Then I rushed to the telephone instrument and spoke to the police-sergeant on duty in Newport Pagnell, asking him to stop any car approaching from my house, informing him what had occurred.

But half an hour later he rang up to tell me that no car had entered the town from any direction; therefore it was apparent that in preference to pa.s.sing through Newport Pagnell it had been turned into one of the side roads and taken a cross-country route to some unknown destination.

I said nothing, but to me it was quite apparent that the object of the attempt upon my safe was the mysterious bronze cylinder, which I held in trust from Melvill Arnold.

When alone in the room I opened the safe with my key, and to my satisfaction saw the battered ancient object still reposing there, together with the letters and the translation of the hieroglyphics.

Once again I took out the heavy cylinder, the greatest treasure of the strange old fellow who had deliberately destroyed a fortune, and held it in my hand filled with wonder and bewilderment. What could it contain that would astonish the world? Surely nothing nowadays astonishes this matter-of-fact world of ours. We have become used to the demonstrations of wonders, from the use of steam to the development of aviation, the telephonic discovery and the application of wireless telegraphy.

How I longed to call in a blacksmith, cut through the metal, and ascertain what was therein contained. But I did not dare. I held the thing in trust for some unknown person who, on Thursday, the third day of November, would come to me and demand its possession.

All that I had been told of the misfortunes which had fallen upon its possessor, and the mysterious fate which would overtake any who attempted to tamper with it, flashed through my brain. Indeed, in such train did my thoughts run that I began to wonder if possession of the thing had any connection with the appearance of that mysterious hand.

Presently, however, I put the cylinder back into its place and relocked the safe, for the police from Newport Pagnell had arrived, and I bade them enter.

They made a minute examination of the room and took possession of the objects left behind by the intruders, but upon them no finger-prints could be found. My visitors were evidently expert thieves, for they had worn gloves. And they had, no doubt, been in the house a full hour before they had tried the safe handle and unconsciously set off the alarm.

Had they applied the powerful jet to the steel door, and fused a hole through it, then they might have accomplished their object without disarranging the alarm at all.

Next day, however, packing the cylinder, the old newspaper, and the letters in the bag, I took them up to London, where I placed them in a box in the Safe Deposit Company's vaults in Chancery Lane. Afterwards I lunched at my club and returned again to Upton End the same evening.

Suddenly it occurred to me while I sat alone eating my dinner that night that if Harvey Shaw and Mrs Olliffe were actually friends then the latter would probably be aware of his whereabouts.

The suggestion aroused me to activity, and it being a fine bright evening with the prospect of a full moon later, I got out my thick motor-coat, packed a small bag, and after tuning up the car set out on the long run towards Bath.

My way lay through Fenny Stratford and Bicester, through Oxford, and down to Newbury. When I pa.s.sed the Jubilee clock in the latter town it was a quarter-past two, while in the broad street of Marlborough, eighteen miles farther on, I stopped to examine the near tyre. It had, as I expected, a puncture. Therefore I leisurely put on my Stepney, and with thirty odd miles before me drove out upon the old highway over the hill through Calne, and up Black Dog Hill, to Chippenham, where in the market-place stood a constable, with whom I exchanged greetings.

There is a certain weird charm in motoring at night, when every town and village is dark and in slumber. Yet it is surprising how many people are out at an early hour. Even ere the first flush of dawn one finds st.u.r.dy men going to work with their day's food in the bag upon their backs and teams of horses being driven to the fields.

It was nearly half-past five when I sped down the steep incline of Box Hill, and, slipping through Box Village and Batheaston, found myself winding round that leafy road with the city of Bath lying picturesquely below.

At six I was once again at the York House Hotel, and after a wash went for an early-morning stroll in the town. Then, after breakfast, I took my hat and stick and strolled out for nearly three miles along the road to the inn at Kelston, where I called for a gla.s.s of ale, and sat down to chat with the white-bearded landlord, who at once recognised me as having been a customer on a previous occasion.

For a long time, as I sat in the cosy little parlour, the table of which was dark and polished with the ale of generations spilt upon it, we chatted about the weather, the prospects of harvest, and the latest iniquity of taxation, until in a careless way I remarked--

"I suppose in summer you have lots of visitors down from London.--I mean the people who have big houses about here entertain a lot?"

"Oh, I dunno!" replied the old fellow, sipping his gla.s.s which he was taking with me. "The Joiceys do have a lot o' visitors, and so do the Strongs, but Mrs Olliffe's been away, an' has only just come back."

"And Mr King?"

"He's been away too. Ridgehill's been shut up and half the servants away on 'oliday."

"And they are back now?"

"Yes; Mrs Olliffe's been abroad--so the butler told me yesterday. But there--" and his lips closed suddenly, as though he had something to say, but feared to utter it.

"Rather a funny lot--so I've heard, eh?" I remarked.

"Yes. n.o.body can quite make 'em out--to tell the truth. Only the night before last, or, rather, about a quarter to five in the morning, Mrs Olliffe, her brother and another gentleman went by 'ere in a car on their way 'ome. They'd been out all night, so the chauffeur told me yesterday. Mr King drove the car."

"Out all night!" I echoed, in sudden wonder.

"Yes. And they'd been a long way, judging from the appearance of the car. I 'appened to get up to see the time, and looked out o' my window just as they came past. It isn't the first time either that they've been out all night. The village knows it, and every one is asking where they go to, and what takes 'em out o' their beds like that."

"Who was the gentleman with them?" I inquired eagerly.

"Ah! I couldn't see 'im very well. He was in a big frieze coat, and wore a black-and-white check cap. I didn't catch his face, but, by his clothes, he was a stranger to me."

"You've only seen him on that occasion."

"Only that once, sir. The chauffeur told me, however, that 'e isn't staying at Ridgehill, and that n.o.body saw him. So 'e must 'ave got out after pa.s.sing through the village. Perhaps it was somebody they were givin' a lift to. I've seen Mrs Olliffe a-takin' notice of some queer people sometimes. And funnily enough, only yesterday a gentleman came in 'ere and was a-making a lot of inquiries after her. 'E was a foreigner--a Frenchman, I think."

"A Frenchman!" I cried. "What was he like?"

"Oh! Like most Frenchman. 'E 'ad finnikin' ways, was middle-aged, with a brown beard which he seemed always a-strokin'. 'E 'ad lunch 'ere, and stayed all the afternoon smokin' cigarettes and lookin' through this window as though he hoped to see 'er pa.s.s. 'E was so inquisitive that I was glad when 'e'd gone. I suppose," the man added, "'e's somebody she's met abroad, eh?"

But I knew the truth. His inquisitive visitor was Victor Tramu!

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

A WOMAN'S WORD.

A hot, dusty walk took me beside the telegraph wires back to Bath, and the remainder of the day I spent in idleness in the hotel.

If the great French detective were in the vicinity then I had no desire to be seen by him. Therefore I deemed it best to lie quite low until nightfall.

At four o'clock, after great delay I got on to Tucker on the telephone, and inquired if there had been any letters or messages for me.

"The police have been here again, and there's a telephone message, sir,"

replied the old man's voice. "It came about eleven o'clock, from a lady, sir. I took it down."

"Read it over," I said.

Then, listening intently, I heard the old man's voice say--

"The message, sir, is: `Please ask Mr Kemball to ring up, if possible, 802 Bournemouth--the Royal Bath Hotel--at six o'clock this evening--from Miss Seymour.'"

My heart gave a bound of delight.

"Nothing else, Tucker?"

"No, sir. That's all the lady said. She seemed very anxious indeed to speak to you."

"All right, Tucker. I'll be back in a day or two. By the way, send on my letters to the Grand Hotel, Bournemouth."

"Very well, sir."