The morning was just breaking as Slight and his companion left the house. By the time that it was possible to see they began their search. By this time too, Walters had more than an inkling of what was wrong. They went first in the direction of the dower house and then back again to the avenue. It was broad daylight now, and the sun was climbing up over the hills behind the river. Nobody was to be seen yet, nothing heard but the mad song of the birds welcoming the glory of the morning. Presently Walters paused and pointed to a black huddled object under one of the great oaks.

"What's that?" he whispered with a blanched face. "It looks like a man sleeping there."

A cry half of anger, half despair, broke from Slight. He crossed the drive and fell on his knees by the side of the limp figure. His tears ran without restraint down the old man's withered face. He was beside himself with grief.

"It's Master Ralph," he moaned. "I knew that I should find him like this. But when he went off so early last night I felt that that message had done those two ruffians. It made me feel easier in my mind. If I'd told him of my suspicions he would only have laughed at me. And to think that I should find him dead like this."

"Perhaps he isn't dead," Walters suggested in a whisper.

"Perhaps, not. You are a sensible young chap Walters. He isn't dead, either. I can feel him breathing. Good job it was a warm night. Good job, too, he lay under a tree so that the wet couldn't get at him. There's blood all over the back of his head. A nice murderous crack he got there. And here am I doddering like a silly old woman, whilst there is work to be done. Go over to the corner of the wood yonder, and pull up one of those gorsed hurdles there. Be sharp, boy."

Walters returned presently, dragging after him a hurdle which was filled with gorse. And then on this, with their coats and vests under his head, they laid their unconscious burden. A faint groan broke from Ralph; he opened his eyes for a moment.

"It's concussion of the brain, that's what it is," Slight said, with tears running down his face freely. "I've helped once or twice in the hunting field before now. Just you get hold of the other end of the hurdle, and start off on the left foot. We'll get Mr. Ralph as far as the dower house and send for a doctor."

It was not far away to the dower house, the inmates of which were speedily aroused. A little time later and one of the footmen was riding for a doctor. They made Ralph as comfortable as possible. Lady Dashwood came into the dining-room presently, where Slight was waiting to see her.

"This is a very dreadful business, Slight," she said. "Mr. Ralph was robbed and half murdered on his way from the Hall, they say. Strange that you found him."

"Not so very strange, my lady," Slight replied, "seeing that I set out early to look for him. I thought last night when your message came----"

"What message do you mean? I sent no message to the Hall."

"Well, that's very strange! Mr. Mayfield is staying at the Hall. He told Mr. Ralph that you wanted to see him very particularly last night, and he left early in consequence. Call me an old fool if you like, my lady, but I had a fancy that those two men meant mischief to Mr. Ralph. I couldn't sleep for thinking of it. I came downstairs very early this morning, and I found that Mayfield, not yet undressed, helping himself to whiskey and soda. And there was mud on his dress shoes. I couldn't stand it any longer, so I set out at daybreak to look for I didn't quite know what. And I found Mr. Ralph. How those fellows managed it, I can't say, but they did manage it. And it is no fault of theirs that they're not a pair of cold-blooded murderers."

The doctor came presently. He was upstairs for a long time, but when he came down again his face was not so grave as might be expected.

"A bad blow," he explained. "A bad concussion, but no brain injury as far as I can judge. And the patient is going on as well as I could expect. Oh, no, he isn't going to die. He has too good a constitution for that, and he has taken good care of himself. I'll come back in the course of an hour or so and report again."

There was nothing for it now but to wait and hope for the best and keep the patient quiet. Well satisfied with his efforts, Slight returned to the Hall. When he got back there he found that Mayfield had already departed. Speed, restless and irritable, and giving the impression that he had breakfasted on something potent, demanded to know where Slight had been. Mr. Dashwood had not come down to breakfast yet.

"Where have you been gallivanting to?" Speed demanded imperiously. "I'll put a stop to this. Pack up you............