"This morning," Lord Runton continued, "Mr. Fielding rather upset our plans. We were all to have spent the day at the Duke's, and dined there.

There was a big shoot for the men, as you know. At breakfast-time, however, Mr. Fielding announced that he had a man coming over with a motor car from Norwich for them to try, and begged to be excused. So we had to go without them.

"Von Rothe was staying with me, as you know, and just before we started he had a telegram that a messenger from the Emba.s.sy was on his way down.

He hesitated for some time as to whether he ought not to stay at home so as to be here when he arrived, but we persuaded him to come with us, and promised to send him back after luncheon. When we got to Chestow, however, the wind had become a gale, and it was impossible to shoot decently. Von Rothe was a little uneasy all the time, I could see, so he and I and a few of the others returned here, and the rest went up to Chestow. Just as we arrived Fielding pa.s.sed us in a great motor car with his daughter behind. When we got to the house Von Rothe inquired for the messenger. He was told that he was in Mr. Fielding's sitting-room, but when we got there we found the door locked, and through the key-hole we could hear a man groaning. We broke the door in and found Von Rothe's messenger half unconscious, and a rifled despatch box upon the floor. He has given us no coherent account of what has happened yet, but it is quite certain that he was attacked and robbed by Mr. Fielding."

"What was stolen?" Spencer asked. "Money?"

"No, a letter," Lord Runton answered. "Von Rothe says very little, but I never saw a man so broken up. He has left for London to-night."

"The matter is in the hands of the police, of course?" Spencer asked.

Lord Runton shook his head.

"Von Rothe took me into his room and locked the door a few minutes after we had discovered what had happened. He implored me to keep the whole affair from the Press and from publicity in any form. His whole career was at stake, he said, and very much more than his career. All that we could do was to follow Mr. Fielding and drag him back by force if we could. Even then he had little hope of recovering the letter. We did our best, but, of course, we had no chance. Mr. Fielding and his daughter simply drove off. Von Rothe is dealing with the affair in his own way."

"It is a most extraordinary story," Spencer said quietly.

Lord Runton turned towards him.

"I have treated you with confidence, Mr. Spencer," he said. "Will you tell me now why you called at my house to see Mr. Fielding to-day?"

Spencer hesitated, but only for a moment.

"Certainly," he said. "I came because I knew that Mr. Fielding was half-way to America, and his daughter in Russia. Some friends of mine were curious to know who your guests could be."

Pelham raised his head.

"You lied to me then!" he exclaimed.

"I had as much right to lie to you," Spencer answered calmly, "as you had to ask me questions. I had----"

He stopped short in the middle of his sentence. The faces of the three men were a study in varying expressions. From some other part of the house there came to them the sound of a woman's sudden cry of terror--the cry of a woman who had awakened suddenly to look into the face of death. Duncombe's uplifted gla.s.s fell with a crash upon the table. The red wine trickled across the table-cloth.

CHAPTER XXII

LORD RUNTON IS SUSPICIOUS

Duncombe was out of the room in a very few seconds. The others hesitated for a moment whether to follow him or not. Spencer was the first to rise to his feet and moved towards the door. Lord Runton and Pelham followed a moment or two later. Outside in the hall the house was perfectly silent.

Duncombe reached the library door just in time to find himself confronted by half a dozen of the men and women servants coming from the back of the house. With his hand upon the door-k.n.o.b he waved them back.

"Be so good, Mrs. Harrison," he said to the housekeeper, "as to keep better order in the servants' hall. We could hear some girls calling or laughing in the dining-room."

"Indeed, sir," Mrs. Harrison answered with some dignity, "the noise, whatever it was, did not come from the servants' quarters. We fancied that it came from your library."

"Quite impossible," Duncombe answered coolly. "If I require any one I will ring."

He pa.s.sed through the door and locked it on the inside. In half a dozen hasty strides he was across the room and inside the smaller apartment where he had left the girl. With a little gasp of relief he realized that she was there still. She was pale, and a spot of color was blazing in her cheeks. Her hair and dress were a little disordered. With trembling fingers she was fastening a little brooch into her blouse as he entered. A rush of night air struck him from a wide-open window.

"What has happened?" he called out.

"I have been terrified," she answered. "I am sorry I called out. I could not help it. A man came here--through the window. He talked so fast that I could scarcely hear what he said, but he wanted that paper. I tried to make him understand that I had not got it, but he did not believe me--and he was rude."

Duncombe shut down the window, swearing softly to himself.

"I cannot stay with you," he said, "just now. The whole house is alarmed at your cry. Listen!"

There was a loud knocking at the library door. Duncombe turned hastily away.

"I must let them in," he said. "I will come back to you."

She pointed to the window.

"He is coming back," she said, "at twelve o'clock."

"Do you wish me to give up the paper?" he asked.

"No."

"Very well. I will be with you when he comes--before then. I must get rid of these men first."

He closed the door softly, and drew the curtain which concealed it. Then he opened the library window, and a moment afterwards the door.

"Come in, you fellows," he said. "I scarcely know what I was doing when I locked the door. I fancy one of the housemaids has been seeing ghosts in the garden. I saw something white in amongst the shrubs, but I could find nothing. Come on out with me."

Spencer followed with a perfectly grave face. Lord Runton looked puzzled. Pelham did not attempt to leave the library. Spencer drew his host a little on one side.

"What a rotten liar you are, George!" he said. "I don't think that even Runton was taken in."

"I suppose it sounded a little thin," Duncombe answered coolly. "Put it this way, then, so far as you are concerned. The shriek occurred in my house. I've no explanation to offer to anybody."

"I like the sound of that better, Duncombe," he remarked. "Hullo! What's the matter with Runton?"

Lord Runton was calling to them.

"You've had a visitor who was in a hurry, old chap!" he remarked. "Send for a lantern."

Duncombe concealed his annoyance.

"I don't want to alarm the whole household," he said. "I've a little electric torch in my study. I'll fetch that."

He brought it out. The progress of a man from the road to the small window, towards which Duncombe glanced every now and then apprehensively, was marked by much destruction. The intruder had effected his exit either in great haste or in a singularly unfortunate manner. He had apparently missed the gate, which at this point was only a small hand one, and in clambering over the fence he had broken the topmost strand of wire. He had blundered into a bed of wallflowers, which were all crushed and downtrodden, and snapped off a rose tree in the middle. Below the window were distinct traces of footmarks. Lord Runton, who held the torch, was becoming excited.

"Duncombe," he said, "there is something which I have not told you yet.

I have had numerous reports in about the car, and was able to trace it as far as Lynn, but they all agreed in saying that it contained only two persons--the driver and the man who called himself Fielding. What became of the girl?"