warns me you are not adopting the best course. I think you ought to go in the car and put the police into combined action."
"What are they to do, sir? The murderer won't carry a rifle through the village, or along the open road. I fancy we'll come across the weapon itself in the wood. Besides, the Inspector will do all that is necessary when Brodie sees him. Reelly, sir, I know I'm right."
"But should that artist be questioned?"
"Of course he will, sir. He won't run away. If he does, we'll soon nab him. He's been stayin' at the White Horse Inn the last two days, an' is quite a nice-spoken young gentleman. Why should he want to shoot Mr. Fenley?"
"He is annoyed with my father, for one thing."
"Eh? Wot, sir?"
Farrow, hitherto eager to be off on the hunt, stopped as if he heard a statement of real importance.
Hilton Fenley pressed a hand to his eyes.
"It was nothing to speak of," he muttered. "He wrote asking permission to sketch the house, and my father refused – just why I don't know; some business matter had vexed him that day, I fancy, and he dashed off the refusal on the spur of the moment. But a man does not commit a terrible crime for so slight a cause… Oh, if only my head would cease throbbing!.. Do as you like. Bates, see that every assistance is given."
Fenley walked a few paces unsteadily. Obviously he was incapable of lucid thought, and the mere effort at sustained conversation was a torture. He turned through a yew arch into the Italian garden, and threw himself wearily into a seat.
"Poor young fellow! He's fair off his nut," whispered Bates.
"What can one expect?" said Farrow. "But we must get busy. Where's Brodie? Do go an' find him."
Bates jerked a thumb toward the house.
"He's in there," he said. "He helped to carry in the Gov'nor. Hasn't left him since."
"He must come at once. He can't do any good now, an' we've lost nearly an hour as it is."
The chauffeur appeared, red-eyed and white-faced. But he understood the urgency of his mission, and soon had the car in movement. Others came – the butler, some gardeners, and men engaged in stables and garage, for the dead banker maintained a large establishment. Farrow explained his plan. They would beat the woods methodically, and the searcher who noted anything "unusual" – the word was often on the policeman's lips – was not to touch or disturb the object or sign in any way, but its whereabouts should be marked by a broken branch stuck in the ground. Of course, if a stranger was seen, an alarm should be raised instantly.
The little party was making for the Quarry Wood, when Jenkins arrived on a bicycle. The first intimation he had received of the murder was the chauffeur's message. There was a telephone between house and lodge, but no one had thought of using it.
"Now, Bates," said Farrow, when the
