shuddered.
"Yes. I myself don't mind what she says, so long as I know Sir Edgar's fiancée is safe. I daresay Lady Brenton will contrive to waylay her to-morrow, and then——"
"Journeys end in lovers' meetings, eh?" concluded Cleek, with a little laugh of pure happiness.
"Well, I mustn't complain. I, too, look forward to a to-morrow. Good-night, my Ailsa."
She looked into his face with tender eyes. Their hands met and clasped in the silence that speaks more than words. Then she turned upon her heel and sped away into the shadows, while Cleek took the steering wheel once more. He sent the car rocketing onward toward the house which was to witness a tragedy, a tragedy that was about to set the world agape, and spin a riddle that even Cleek himself would find almost impossible to solve.
CHAPTER II
THE HOME-COMING
A slight mist had fallen, and fields and lanes were gradually enveloping themselves in a gray shroud which rose in thick vapour from the river. Also it was getting dark, yet to Cleek, whose whole heart and soul were bound up in the neighbourhood that formed the temporary home of Ailsa Lorne, the one woman in the world for him, the way was as clear as though he held a map in his hand, and a torch whereby to see it with.
He knew that the dark, tree-lined lane ran on for some thousand yards, with but two curves, until it reached the neighbouring parish where it divided in a fork. Here one road led to the gateways of Cheyne Court and to the river-bank. The other proceeded to the rear of the village of Hampton. On the other side, draggled trees and matted gorse bushes were scattered over a piece of land which was used largely for the encampment of tribes of wandering gipsies, travelling booths, and circuses. It was as well the chosen pitch of the annual fair, an occasion that brought the rag-tail and riff-raff of London to over-flow the tiny hamlet, and give the inhabitants food for gossip for the remainder of the year.
Past these the limousine whizzed on like a thing possessed, taking the last mile between the forked lane to the house at such a speed that it would have overtaken or passed any other vehicle that might have been coming to the hall. But the lane was deserted and they passed down it alone. Another quarter of an hour took them past a big house standing half hidden in its own grounds. This was, as Cleek knew, the home of Lady Brenton, whom Ailsa had mentioned but a short time ago as being a neighbour of both Miss Cheyne and herself.
Some five hundred feet more, and they came to a pair of very dilapidated iron gates, standing wide open, and covered with a heavy coating of orange rust. Creepers twisted and twined themselves about the rotting rungs, clothing them with a sombre dignity that shrouded much of their evident neglect.
Cleek drove up the grass-grown strip of pebbles that was the pathway into a tangled avenue of overhanging trees that looked grim and forbidding. It was no wonder that few travellers passing that way guessed the existence of a house behind them.
As for that house itself, to Cleek's eyes it showed neither light nor signs of habitation. No smoke issued from its chimney-pots, nor was there a sound. To all intents and purposes, it might have been an empty building, and Cleek, who had hopped off the driver's seat, dived hastily for his powerful electric torch, preparatory to making a closer investigation.
The mist which had been gradually rising now seemed to wrap them in an impenetrable veil. The moon's light had vanished and for a moment only the drip-drip of some distant water broke on his ears as he stood alert, watchful, and keen. And even as he stood came a sound that froze his heart's blood, a sound terrifying in the broad open glory of daylight, but here, in the dark and chill, muffled by distance, yet none the less unmistakable, a very terror indeed. And that sound was the sharp crack of a revolver!
For a moment, as its full significance was borne in on his mind, Cleek stood rigid. Then as the door of the car flew open he turned to meet Lady Margaret in the very act of jumping out.
His first thought was as to whether she, too, had heard the ill-omened sound, but it was evident that she had not realized, or perhaps even noticed it. A frown furrowed her clear, child's brow and she clapped her hands together with a little gesture of impatience.
"Oh, can't you make any one hear, Mr. Deland?" she cried despairingly. "Please do make them hurry. I am so tired."
Cleek started forward, and dashing up the two or three stone steps, sent peal after peal of the jangling, old-fashioned bell reverberating through the house. There came no answer.
He bent down and peered through the letter-box, at the same time striking a match and letting its feeble light struggle through the aperture. All within was dark, and yet Cleek's tense nerves gave a little quivery jump. For a sound, slight though it was, came to his trained ears. It was the sound of a padded footstep, and to his nostrils was borne a strange, sweet scent, familiar yet tantalizingly unknown.
Again and again he rang the bell, and the echoes, pealing through the silent house, came back to him maddeningly. At last Lady Margaret, who had come up to him, laid a hand upon his shoulder and peered for a moment up into his face.
"I know how to get in," she said. "Let us try that window. It is the dining room, and should be quite easy to manage. Please try and force it for me, will you?"
Speaking, she ran lightly along the stone terrace and pulled feebly at the window, which was evidently locked. Cleek, following closely on her heels, felt a thrill of something akin to fear because of what that single shot might mean.
"Come," he said, suddenly switching round upon his heel. "Let's give the task up for to-night, Lady Margaret. There is nothing to be gained here, and Miss Lorne will be able to put you up comfortably until morning comes. Let's get away from here, I beg."
She looked at him in wide-eyed surprise at the suggestion.
"No, no, please. I would rather stay now I am here. Besides, it is my home, and Aunt Marion will be expecting me."
A few swift touches of his knife, and the antiquated lock gave way. With a little sigh of relief she scrambled through the window and entered the room with the air of one who has arrived home at last, and stood a moment looking quickly about her. Cleek followed closely upon her heels, his heart pumping furiously and his blood "up" for anything that might ensue.
The interior of the room was very dark, but apparently the girl knew her way, for she plunged forward unhesitatingly, only turning to speak to Cleek who hesitated in the background.
"Strike a match, please, Mr. Deland," she commanded with a little imperious gesture. "There's a lamp over here." Cleek, following the direction of her hand, speedily espied one which was standing upon an adjacent table.
With its friendly aid he was able to note the worn and threadbare appearance of everything, blurred and shadowy though it was. The only striking object was placed in the centre of a small stand and it was the picture of the girl he had helped to bring to her natural home. He turned instinctively as though to compare the likeness and saw that she had thrown aside her hat and coat and sunk down in the old leather chair, her blue eyes looking piteously at him as he came toward her.
"That's
