So these were my persecutors, two men moving in the best society, and wholly unsuspected of anything approaching crime. They were to be my murderers! Even in that moment of crisis I found myself unconsciously wondering who the driver of the car could be, for obviously he too must be implicated in this plot, and a member of the gang. Another thought flashed through my mind. Which of all these criminals had done poor Churchill to death? Which had a.s.sa.s.sinated Preston on board the boat, leaving the impression that he had intentionally hanged himself? Was Gastrell the a.s.sa.s.sin? Was--

"Here is a place--beside this tree."

The remark, uttered by the stranger, cut my train of thought. Now Gastrell stood beside me. In one hand he held the torch. The fingers of his other hand were unfastening my coat. Soon I felt him push his hand, with a letter in it, into my inside pocket.

The letter intended for Dulcie! The letter which would besmirch my name, dishonour and disgrace it for ever!

In a fit of mad frenzy I tugged wildly at my bonds again in frantic attempts to free myself. As well might I have tried to free myself from handcuffs. Calmly Gastrell reb.u.t.toned my coat, heedless of my struggles.

"And when you are dead," he said quietly, "Holt Manor and estates, and the Challoner fortune, will come eventually to my companions and myself, for Connie, in spite of what she said, is going to marry Roland Challoner, and I intend to marry Dulcie--if she likes it or if she doesn't. So now you realize, I hope, when it is too late, how ill-advised you and your folk were to attempt to overthrow our plans.

Several before you have tried, and all have failed; the majority are dead. Very likely more will try, and they too will fail. You know the fate of Churchill and of Preston. You know your own fate. Osborne has saved himself by becoming one of us, for when he marries Jasmine he will join us or else--"

He stopped abruptly. A moment later he added:

"Two of your friends we still have to reckon with, though neither counts for much: Challoner's sister, and his son."

A cold sweat broke out upon me as the ruffian mentioned d.i.c.k. G.o.d! Was it possible these fiends would wreak their vengeance on a mere boy? And yet if they meant to, how could he escape them? How simple for such men to get him in their power. Ah, if only I could have spoken I should, I truly believe, have humiliated myself by beseeching the monsters to spare poor little d.i.c.k.

"Come, hurry along," the stranger, who was standing by, exclaimed impatiently.

"Bob," Gastrell called, without heeding the interruption.

At once the driver of the car approached. He spoke no word. The disc of light shone upon his face and--"Pull your cap off," Gastrell said sharply.

The fellow did so. As I stared hard at him, something in his face seemed familiar to me. Fat and bloated though the face was, and though the eyes sagged, in the man's expression there was something--

Gastrell turned to me.

"Don't you see the likeness?" he asked quickly.

Gagged as I was, of course I couldn't speak.

"Bob is Sir Roland's brother--Robert Challoner," he said. "At Holt his name is never spoken, but you have heard of him. Bob Challoner was kicked out of his home, first by his father, Sir Nelson Challoner, and afterwards by his own brother, Sir Roland. I will now tell you it was Bob who suggested the robbery at Holt, and who, with Connie, helped us through with it. He is going now to see to it that Dulcie becomes my wife."

"Stop your talk, for G.o.d's sake!" the stranger interrupted again, his patience at an end. "Time is slipping by. Bring him here and finish him."

They carried me a little way into the forest, then set me on my feet again, propped against a tree. That I did not feel utterly terrified at the thought of my approaching death astonished me. After the mental torture I had endured, however, I felt comparatively calm.

Gastrell approached to within about a yard. Again the wind moaned up through the forest. No other sound whatever broke the night's stillness.

Once more a disc of light shone straight into my eyes, though now from a distance of a few inches only. I saw the muzzle of a pistol glitter above the light--I knew now that the electric torch was connected with the weapon.

There came a sharp, metallic "click," as Gastrell c.o.c.ked the hammer.

CHAPTER XXIV

IN STRANGE COMPANY

A load report rang out just behind me. The light before my eyes vanished. Something lurched up against my chest, knocking the breath out of me, then collapsed in a heap on to the ground at my feet.

There was an instant's stillness. Now footsteps could be heard crackling forward through the undergrowth. There came the sound of a heavy blow, a stifled cry, a dull thud as though a body had fallen heavily. What had happened? And what was happening? Helplessly I stared about me, striving in vain to pierce the blackness of the forest. I heard people moving close beside me, but no word was spoken.

Then suddenly someone touched me. The ropes which bound my wrists were being severed with a blunt instrument. Now my legs were being released.

Some fragments of rope dropped to the ground. _I was free!_

Nowhere was there any light, and still n.o.body spoke. Taking me by the arm, the man who had set me free led me forward through the darkness.

Now we were close to the car. Men were beside it, apparently very busy, though what they were engaged in doing I could not ascertain. And then, all at once, the road became flooded with light--the headlights of the car had been switched on simultaneously.

Almost immediately I saw what was happening. Several large bags had been placed inside the car, and others were being pushed in after them.

What did they contain? For the moment I was puzzled. Then suddenly the obvious truth flashed across me. The group of men--I could see them indistinctly in the darkness--must be poachers, and poaching out of season I knew to be an offence punishable in France with a very heavy sentence. There seemed to be five men engaged in handling the sacks, while a sixth stood looking on.

"_Entrez_" a voice beside me said suddenly. At the same instant I was gripped by the arm and pushed forward towards the car.

"Who fired that shot?" I exclaimed quickly, in French.

"I did--and saved your life," the man who held me answered. "Why?"

"And you killed him?"

"Yes."

"The report sounded like a rifle shot."

"It was a pistol shot. But what matters, so long as he is dead?"

"Have you his revolver? Did you pick it up?" I asked anxiously.

"Yes."

"Show me both pistols."

My thoughts were travelling with extraordinary rapidity. Rather to my surprise he handed the pistols to me without a word. Quickly I held them in the light cast by the car's lamps and hurriedly examined them. Yes, both were weapons of the same calibre, both took the same cartridges.

Below the barrel of Gastrell's revolver was the small electric lamp from which the light had shone on to my face. I gripped the pistol tightly and the light shone out again.

"I will return here in a moment," I said in French, as I moved away, for the man had released my arm.

With the help of the pistol glow-light I made my way back to the tree where a few minutes before I had been propped up, helpless. On the ground, close to the trunk, Gastrell's body lay huddled in a heap, a red spot in the middle of his forehead showing that death must indeed have been instantaneous. I had, however, no time for reflection. Quickly I thrust my hand into the dead man's pockets, one after another. All were empty--someone must already have gone through them. Glancing about me to make sure I was not observed, I hastily transferred to the dead man's pocket, from the inside pocket of my own coat, the letter which he himself had placed there not ten minutes before. Then I reb.u.t.toned his coat, picked up the bits of severed rope lying about--the ropes that previously had bound me--threw the pistol on to the ground close to the dead man's hand, and turned to retrace my steps. Suddenly I stopped. I had forgotten something. Picking up the pistol again I fired a shot into the air, then once more threw it down. My ruse would have proved truly futile had Gastrell's body been discovered, shot through the head, a letter in his pocket pointing directly to suicide, and a revolver on the ground--still loaded in every chamber!

A minute later I was hustled into the car, squeezed tightly between several men. On the floor of the car were a number of large sacks, exhaling an odour none too savoury. The door was slammed, I saw a figure step on to the driving seat, and once more the powerful car shot out into the night, its search-lamps lighting up the road as far as we could see.

For a while n.o.body spoke.

"I don't know who you are," I said at last in French, breaking the silence, "but I am most grateful to you for saving my life."

Still n.o.body uttered.