men actually go to meets in motor cars.
The doctor himself hunted, as indeed did every one, the parson ofSibberton included, and the opening of "cubbing" was always a time ofspeculation as to what the season was to be, good or bad. The Earl hadbeen delighted at his success at winning the cup for the best dog-houndat the Hound Show at Doncaster back in July, and certainly the pack wasnever in better form even under the old Earl than it was at present. Ofcourse he spent money lavishly upon it, and money, as is so often thecase, meant efficiency. The thousand pounds or so subscribed annuallyby the Hunt was but a drop in the ocean of expenditure, for a Master ofHounds, if he wishes to give his followers good sport, must be a richman and not mind spending money to secure that end.
"I had a funny adventure last night," the doctor remarked presently,after we had discussed the prospects of hunting and all appertaining toit. "Devilish funny! I can't make it out. Of course you won't say aword of what I tell you, for we doctors aren't supposed to speak aboutour patients."
"I sha'n't say anything," I assured him.
"Well, I was called out about eleven last night, just as I was going upto bed, by an old labourer who drove into Sibberton in a light cart, andwho told me that a woman was lying seriously ill at a farmhouse which hedescribed as beyond Cherry Lap. It was out of my district, but he toldme that he had been into Thrapston, but one doctor was out at a case andthe other was away, therefore he had driven over to me. From what hesaid the case seemed serious, therefore I mounted my horse and rodealong at his side in the moonlight. The night was lovely. We went byGeddington Chase, through Brigstock, and out on the Oundle Road, a goodeleven miles in all, when he turned up a narrow drift for nearlyhalf-a-mile where stood a small lonely farmhouse on the edge of aspinney. The place was in darkness, but as soon as I had dismounted thedoor opened, and there appeared a big powerful-looking man, holding acandle in his hand, and behind him was the figure of an old woman, whomade a remark to him in a low voice. Then I heard a man somewherespeaking in some foreign language."
"A foreign language?" I remarked, quickly interested.
"Yes. That's what first aroused my suspicion," he said. "I was takenupstairs, and in a rather poorly-furnished room found a person in bed.The light had been purposely placed so that I could not see the featuresdistinctly, and so dark was the corner where the patient lay that atfirst I could distinguish nothing.
"My daughter here has--well, she's met with a slight accident," thesinister-looking fellow explained, standing behind me, and then as heshifted the paraffin lamp a little there was revealed a young woman,dark-haired and rather good-looking, lying pale and insensible. Uponthe pillow was a quantity of blood, which had, I saw, flowed from anugly gaping wound on the left side of the neck--distinctly aknife-wound.
"`Accident!' I exclaimed, looking at the man. `Why, she couldn't haveinflicted such a wound as that herself. Who did it?' `Never mind,doctor, who did it,' the fellow growled surlily. `You sew it up orsomething. This ain't the time for chin--the girl may die.' He was arough customer, and I did not at all like the look of him. I was,indeed, sorry that I had entered there, for both he and the woman alsoin the room were a very mysterious pair. Therefore I got the latter tobring some warm water, and after a little time succeeded in sewing thewound and properly bandaging it. Just as I had finished, the youngwoman gradually recovered consciousness. `Where am I?' she inquired ina faint, rather refined voice. `Hold your jaw!' roughly replied thefellow. `If you don't it'll be the worse for you!' `But, where'sGeorge?' she demanded. `Oh, don't bother about him,' was the gruffinjunction. `Ah!' she shrieked suddenly, raising herself in her bed andglaring at him wildly. `I know the truth! I remember now! You caughthim by the throat and you strangled him?--you coward! You believe thatDick Keene doesn't know about the Sibberton affair, but he does.They've seen him, and told him everything--how--' The man turned to herwith his fist raised menacingly saying, `Lie quiet! you silly fool! Ifyou don't, you'll be sorry for it! No more gab now!' Then turning tome he said with a short harsh laugh, `The girl's a bit off her head,doctor. Come, let's go downstairs!' And he hurried me out lest sheshould make any more allegations.
"My first inclination was to remain and question her, yet it seemedclear that I was among a very queer lot, and that discretion was thebest course. Therefore I followed the man down, although my patientshrieked aloud for me to return."
"By Jove!" I exclaimed, aroused to activity by mention of the manKeene. "That was a strange adventure--very strange!"
"Yes," he continued. "The fellow evinced the greatest anxiety that Ishould leave, pressed into my hand half-a-sovereign as a fee, and againassured me that the girl's mind was wandering. Again and again shecalled after me `Doctor! doctor!' but in a room beyond I again heardmen's voices, speaking low in a foreign language, therefore I hesitated,and presently mounted my mare and rode away. Now," he added, takinganother long pinch of snuff, "what do you make out of it, Woodhouse?"
"Seems very much as though there's been another tragedy," I remarked."I wonder who the injured girl is?" I added, utterly amazed at hisnarrative.
"I wonder," he added, "and who is this man Keene who knows all about theSibberton affair? Could she have been referring to the tragedy in thepark, do you think?"
"Yes, undoubtedly," I said quickly. "We must return there, get to seeher in secret, and hear her story."
"The worst of it is that as I was there at night, just at a time whenthe moon was hidden behind the clouds, I doubt whether I'll be able torecognise the place again."
"Let's try," I suggested eagerly, springing up. "Don't let us lose aninstant. I have a suspicion that we're on the track of the truth."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
THE STORY OF MR THOMAS HAYES.
By half-past four we had covered the eleven miles that lay between theold-world village of Sibberton and that point beyond Brigstock on theOundle road which skirts that dense wood called Cherry Lap.
Both of us were well-mounted, the doctor on his bay hunter, while I rodemy own cob, and our pace had all along been a pretty hard one. Beingboth followers of hounds we knew all the bridle-roads across GeddingtonChase, and over the rich pastures between them and the road at Cat'sHead. Beyond Brigstock, however, we never hunted, for at that point ourcountry joined that of the Fitzwilliam Hunt. Therefore, beyond CherryLap the neighbourhood was unfamiliar to both of us.
We hacked along on the grass by the side of the broad highway for acouple of miles or so, but the doctor failed to recognise the field bywhich he had turned off on the previous night. By-roads are deceptivein the moonlight.
"The gate was open when I passed through," he remarked. "And if it'sclosed now it'll be difficult to find it again. The country is so levelhere, and all the fields are so much alike. I recollect at the timelooking around for some landmark and finding nothing until I got to thetop end of the field, over the brow of the hill."
"We'll go on slowly," I said. "You'll recognise it presently."
We passed half a dozen fields with rough cart-roads running through eachof them. Indeed, after harvest each field generally bears marks ofcarts in its gateway. In the darkness my companion had not been able tosee what had been grown, except that the crop had been cut and carried.
For another couple of miles we rode forward, the doctor examining everyfield but failing to recognise the gateway into which he had turned,until at length we came to the junction of the road from Weldon, when hepulled up, saying--
"I didn't come as far as this. We'd better turn back."
This we did, slowly retracing our way in the sunset, the doctor now andthen expressing disgust at his own failure to recognise the path.
Presently we encountered an old labourer plodding home from work withbag and scythe across his shoulder, and pulling up, the doctor asked,pointing over the hill--
"Which is the way to the farm across there?"
"What farm?" asked the man blankly, in his broad Northamptonshiredialect.
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"I don't know the name, but there's a road goes in across one of thesefields."
"Oh! you mean Hayes's, sir! Why, there's a way across that there nextfield. 'Bout 'arf a mile oop."
"Who lives there?" I asked.
"Why, ole Tom Hayes an' his missus."
"Anybody else?"
"Not as I knows of. Bill used to live with the ole man, but 'e's goneaway this twelvemonth. Ole Tom don't make much of a thing out o' thefarm nowadays, for 'e's nearly