THE self-appointed watcher found time pass very slowly. Twelve and one o’clock struck from a distant church, but there was no sign of midnight assassins, and the house, looking very solemn and quiet in the light of a waning moon, irritated and annoyed him. From the roadway where he paced silently to and fro—he had taken the precaution of wearing a pair of rubber-soled shoes—he could glimpse Mary’s window, and once he thought he saw her looking out. He made a point of walking entirely round the house twice in every hour, and it was on one of these excursions that he heard a sound which brought him to a standstill. It was a sound like two pieces of flat board being smacked together sharply.
“Tap . . . tap!”
He stopped and listened, but heard nothing further. Then he retraced his footsteps to the front of the house and waited, but there was no sound or sign. Another half-hour passed, and then a patrolling policeman came along on the other side of the roadway. At the sight of the young man he crossed the road, and Jim recognised an acquaintance of his drug-store days. Nothing was to be gained by being evasive or mysterious, and Timothy told the policeman frankly his object.
“I heard about the shooting last night,” said the man, “and the inspector offered to put one of our men on duty here, but Sir John wouldn’t hear of it.”
He took a professional look at the house, and pointed to its dark upper windows.
“That house is asleep—you needn’t worry about that,” he said; “besides, it’ll be daylight in two hours, and a burglar wants that time to get home.”
Timothy paused irresolutely. It seemed absurd to wait any longer, and besides, to be consistent he must be prepared to adopt this watchman r?le every night.
There was no particular reason why Sir John Maxell’s enemy should choose this night or any other. He had half expected to see Cartwright and was agreeably disappointed that he did not loom into view.
“I think you’re right,” he said to the policeman. “I’ll walk along down the road with you.”
They must have walked a quarter of a mile, and were standing chatting at the corner of the street, when a sound, borne clearly on the night air, made both men look back in the direction whence they had come. They saw two glaring spots of light somewhere in the vicinity of the Judge’s house.
“There’s a car,” said the officer, “what is it doing there at this time of the morning? There is nobody sick in the house, is there?”
Timothy shook his head. Already he had begun to walk back, and the policeman, sensing something wrong, kept him company. They had covered half the distance which separated them from the car, when it began to move toward them, gathering speed. It flashed past and Timothy saw nothing save the driver, for the hood was raised and its canvas blinds hid whatever passenger it carried.
“It came in from the other end of the avenue,” said the policeman unnecessarily. “Maybe Sir John is going a long journey and is starting early.”
“Miss Maxell would have told me,” said Timothy, troubled. “I nearly took a chance and made a jump for that car.”
It was one of the few chances Timothy did not take, and one that he bitterly regretted afterwards.
“If you had,” said the practical policeman, “I should have been looking for the ambulance for you now.”
Timothy was no longer satisfied to play the r?le of the silent watcher. When he came to the house he went boldly through the gate and up the drive, and his warrant for the intrusion was the officer who followed him. It was then that he saw the open window of the girl’s room, and his heart leapt into his mouth. He quickened his step, but just as he came under the window, she appeared, and Timothy sighed his relief.
“Is that you?” she said in a low worried voice; “is that Mr. Anderson? Thank heaven you’ve come! Wait, I will come down and open the door for you.”
He walked to the entrance, and presently the door was opened and the girl, dressed in a wrapper, appeared. She tried to keep her voice steady, but the strain of the past half-hour had been too much for her, and she was on the verge of tears when Timothy put his arm about her shaking shoulders and forced her down into a chair.
“Sit down,” he said, “and tell us what has happened.”
She looked at the officer and tried to speak.
“There’s a servant,” said the policeman; “perhaps he knows something.”
A man dressed in shirt and trousers was coming down the stairs.
“I can’t make him hear,” he said, “or Lady Maxell, either.”
“What has happened?” asked Timothy.
“I don’t know, sir. The young lady woke me and asked me to rouse Sir John.”
“Wait, wait,” said the girl. “I am sorry I am so silly. I am probably making a lot of trouble over nothing. It happened nearly an hour ago, I was asleep and I heard a sound; thought I was dreaming of what happened last night. It sounded like two shots, but, whatever it was, it woke me.”
Timothy nodded.
“I know. I thought I heard them too,” he said.
“Then you were out there all the time?” she asked and put out her hand to him.
For that look she gave him Timothy would have stayed out the three hundred and sixty-five nights in the year.
“I lay for a very long time, thinking that the sound would wake my uncle, but I heard nothing.”
“Is your room near Sir John’s?” asked the policeman.
“No, mine is on this side of the building; Sir John and Lady Maxell sleep on the other side. I don’t know what it was, but something alarmed me and filled me with terror—something that made my flesh go rough and cold—oh, it was horrible!” she shuddered.
“I couldn’t endure it any longer, so I got out of bed and went out into the corridor to wake uncle. Just then I heard a sound outside my window, but I was just too terrified to look out. Then I heard a motor-car and footsteps on the path outside. I went to Sir John’s door and knocked, but got no answer. Then I tried Lady Maxell’s ............