they'll probably pull up atthe `Golden Lion,' just as we go into Ashburton. It's the place wherethe coaches stop."
"Then let's stop there. If they also pull up, well and good. If theydon't, we can follow them," I said, and five minutes later we came to astandstill before the inn where, at the back, I found a delightfulgarden sloping down towards the valley, where the blaze of colour andthe scent of flowers were refreshing after the heat and dust of thegreat highway. Without removing my goggles I cast myself into a seat,and ordered a glass of "shandygaff." Gibbs I had left outside with thecar, ordering him to come and tell me when the party passed. Thatpeaceful old garden was just the place in which to sit on a hot summer'safternoon with all sight and sound of town shut out; only the greenhills opposite and their all-pervading fragrance.
Suddenly, from where I sat, I heard the whirr of an approaching carwhich came to a standstill before the inn. Would Ella come through intothe garden?
I did not wish to meet her with her friends. It was my desire to seeher alone. Therefore I jumped to my feet and walked away to the fartherend of the garden.
As I expected they came, all four of them, seated themselves at thetable I had just vacated, and ordered tea.
For five minutes or so I watched them. Ella, with her veil raised, wastalking and laughing merrily with the round-faced young man, while he,bending towards her across the table, appeared fascinated by her glance.
I bit my lip, and turning, made my way through the inn and out into theroad, where both cars were standing, and both chauffeurs were gossiping.
For another five minutes I waited, then Gibbs, approaching me, touchedhis cap, and inquired if I were ready, adding under his breath:--
"I've found out where they're goin', sir. There's some mystery aboutthem, I believe. I'll tell you when we get away."
CHAPTER TWENTY.
REVEALS THE TRUTH.
"They're goin' to a place called Upper Wooton, about half way betweenSaltash and Callington, on the Launceston road. I know the village--quite a tiny place," Gibbs said, as we went up the picturesque street ofAshburton.
"Then we'd better go straight on there."
"They're goin' through Plymouth, but the most direct way, and muchshorter, is through Tavistock, which would bring us right into thecross-roads at Callington. We'd save a couple of hours by that, and,after all, they've got a `forty,' you know, while ours is only a`sixteen'. They'll make better pace than us up the hills."
"Very well," I said, "I leave it to you. We must be there first, in anycase. Are they staying the night there?"
"Their man says so. 'E's a stranger, however, and 'e says they're a rumparty."
"Oh! Why?" I asked in quick surprise.
"Well--sir," responded Gibbs, somewhat reluctantly, "it ain't for me torepeat what 'e said, seein' as they're friends o' yourn."
"Oh! whatever you say will make no difference," I assured him."Besides, they're not exactly my friends. Two of them I've never seenbefore in my life. So you can speak quite frankly. Indeed, I'm veryanxious to hear what makes their man think they are mysterious." Irecollected that Murray's reticence had aroused the curiosity of thehotel proprietor at Swanage, and wondered what else had occurred tocause the chauffeur to suspect that something was wrong.
"The car belongs to somebody named Rusden, who lives in Worcestershire,and the chauffeur is in his employ. Mr Rusden has lent the car to theparty," Gibbs explained. "The chauffeur started from Stourbridgeyesterday morning, with orders to meet a lady and gentleman atChippenham station at midnight last night, and take 'em on all throughthe night to Swanage. There 'e picked up the gentleman and the younglady, and after two hours' rest was ordered to drive on down to Plymouthwith all possible speed."
"But what makes him think there's any mystery about them? He, no doubt,received orders from his master."
"No, 'e didn't. That's just it. Mr Rusden told him to go toChippenham and take the lady and gentleman to Aylesbury, whereas theygave him orders entirely different. An' besides that, the chauffeuroverheard something this morning."
"What did he overhear?"
"The two men were talking together, and the elder said 'e hoped as 'owthey wouldn't be followed, or the whole show 'ud be give away."
"Curious," I remarked. "Very curious."
"Yes, sir. 'E told me as 'ow all along the road they've been urgin' 'imto go faster, but 'e wasn't goin' to risk being caught by a `heg'og'.'E's evidently rather troubled, because 'e don't know what 'is master'ull say at 'im comin' down here. Perhaps they're flyin' from thepolice--who knows?"
I laughed his suggestion into ridicule, yet at heart I was much puzzled.What could it mean?
Why were they in such fear of being followed?
"Well," I said, "at any rate we'll push on to Upper Wooton, and see whatthey're going to do there."
"Then we'll go by Tavistock. The road is just off on the right, about amile or so farther on," my companion said. "We ought to be there beforedark, if we get no punctures," and he drew down his goggles from his capand increased the speed of the car.
Once or twice I looked back, but saw no sign of the blue car followingus. Murray and his friends were, no doubt, quietly having their tea inthat pretty old garden.
For nearly an hour I sat in rigid silence, as one so often does for longperiods when motoring. Was that round-faced fellow upon whom Ella hadsmiled actually her lover? Who, I wondered, was the elder woman? Andwhy had they come to Chippenham at midnight to be met by a motor-car anddrive on through the night? There was certainly some motive in thatlong night ride.
Was it possible that they were really escaping? It certainly seemedvery much like it.
Ella's movements in leaving Lucie and her father so suddenly, and inflying from me when she had confessed that she still loved me, were allsuspicious. Some very strong and sinister motive underlay it all--ofthat I felt absolutely convinced.
Darker clouds gathered over the hills between Two Bridges and Tavistock,and another sharp shower fell, making us uncomfortably wet, but wenever, for one moment, slackened speed. The rain laid the dust, forwhich we were thankful. At Gunnislake, just as the twilight wasfalling, we crossed the Cornish border, and by lighting-up time we wereat the cross-roads outside Callington, with only four miles farther tonegotiate.
This we quickly accomplished, at last running into a quaint old-worldCornish village which Gibbs informed me was the destination of thesuspicious quartette.
There was but one inn, "The Crown," and putting the car into thecoach-house there, we ordered dinner. Cold meat and beer were all thatthe landlord could offer, but I ate ravenously, my ears all the whilekeenly on the alert for the hum of the car which we had outstripped.
After I had eaten I went out into the semi-darkness and looked round thequiet peaceful old village street of snug thatched cottages, the rowbroken by a red brick chapel and a corrugated iron church-room.
Only one gentleman lived in the vicinity, so the landlord informed me.His name was Mr Gordon-Wright, a London gentleman, and he lived at the"Glen," which we had passed about half a mile before entering thevillage. Gordon-Wright! And this was his hiding-place!
Twilight had deepened into night as I sat upon a rough bench outside theinn, my ears still strained in order to catch sound of the approach ofthe car.
Gibbs' theory was that they had probably stopped to dine in Plymouth,and certainly that seemed a very feasible one.
Would they put up at the inn, I wondered? Or were they making their wayto Gordon-Wright's? Out of curiosity, and in order to kill time, I roseand strolled along the village across the bridge and up the steep hillon to the road down which we had descended.
In passing in the car I had no recollection of having noticed a house,but as I now approached on foot I saw on the left a large clump oftrees, surrounding a big white house.
On nearer approach the "Glen" proved to be one of those ugly,inartistic, early Georgian structures which a later generation hadcovered with
stucco, surrounded by a large but ill-kept flower-garden,and beyond a thick spinney, all being allowed to run wild andunattended.
The garden was shut off from the high-road by a high wall of red brick,but the gates were iron, and through them, as I passed, I could obtain agood view of the house, inasmuch as the drawing-room windows were open,and the lamps beneath their white silk shades revealed that the placewas cheaply upholstered in a rather gaudy chintz. The hall door, too,was open, and within I recognised an air of need. The hall of everyhouse is an index to the