The chemist busied himself to oblige the detective, wrapping and tying the packages neatly. Furneaux insisted on paying sixpence for the paper, string, and labor. There was quite a friendly argument, but he carried his point.

The dog-cart then brought him to the station, where he tipped and dismissed the man; a little later, he caught a London-bound train.

At half past seven precisely, Winter turned in through the Knoleworth-side gate of The Hollies (there were two, the approach to the house being semi-circular) and pushed the door open, as it was standing ajar.

Grant was waiting in the hall, and greeted him pleasantly.

"Here's a telegram which is meant for you, I fancy," he said.

Winter read:

"Sorry to spoil your party. Compelled to travel to London. Returning early to-morrow. F."

"That's pretty f.a.n.n.y's way," smiled the Chief Inspector. "But there's something in the wind, or he would never have hurried off in this fashion. He tells me that the only pleasant evening he spent in Steynholme was under your roof, Mr. Grant."

"Come along in, Don Jaime!" drawled Hart's voice from the "den," which had been cleared of its litter, the lawn being deemed somewhat unsuitable for the purposes of a drawing-room on that occasion. It was overlooked from too many quarters.

"Ah, we meet now under less uneven conditions, Mr. Hart," said Winter.

"Do you know that Enrico Suarez is in London?"

Hart, startled for once in his life, gazed at the detective fixedly.

"Since when?" he cried.

"He crossed from Lisbon last week."

Hart took a revolver from his hip pocket, and opened it, apparently making sure that it was properly loaded.

"What's the law in England?" he inquired. "Can I shoot first, or must I wait till the other fellow has had a pop?"

Winter laughed.

"It's all right," he said. "Suarez is in Holloway, awaiting extradition.

But I owed you one for the rise you took out of me to-day."

A bell sounded, and Peters came in. He glanced around.

"Where's Furneaux?" he demanded.

"Gone to London. Why this keen interest?" said Winter.

"There's something up. Elkin dropped in at the Hare and Hounds. He was simply bursting with curiosity, and had to talk to somebody. So he chose me."

"He would," was the dry comment.

"Fact, 'pon me honor. I didn't lead him on an inch. It seems that Furneaux bought some prints which caught his eye in Elkin's house, and Tomlin says that that hexplains. .h.i.t."

"Explains what?"

"Furneaux's visit to Siddle, and certain bulky parcels brought in and brought out again."

"Queer little duck, Furneaux," said Hart. "Now that my mind is at ease about the immediate future of the biggest rascal in Venezuela I can take an active part in Steynholme affairs once more. When it's all through I'll make a novel of it, dashed if I don't, with the postmaster's daughter in the three-color process as a frontispiece."

"But who will be the villain?" said Peters.

Hart waved the negro-head pipe at the other three.

"Draw lots. I am indifferent," he said.

CHAPTER XVII

AN OFFICIAL HOUSEBREAKER

No word bearing on the main topic in these men's minds was said during dinner. Grant was attentive to his guests, but markedly silent, almost distrait. Two such talkers as Hart and Peters, however, covered any gaps in this respect. Cigars and pipes were in evidence, and, horrible though it may sound in the ears of a _gourmet_, the port was circulating, when Winter turned and gazed at the small window.

"Is that where the ghost appears!" he inquired.

"Yes," said Grant. "You know the whole story, of course?"

"Furneaux misses nothing, I a.s.sure you."

"He missed a daylight apparition this afternoon, at any rate. I have no secrets from my friends, so I may as well tell you--"

"That Siddle called, and implored you to consider Doris Martin's future by avoiding her at present," put in the Chief Inspector.

Such shocks were losing some of their effect, on the principle that a man hears the burst of the thousandth high-explosive sh.e.l.l with a good deal less trepidation than attended the efforts of the first dozen. Still, Grant gazed at the speaker in profound astonishment.

"You Scotland Yard men seem to know everything," he said.

"A mere pretense. Try him on sheep-raising in the Argentine, Jack,"

murmured Hart.

"Wally, this business is developing a very serious side," protested Grant. Hart stretched a long arm for the port decanter.

"Come, friend!" he addressed it gravely. "Let us commune! You and I together shall mingle joyous memories of

"A draught of the Warm South, The true, the blushful Hippocrene."

"We read Siddle's visit aright, it would appear," said Winter quietly.

"Yes. That was his mission, put in a nutsh.e.l.l."

"And what did you say?"

"I told him that, after Wednesday, I would ask Doris Martin to marry me, which is the best answer I can give him and all the world."