There were strangers about Cray’s Folly and a sort of furtive activity, horribly suggestive. We had not pursued the circular route by the high road which would have brought us to the lodge, but had turned aside where the swing-gate opened upon a footpath into the meadows. It was the path which I had pursued upon the day of my visit to the Lavender Arms. A second private gate here gave access to the grounds at a point directly opposite the lake; and as we crossed the valley, making for the terraced lawns, I saw unfamiliar figures upon the veranda, and knew that the cumbersome processes of the law were already in motion.  
I was longing to speak to Val Beverley and to learn what had taken place during her interview with Inspector Aylesbury, but Harley led the way toward the tower wing, and by a tortuous path through the rhododendrons we finally came out on the northeast front and in sight of the Tudor garden.
 
Harley crossed to the entrance, and was about to descend the steps, when the constable on duty there held out his arm.
 
“Excuse me, sir,” he said, “but I have orders to admit no one to this part of the garden.”
 
“Oh,” said Harley, pulling up short, “but I am acting in this case. My name is Paul Harley.”
 
“Sorry, sir,” replied the constable, “but you will have to see Inspector Aylesbury.”
 
My friend uttered an impatient exclamation, but, turning aside:
 
“Very well, constable,” he muttered; “I suppose I must submit. Our friend, Aylesbury,” he added to me, as we walked away, “would appear to be a martinet as well as a walrus. At every step, Knox, he proves himself a tragic nuisance. This means waste of priceless time.”
 
“What had you hoped to do, Harley?”
 
“Prove my theory,” he returned; “but since every moment is precious, I must move in another direction.”
 
He hurried on through the opening in the box hedge and into the courtyard. Manoel had just opened the doors to a sepulchral-looking person who proved to be the coroner’s officer, and:
 
“Manoel!” cried Harley, “tell Carter to bring a car round at once.”
 
“Yes, sir.”
 
“I haven’t time to fetch my own,” he explained.
 
“Where are you off to?”
 
“I am off to see the Chief Constable, Knox. Aylesbury must be superseded at whatever cost. If the Chief Constable fails I shall not hesitate to go higher. I will get along to the garage. I don’t expect to be more than an hour. Meanwhile, do your best to act as a buffer between Aylesbury and the women. You understand me?”
 
“Quite,” I returned, shortly. “But the task may prove no light one, Harley.”
 
“It won’t,” he assured me, smiling grimly. “How you must regret, Knox, that we didn’t go fishing!”
 
With that he was off, eager-eyed and alert, the mood of dreamy abstraction dropped like a cloak discarded. He fully realized, as I did, that his unique reputation was at stake. I wondered, as I had wondered at the Guest House, whether, in undertaking to clear Colin Camber, he had acted upon sheer conviction, or, embittered by the death of his client, had taken a gambler’s chance. It was unlike him to do so. But now beyond reach of that charm of manner which Colin Camber possessed, and discounting the pathetic sweetness of his girl-wife, I realized how black was the evidence against him.
 
Occupied with these, and even more troubled thoughts, I was making my way toward the library, undetermined how to act, when I saw Val Beverley coming along the corridor which communicated with Madame de Stämer’s room.
 
I read a welcome in her eyes which made my heart beat the faster.
 
“Oh, Mr. Knox,” she cried, “I am so glad you have returned. Tell me all that has happened, for I feel in some way that I am responsible for it.”
 
I nodded gravely.
 
“You know, then, where Inspector Aylesbury went when he left here, after his interview with you?”
 
She looked at me pathetically.
 
“He went to the Guest House, of course.”
 
“Yes,” I said; “he was close behind us.”
 
“And”—she hesitated—“Mr. Camber?”
 
“He has been detained.”
 
“Oh!” she moaned. “I could hate myself! Yet what could I say, what could I do?”
 
“Just tell me all about it,” I urged. “What were the Inspector’s questions?”
 
“Well,” explained the girl, “he had evidently learned from someone, presumably one of the servants, that there was enmity between Mr. Camber and Colonel Menendez. He asked me if I knew of this, and of course I had to admit that I did. But when I told him that I had no idea of its cause, he did not seem to believe me.”
 
“No,” I murmured. “Any evidence which fails to dove-tail with his preconceived theories he puts down as a lie.”
 
“He seemed to have made up his mind for some reason,” she continued, “that I was intimately acquainted with Mr. Camber. Whereas, of course, I have never spoken to him in my life, although whenever he has passed me in the road he has always saluted me with quite delightful courtesy. Oh, Mr. Knox, it is horrible to think of this great misfortune coming to those poor people.” She looked at me pleadingly. “How did his wife take it?”
 
“Poor little girl,” I replied, “it was an awful blow.”
 
“I feel that I want to set out this very minute,” declared Val Beverley, “and go to her, and try to comfort her. Because I feel in my very soul that her husband is innocent. She is such a sweet little thing. I have wanted to speak to h............