Next moment he dashed up the old well staircase two steps at a time and entered room after room. Only one was furnished--the tenant's bedroom. In it he found a number of suits of clothes, while on the dressing-table lay a false moustache, evidently for disguise. A small writing-table was set in the window, and upon it was strewn a quant.i.ty of papers.

As he flashed his torch round he was amazed to see, arranged upon a neat deal table in a corner, some curious-looking machinery which looked something like printing-presses. But they were a mystery to him.

The discovery was a strange one. What it meant he did not then realise.

There seemed to be quite a quant.i.ty of apparatus and machinery. It was this which had been conveyed there in those furniture vans of the Trinity Furnishing Company.

He heard Deacon's voice calling again. Therefore, having satisfied himself as to the nature of the contents of that neglected old house, he ascended the stone steps into the pa.s.sage which led through a faded green-baize door into the main hall.

As he entered he heard voices in loud discussion. Sergeant Deacon and the servant Pietro had met face to face.

The Italian had evidently aroused the villagers in Asheldham, for there were sounds of many voices of men out on the gravelled drive.

"I came up here a quarter of an hour ago," the Italian cried excitedly in his broken English, "and somebody fired at me. They tried to kill me!"

"But who?" asked Deacon in pretended ignorance. He was uncertain what to do, Mr. Fetherston being still within the house and the ladder, his only means of escape, still standing against a side wall.

"Thieves!" cried the man, his foreign accent more p.r.o.nounced in his excitement. "I challenged them, and they fired at me. I am glad that you, a police sergeant, are here."

"So am I," cried Walter Fetherston, suddenly throwing open the front door and standing before the knot of alarmed villagers, though it was so dark that they could not recognise who he was. "Deacon," he added authoritatively, "arrest that foreigner."

"Diavolo! Who are you?" demanded the Italian angrily.

"You will know in due course," replied Fetherston. Then, turning to the crowd, he added: "Gentlemen, I came here with Sergeant Deacon to search this house. He will tell you whether that statement is true or not."

"Quite," declared the breezy sergeant, who already had the Italian by the collar and coat-sleeve. "It was I who fired--to frighten him off!"

At this the crowd laughed. They had no liking for foreigners of any sort after the war, and were really secretly pleased to see that the sergeant had "taken him up."

But what for? they asked themselves. Why had the police searched The Yews? Mr. Bailey was a quiet, inoffensive man, very free with his money to everybody around.

"Jack Beard," cried Deacon to a man in the crowd, "just go down to Asheldham and telephone to Superintendent Warden at Maldon. Ask him to send me over three men at once, will you?"

"All right, Sam," was the prompt reply, and the man went off, while the sergeant took the resentful Italian into the house to await an escort.

Deacon called the a.s.sistance of two men and invited them in. Then, while they mounted guard over the prisoner, Fetherston addressed the little knot of amazed men who had been alarmed by the Italian's statement.

"Listen, gentlemen," he said. "We shall in a couple of hours' time expect the return of Mr. Bailey, the tenant of this house. There is a very serious charge against him. I therefore put everyone of you upon your honour to say no word of what has occurred here to-night--not until Mr.

Bailey arrives. I should prefer you all to remain here and wait; otherwise, if a word be dropped at Southminster, he may turn back and fly from justice."

"What's the charge, sir?" asked one man, a bearded old labourer.

"A very serious one," was Walter's evasive reply.

Then, after a pause, they all agreed to wait and witness the dramatic arrest of the man who was charged with some mysterious offence.

Speculation was rife as to what it would be, and almost every crime in the calendar was cited as likely.

Meanwhile Fetherston, returning to the barely-furnished sitting-room, interrogated Pietro in Italian, but only obtained sullen answers. A loaded revolver had been found upon him by Deacon, and promptly confiscated.

"I have already searched the place," Walter said to the prisoner, "and I know what it contains."

But in response the man who had posed as servant, but who, with his "master," was the custodian of the place, only grinned and gave vent to muttered imprecations in Italian.

Fetherston afterwards left the small a.s.sembly and made examination of some bedrooms he had not yet inspected. In three of these, the locks of which he broke open, he discovered quant.i.ties of interesting papers, together with another mysterious-looking press.

While trying to decide what it all meant he suddenly heard a great shouting and commotion outside, and ran down to the door to ascertain its cause.

As he opened it he saw that in the darkness the crowd outside had grown excited.

"'Ere you are, sir," cried one man, ascending the steps. "'Ere are two visitors. We found 'em comin' up the road, and, seein' us, they tried to get away!"

Walter held up a hurricane lantern which he had found and lit, when its dim, uncertain light fell upon the two prisoners in the crowd.

Behind stood Summers, while before him, to Fetherston's utter amazement, showed Enid Orlebar, pale and terrified, and the grey, sinister face of Doctor Weirmarsh.

CHAPTER XXIX

CONTAINS SOME STARTLING STATEMENTS

ENID, recognising Walter, shrank back instantly in fear and shame, while Weirmarsh started at that unexpected meeting with the man whom he knew to be his bitterest and most formidable opponent.

The small crowd of excited onlookers, ignorant of the true facts, but their curiosity aroused by the unusual circ.u.mstances, had prevented the pair from turning back and making a hurried escape.

"Enid!" exclaimed Fetherston, as the girl reluctantly crossed the threshold with downcast head, "what is the meaning of this? Why are you paying a visit to this house at such an hour?"

"Ah, Walter," she cried, her small, gloved hands clenched with a sudden outburst of emotion, "be patient and hear me! I will tell you everything--_everything_!"

"You won't," growled the doctor sharply. "If you do, by Gad! it will be the worse for you! So you'd best keep a silent tongue--otherwise you know the consequences. I shall now tell the truth--and you won't like that!"

She drew back in terror of the man who held such an extraordinary influence over her. She had grasped Fetherston's hand convulsively, but at Weirmarsh's threat she had released her hold and was standing in the hall, pale, rigid and staring.

"Summers," exclaimed Fetherston, turning to his companion, "you know this person, eh?"

"Yes, sir, I should rather think I do," replied the man, with a grin.

"Well, detain him for the present, and take your instructions from London."

"You have no power or right to detain me," declared the grey-faced doctor in quick defiance. "You are not a police officer!"

"No, but this is a police officer," Fetherston replied, indicating Summers, and adding: "Sergeant, I give that man into custody."

The sergeant advanced and laid his big hand upon the doctor's shoulder, telling him to consider himself under arrest.

"But this is abominable--outrageous!" Weirmarsh cried, shaking him off.

"I've committed no offence."