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Page 92
"Good!" he muttered.
He could hear the other car labouring up the slope. He ran along
to the corner of the lane, and, crouching close under the bushes,
waited for its appearance. As he had supposed, the chauffeur
turned the car to the right.
"Good!" muttered Nicol Brinn again.
There was a baggage-rack immediately above the number plate. Upon
this Nicol Brinn sprang with the agility of a wildcat, settling
himself upon his perilous perch before the engine had had time to
gather speed.
When presently the car turned into the drive of Hillside, Nicol
Brinn dropped off and dived into the bushes on the right of the
path. From this hiding place he saw the automobile driven around
the front of the house to the garage, which was built out from
the east wing. Not daring to pursue his investigations until the
chauffeur had retired, he sought a more comfortable spot near a
corner of the lawn and there, behind a bank of neglected flowers,
lay down, watching the man's shadowy figure moving about in the
garage.
Although he was some distance from the doors he could see that
there was a second car in the place--a low, torpedo-bodied racer,
painted battleship gray. This sight turned his thoughts in
another direction.
Very cautiously he withdrew to the drive again, retracing his
steps to the lane, and walking back to the spot where he had left
the Rolls Royce, all the time peering about him to right and
left. He was looking for a temporary garage for the car, but one
from which, if necessary, he could depart in a hurry. The shell
of an ancient barn, roofless and desolate, presently invited
inspection and, as a result, a few minutes later Colonel Lord
Wolverham's luxurious automobile was housed for the night in
these strange quarters.
When Nicol Brinn returned to Hillside, he found the garage locked
and the lights extinguished. Standing under a moss-grown wall
which sheltered him from the house, from his case he selected a
long black cigar, lighted it with care and, having his hands
thrust in the pockets of his light overcoat and the cigar
protruding aggressively from the left corner of his mouth, he
moved along to an angle of the wall and stared reflectively at
the silent house.
A mental picture arose of a secret temple in the shadow of the
distant Himalayas. Was it credible that this quiet country house,
so typical of rural England, harboured that same dread secret
which he had believed to be locked away in those Indian hills?
Could he believe that the dark and death-dealing power which he
had seen at work in the East was now centred here, within
telephone-call of London?
The fate of Sir Charles Abingdon and of Paul Harley would seem to
indicate that such was the case. Beyond doubt, the document of
which Rama Dass had spoken was some paper in the possession of
the late Sir Charles. Much that had been mysterious was cleared
up. He wondered why it had not occurred to him from the first
that Sir Charles's inquiry, which he had mentioned to Paul
Harley, respecting Fire-Tongue, had been due to the fact that the
surgeon had seen the secret mark upon his arm after the accident
in the Haymarket. He remembered distinctly that his sleeve had
been torn upon that occasion. He could not imagine, however, what
had directed the attention of the organization to Sir Charles,
and for what reason his death had been decided upon.
He rolled his cigar from corner to corner of his mouth, staring
reflectively with lack-lustre eyes at the silent house before
him. In the moonlight it made a peaceful picture enough. A
cautious tour of the place revealed a lighted window upon the
first floor. Standing in the shadow of an old apple tree, Nicol
Brinn watched the blind of this window minute after minute,
patiently waiting for a shadow to appear upon it; and at last his
patience was rewarded.
A shadow appeared--the shadow of a woman!
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