look for him. You have no warrant to arrest me merelybecause I happen to be wearing clothes resembling Dawnay's."
"Perhaps not, my dear sir," replied the detective, greatly annoyed atbeing thus outwitted. "But I tell you it will be better for you to bequite frank and outspoken with us. When did Dawnay leave this train--tell me?"
"I don't know," I replied, which was really the truth. And the chagrinof the two police-officers was now fully apparent.
"But you've rendered yourself liable to prosecution, don't forget that,"said the man with the straw hat. "That man, Alfred Dawnay, _alias_ Day,is wanted on a very serious charge."
"Of what?" I asked quickly.
"Never mind what. You've assisted him to escape, and you'll have toanswer for it."
And he closed the door angrily, for the train was again about to moveoff towards London.
What, I wondered, was the serious charge against Alfred Dawnay?
CHAPTER SIX.
THE QUICK AND THE DEAD.
On my return to London I had the very unpleasant experience of beingclosely watched by detectives, just as the fugitive had foreseen. Itwas quite evident that the police intended to rediscover Dawnay throughmy instrumentality.
I wrote to "Mr Hamilton Davis," at the Poste Restante, Charing Cross,giving him my London address at the Hotel Cecil, and also my address atUpton End, hoping that he would send me an appointment. Yet he hadshown himself so wary that I hardly believed he would at once reveal hishiding-place. I was extremely anxious to meet him again, for I hoped tolearn more from him and solve the mystery of the man whom I had known asMelvill Arnold.
In order to evade the unwelcome attentions of detectives, I went down toUpton End for a few days, for I knew that if any stranger were lurkingin the vicinity old Tucker would certainly know of it. Not three dayshad I been there, indeed, before one morning he lingered over wateringthe plants in the conservatory when I came down to breakfast, to declarethat he was much puzzled over the fact that a man--"a decent-lookingman" he described him--seemed to be for ever passing and repassing thelodge.
"I can't think, sir, what can be his business," he said. "I don't likethe looks of him at all. Maybe he's one of a gang who intends to robthe house, sir. Therefore I've told Thomas and Mason to keep their eyesopen." He referred to the groom and the under-gardener. "I've half amind to set the dogs on 'im," he added. "Only let 'im come into thedrive and I'd let Prince after 'im. His whole suit of clothes wouldn'tbe worth sixpence afterwards."
"Some inquisitive fellow, I suppose, Tucker," I said, in an endeavour totreat the incident with utter unconcern. "I don't fancy burglars wouldcome here."
"Don't you believe it, sir. There's lots of things--pictures and curioswhich your father, the late Sir Lionel, collected--which would fetch abig price in London, you know, sir."
"Well," I laughed, "if burglars really do pay us a visit, Prince willsee to them. I'd be sorry to face the dog if I were a thief."
"So would I, sir. Only there's such a thing as a dose o' strychnine ona bit o' meat, you know."
"Abroad, yes. In Italy it is the favourite ruse of burglars, Tucker.But here in England we are much more secure."
And then, watering-can in hand, the faithful old fellow passed out,while I sat down to my lonely breakfast.
A week after I had written to the Charing Cross Post Office I received anote, dated from the Hotel de la Boule d'Or at Provins, a small townsome sixty miles east of Paris.
"I am delighted to have your address," it read. "At the present momentmy movements are very uncertain, but as soon as I can see you again Iwill write to Upton End. Be careful, however, that when you meet me youare not watched. I fear you may be troubled by unwelcome watchers. Ifyou are, pray forgive me, and recollect how grateful I am to you for theservice which you have rendered me, and which one day I hope to repay."
That was all. There was no signature.
And so I was compelled to wait for a further communication from the manwho was undoubtedly in hiding in that obscure old town in the valley ofthe Voulzie.
Time after time I took out that corroded cylinder--wherein was somethingwhich the dead man had declared would cause the whole world to standaghast--and held it in my hand full of wonder. Upon the table, in thebig old-fashioned library, stood the weird little figure of the ancientgod of the Egyptians--the great Osiris. Sight of it, each time that Ientered there, recalled to me that sunset hour in the little hotel offthe Strand, the hour when Melvill Arnold had passed silently to theBeyond.
Three weeks went by in eager expectancy. By careful inquiry andjudicious watchfulness, I came to the conclusion that the surveillanceset upon me by Scotland Yard had been withdrawn. Hence it seemed to methat they had found traces of the fugitive they sought. Probably, if hewere a known criminal, his presence in France had been reported throughthe Prefecture of Police in Paris. It was part of the internationalpolice system to do so.
Was Alfred Dawnay again in peril of arrest, I wondered?
One morning, however, I received the long-expected message, for among myletters I found a note asking me to be alone outside Lathbury--a smallhamlet a little way out of Newport Pagnell, on the Northampton Road--atthree o'clock that afternoon. The heavy handwriting was the same as theletter from Provins, and I knew it to be from Dawnay.
Therefore, with considerable eagerness, I set out about two o'clock towalk to the place appointed for meeting. I passed up the long street ofNewport Pagnell, but nobody followed me. It was early-closing day, andthe place was sleepy and deserted. Out again upon the dusty high road Imet nobody save a middle-aged man on a motor-cycle, who dashed past meat a tearing pace, and who, as later on I approached the inn atLathbury, had pulled up to make some repair.
Suddenly I regarded him with suspicion. Was it possible that he wasfollowing me to watch my movements?
As I went by he looked up, full into my face, and then I felt certainthat I had seen him somewhere before. But where I could not recollect.
I had half a mind to turn back and thus throw him off the scent if hewere a detective; nevertheless, compelled as I was to act warily, Istrolled on through the village, and out upon the open road, up the hillin the direction of Gaythurst.
I glanced at my watch and found it already a quarter-past three. Butnobody was yet in sight. Probably Dawnay was standing concealedsomewhere behind the hedge in order to satisfy himself that the coastwas quite clear before approaching me.
Behind, at some distance away, I heard the hum of an approachingmotor-car, and, stepping to the side of the road, prepared to besuffocated by the thick white dust.
The car swung through the village and rushed up the hill, but as it camebehind me slowed down, until it passed me at quite a slow pace. Then Isaw it was a powerful limousine, painted and upholstered in stone-grey,and within sat a woman alone.
A few yards in front of me it stopped dead, and the woman leaned out ofthe door, when, to my utter amazement, I recognised her to be the samepretty young girl whom I had seen in Highgate Cemetery--the mysteriousperson who had so tenderly placed fresh flowers upon the grave ofMelvill Arnold.
"Excuse me!" she exclaimed, addressing me in a musical voice, as sheopened the door. "I believe you are Mr Kemball, are you not?"
"That certainly is my name," I said, raising my straw hat instinctively.
"Well, I--I've come here to meet you," she laughed merrily. "Would youcome inside, and then I can tell you all."
So at her invitation I got in beside her, when the ear moved off swiftlyagain, and next moment we were swinging along towards Northampton, thedriver evidently having already received his instructions.
"I suppose I ought to explain, Mr Kemball, that Mr Harvey Shaw, thegentleman known to you as Dawnay, deemed it wiser not to come and meetyou in person, because--well--" and she laughed sweetly, displaying evenrows of pearly teeth. "I think you probably realise the reason."
"Fully," I answered, quite taken aback by the ruddiness of herappearanc
e. "But I had suspicion as I came along of a motor-cyclist whostopped before the inn. He is a man I have seen somewhere before."
"Oh, he is a friend. He is there as scout for us," she said. "He hasbeen watching you, and has signalled that all is clear, and so we mayproceed without fear. Mr Shaw has asked me to take you to him."
"Where is he?"
"At Rockingham, beyond Kettering," was her reply, and as she turned hersplendid brown eyes upon me, I judged her to be about nineteen ortwenty, and saw that hers was a face more perfect in its beauty thanever I had before gazed upon. Her sombre black heightened the pallor ofher complexion, yet her lips were full and red, her soft cheeks dimpledand perfect in their