Leslie opened her eyes and frowned up into the face that was bent over her. She was lying on the verge of the road, for Dick had carried her down into the cutting and a hundred yards toward Willow House.
“Oh, how awful!” she shuddered, and closed her eyes. “It was the Black Abbot?”
Dick Alford did not reply for a while. His anxiety for the girl was such that all other interests had passed from his mind.
“I am all right now,” she said, and, with his assistance, stood shakily on her feet. “I told you I was a fool. This is my crazy day! Dick, what was it?”
“He was too far away from me to see,” said Dick; “probably one of our stupid villagers under the influence of drink.”
She shook her head.
“No, it was not that, Dick! It was----” She shuddered again. “I think I’d better go home.”
“I think you’d be wise,” he said gravely. “I wish I hadn’t brought you out now.”
She laughed a little shakily and clung to him tighter.
“In a way I’m glad you did,” she said, as they walked slowly toward her home. “Dick, I had all sorts of queer dreams: just before I woke up I felt somebody kiss me. It was so convincing that I can still feel the lips on my cheek.”
“I kissed you,” he said, without shame. “I thought the shock would bring you to life!”
Her laughter was almost hysterical, for Leslie’s nerves were jangled and on edge.
“You might at least have denied that,” she said. “Dick, you have no subtlety!”
As they walked slowly toward the house, she noticed that he looked back once or twice.
“You’re not expecting that--that thing to follow us, are you?” she asked, her teeth chattering.
“No, I thought I heard a car” (which was true). “I’ll swear I saw a haze of light over the crest of the road, but I must have been mistaken.”
He was not mistaken, and knew it. A car had been following them, had been slowly ascending the hill to the cutting; he had seen the reflected rays from the lamps distinctly, and had heard the soft purr of engines. What was more certain than anything else, the car could not have turned in that narrow road, so that the only explanation was that the unknown driver had switched off his lights and stopped his machine.
“Let me look at you.” He turned her to the moonlight and lifted her face. “I don’t know whether you’re horribly pale or whether it’s a trick of the moon,” he said, “but you look mighty ill: You had better go straight to bed, preferably without seeing your brother.”
“Why?” she asked, in surprise.
“I don’t want this spook story to get around, for one thing,” he said. “And for another--oh well, the other doesn’t matter.”
Leslie realized that she was walking at a much slower pace than her physical weakness justified. She was still a little shaky, but in every sense had recovered from the shock. Too sane to believe in ghosts, she had, nevertheless, been shaken by the terrible experience. She leaned heavily on Dick’s arm as they paced up the avenue to the house, turning on to the grass that Arthur should not hear their footsteps and come out to give them a boisterous welcome. Presently, with a sigh, she dropped his arm.
“I’m glad I went out,” she said, in a low voice. “And I’m rather glad----” She did not finish the sentence.
The silence that followed was a little disturbing for both of them. Suddenly she faced him.
“Dick, do you want me to marry your brother?”
He did not answer.
“Do you--really?”
She heard his sigh in the dark. She could not see his face, for they stood in the shadow of a great cedar immediately before the house.
“I don’t know,” he said. There was a bleakness in his voice she had heard once before. “It isn’t a question of my liking. I can offer you no reason why you should not marry him. You must do what you want, Leslie. The decision must rest entirely with you--and if I were a praying man, I would spend the night praying that you did right.”
“Do you wish me to marry him?” she asked again.
“I cannot tell you.” His voice was hard, and there swept over her a wave of unreasonable anger and resentment against his detachment.
“I won’t ask you that question again,” she said, her voice trembling. “Good-night, Dick.”
She ran into the hall and up to her room, and long after she had gone, he stood where she had left him, looking wistfully at the door which had closed upon her.
With something like despair at his heart, Dick Alford walked quickly along the road toward Fontwell Cutting. He had something to distract his mind for the moment.
There was no sign of the car, and, instead of passing through the cutting gates, he continued over the brow of the hill.
When he went out at night he invariably carried a small flash lamp (he kept a supply of them at the house, for his electric supply had a trick of failing at inconvenient moments) and this he took from his pocket, and, switching on, threw the light on the road, sweeping the beam from side to side. This was not a main thoroughfare, and, except his own and Gwyn’s car, and an occasional tradesman’s Ford, there was little traffic. He saw the diamond-shaped impress of Arthur Gwyn’s Rolls, could pick out his own little machine, and presently he saw a new track: the track of tires with an arrow-shaped tread. He could distinguish the exact spot at which it had stopped. Apparently the driver had made no attempt to turn, but had gone backward some distance. He followed the trail till it curved round, apparently into an open field. The wagon gate was closed, but on the loamy earth the mark of wheels was very apparent.
Red Farm! thought Dick, and, opening the gate, he went into the field. His search was a very short one, for the deserted car was parked close under the hedge parallel with the road. All the lights were out, but the radiator was still hot. He examined the machine carefully; it bore a London number and was new: an American touring car, replete with all the gadgets of its kind. He made a careful note of the number and, walking back to the gate, sat on the top rail and waited.
His vigil was not a protracted one. From where he sat he could see over the swelling hill the top curve of the Abbey arch, and five minutes after he had taken up his position he saw a figure silhouetted against the skyline cross the brow and descend the hill toward him.
Fossaway Park was enclosed in a large-meshed wire net fence, which offered no obstacle to any person who wished to surmount it; but the stranger had evidently not reconnoitred the ground very thoroughly, for Dick heard the clang of the wire as some heavy object struck against it, a curse, and presently he could discern a figure climbing over the wide mesh and drop into the road.
For a few seconds it was out of sight, and then he saw it again, silhouetted against the white of the road. Nearer and nearer it came.
“Good-evening, Mr. Gilder,” said Dick politely. “Are you seeing the sights of Chelfordbury?”
Gilder started violently and almost dropped the heavy stick he was carrying.
“Hullo!” he stammered. “Who the dickens are you?”
A beam of light shot suddenly from his hand and focussed the questioner.
“Oh, you!” said Gilder, taking a long breath. “Gosh! you scared me! I was just admiring your old ruins by moonlight. They’re rather fine.”
“On behalf of the ruins, I thank you,” said Dick, with elaborate courtesy. “Any nice things that you can say about Chelford Abbey are deeply appreciated by its present owner.”
The man was disconcerted and obviously ill at ease.
“I left my car in the field; I thought it might get in the way of traffic----” he began.
“The traffic around here between ten and midnight is not very numerous,” said Dick; “but if you have the illusion that Red Farm is your property, it is quite understandable that your car should be parked there. What is the game, Gilder?”
He was conscious that the man’s eyes were peering at him.
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘game.’ Is it unlawful to admire a moonlight view?”
“It is unlawful to trespass on my brother’s property,” said Dick. “May I repeat my question: What is the game?”
“I don’t understand you. Do you mind letting me get through that gate? I am going home.”
Dick Alford descended from the gate slowly and pushed it open.
“You are a suspicious character, Gilder.”
The man snapped round at him.
“What the devil do you mean?”
“Just what I say. You are a suspicious character. It is very suspicious to find you loafing around Fossaway Park at this hour of the night, particularly after certain things which have happened recently.”
“Do you think I am the Black Abbot?” sneered the man, and Dick’s chuckle came from the darkness.
“There are many interesting possibilities about you, Gilder. What did you expect to find in the Abbey?”
“I tell you I was merely admiring the view by moonlight. If that is an offence you can bring me before a bench of magistrates.”
Dick, his hands in his pockets, stood watching the man as he switched on the lights of the car and started it.
“The place to admire the ruins is from the crest of the hill, not from the ruin itself,” he said. “If you had been a normal admirer you would never have been out of sight. May I also suggest that it wasn’t necessary to switch off your lights or to hide your car--the best view of the Abbey is from the upper road. Gilder, you had better be careful.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It is a warning,” said Dick. “And a man as clever as you would not lightly despise such a warning. By the way, my solicitors are starting an action to-morrow to set aside your agreement with Farmer Leonard. I am hoping that you will not involve yourself in the expense of defending the action.”
“That is a matter that I shall discuss with your lawyers,” said Gilder, as he started the car.
Dick watched the machine as it waddled over the furrows and turned on to the road, and followed it out, closing the gate behind it.
“Do you know anything about racing, Gilder?”
Gilder turned with a jerk. Was this man privy to his secrets?
“I know a little--why?”
“Do you know what a warning-off notice is?”
Gilder stared at him open-mouthed.
“Yes, it is a notice issued by the Jockey Club warning people off Newmarket Heath.”
“Splendid!” said Dick. “Will you take a warning-off notice from me? I warn you off Willow House and all that is contained therein!”
“And if I don’t accept the warning?”
“You’ll be sorry, as I’ve remarked before,” said Dick.
Gilder jammed in his clutch and the car jerked forward with a whine, and soon its tail lights had disappeared round the end of the road.
