"What on earth could cause war?"

"I can't see, Jim. Of course Austria's att.i.tude toward Servia is very sullen. But outside of that I can see no trouble threatening.

"And yet, the Gayfield woollen mill has just received an enormous order for socks and underwear from the French Government. They're running all night now. And another thing struck me: there has been a man in this section buying horses for the British Government. Of course it's done now and then, but, taking this incident with the others which have come to my personal knowledge, it would seem as though something were brewing over in Europe."

Jim's perplexed eyes rested on his father; he shook his youthful head slightly:

"I can't see why," he said. "But if it's to be France and Germany again, why my sympathy is entirely for France."

"Naturally," nodded his father.

Their Irish ancestors had fought for Bonaparte, and for the Bourbons before him. And, cursed with cousins, like all Irish, they were aware of plenty of Neelands in France who spoke no English.

Jim rose, glanced at his watch:

"Dad, I'll just be running over to Brookhollow to get that box. I haven't such a lot of time, if I'm to catch the midnight train at Orangeville."

"I should say you hadn't," said his father.

He was disappointed, but he smiled as he exchanged a handclasp with his only son.

"You're coming right back from Paris?"

"Next steamer. I've a lot of work on hand, thank goodness! But that only puts me under heavier obligations to the Princess Mistchenka."

"Yes, I suppose so. Anything but ingrat.i.tude, Jim. It's the vilest vice of 'em all. They say it's in the Irish blood--ingrat.i.tude. They must never prove it by a Neeland. Well, my boy--I'm not lonesome, you understand; busy men have no time to be lonesome--but run up, will you, when you get back?"

"You bet I will."

"I'll show you a brace of promising pups. They stand rabbits, still, but they won't when the season is over."

"Blue Bird's pups?"

"Yes. They take after her."

"Fine! I'll be back for the shooting, anyway. Many broods this season?"

"A fair number. It was not too wet."

For a moment they lingered, smiling at each other, then Jim gave his father's hand a quick shake, picked up his suitcase, turned.

"I'll take the runabout, dad. Someone from the Orangeville garage will bring it over in the morning."

He went out, pushed his way among the leaping dogs to the garage, threw open the doors, and turned on the electric light.

A slim and trim Snapper runabout stood glistening beside a larger car and two automobile trucks. He exchanged his straw hat for a cap; placed hat and suitcase in the boot; picked up a flash light from the work-table, and put it into his pocket, cranked the Snapper, jumped in, ran it to the service entrance, where his father stood ready to check the dogs and close the gates after him.

"Good-bye, dad!" he called out gaily.

"Good-bye, my son."

The next instant he was speeding through the starry darkness, following the dazzling path blazed out for him by his headlights.

CHAPTER XV

THE LOCKED HOUSE

From the road, just before he descended to cross the bridge into Brookhollow, he caught a gleam of light straight ahead. For a moment it did not occur to him that there was anything strange in his seeing a light in the old Carew house. Then, suddenly, he realised that a light ought not to be burning behind the lowered shades of a house which was supposed to be empty and locked.

His instant impulse was to put on his brakes then and there, but the next moment he realised that his car must already have been heard and seen by whoever had lighted that shaded lamp. The car was already on the old stone bridge; the Carew house stood directly behind the crossroads ahead; and he swung to the right into the creek road and sped along it until he judged that neither his lights nor the sound of his motor could be distinguished by the unknown occupant of the Carew house.

Then he ran his car out among the tall weeds close to the line of scrub willows edging the creek; extinguished his lights, including the tail-lamp; left his engine running; stood listening a moment to the whispering whirr of his motor; then, taking the flash light from his pocket, he climbed over the roadside wall and ran back across the pasture toward the house.

As he approached the old house from the rear, no crack of light was visible, and he began to think he might have been mistaken--that perhaps the dancing glare of his own acetylenes on the windows had made it seem as though they were illuminated from within.

Cautiously he prowled along the rear under the kitchen windows, turned the corner, and went to the front porch.

He had made no mistake; a glimmer was visible between the edge of the lowered shade and the window casing.

Was it some impudent tramp who had preempted this lonely house for a night's lodging? Was it, possibly, a neighbour who had taken charge in return for a garden to cultivate and a place to sleep in? Yet, how could it be the latter when he himself had the keys to the house?

Moreover, such an arrangement could scarcely have been made by Rue Carew without his being told of it.

Then he remembered what the Princess Mistchenka had said in her cable message, that somebody might break into the house and steal the olive-wood box unless he hastened to Brookhollow and secured it immediately.

Was this what was being done now? Had somebody broken in for that purpose? And who might it be?

A slight chill, not entirely agreeable, pa.s.sed over Neeland. A rather warm sensation of irritation succeeded it; he mounted the steps, crossed the verandah, went to the door and tried the k.n.o.b very cautiously. The door was locked; whoever might be inside either possessed a key that fitted or else must have entered by forcing a window.

But Neeland had neither time nor inclination to prowl around and investigate; he had a duty to fulfil, a train to catch, and a steamer to connect with the next morning. Besides, he was getting madder every second.

So he fitted his key to the door, careless of what noise he made, unlocked and pushed it open, and started to cross the threshold.

Instantly the light in the adjoining room grew dim. At the same moment his quick ear caught a sound as though somebody had blown out the turned-down flame; and he found himself facing total darkness.

"Who the devil's in there!" he called, flashing his electric pocket lamp. "Come out, whoever you are. You've no business in this house, and you know it!" And he entered the silent room.

His flash light revealed nothing except dining-room furniture in disorder, the doors of a cupboard standing open--one door still gently swinging on its hinges.

The invisible hand that had moved it could not be far away. Neeland, throwing his light right and left, caught a glimpse of another door closing stealthily, ran forward and jerked it open. His lamp illuminated an empty pa.s.sageway; he hurried through it to the door that closed the farther end, tore it open, and deluged the sitting-room with his blinding light.

Full in the glare, her face as white as the light itself, stood a woman. And just in time his eyes caught the glitter of a weapon in her stiffly extended hand; and he snapped off his light and ducked as the level pistol-flame darted through the darkness.

The next second he had her in his grasp; held her writhing and twisting; and, through the confused trample and heavy breathing, he noticed a curious crackling noise as though the clothing she wore were made of paper.