Evans returned to say that the maid, Wilson, denied all knowledge of a key.

"She declares that there was no key there. She says that if there had been she couldn't have helped but see it. I don't see how she could have either. You are sure, miss, that you left it there?"

"Certain."

"Then perhaps it slipped on to the floor when she moved the pillow, without being noticed."

It was not on the floor then--at least, they could discover no signs of it. Evans moved the bed, and went on her knees to see. Nor did it appear to have strayed into the bed itself.

"I will see Wilson myself in the morning," said Miss Arnott, when Evans's researches proved resultless. "The key can't have vanished into nothing."

But Wilson, even when interviewed by her mistress, afforded no information. She was a raw country girl. A bundle of nerves when she saw that Miss Arnott was dissatisfied. There seemed no possible reason why she should wish to conceal the fact that she had lighted on the key, if she had done so. So far as she knew the key was valueless, certainly it was of no interest to her. Miss Arnott had to console herself with the reflection that if she did not know what had become of the key no one else did either. She gave instructions that if it was found it was to be handed her at once. There, for the moment, the matter rested.

Again on that Monday nothing transpired. It dawned upon the girl, when she began to think things over, that it was well within the range of possibility that nothing would transpire for a considerable period.

That mossy nook was in a remote part of the estate. Practically speaking, except the gamekeepers, n.o.body went there at all. It was certain that whoever did would be trespa.s.sing. So far as she knew, thereabouts, trespa.s.sers of any sort were few and far between. As for the gamekeepers, there was nothing to take them there.

By degrees her cogitations began to trend in an altogether unexpected direction. If the discovery had not been made already, and might be postponed for weeks, it need never be made at all. The body might quite easily be concealed. If there was time it might even be buried at the foot of the beech tree under which it had been lying, and all traces of the grave be hidden. It only needed a little care and sufficient opportunity. She remembered when a favourite dog had died, how her father had buried it at one side of the lawn in their c.u.mberland home.

He had been careful in cutting out the sods of turf; when replacing them in their former positions, he had done so with such neatness and accuracy that, two or three days after no stranger would have supposed they had ever been moved.

The dead man might be treated as her father had treated Fido. In which case his fate might never become known, unless she spoke. Indeed, for all she could tell, the body might be under the turf by now. If she chose to return to the enjoyment of her favourite lounge there might be nothing to deter her. She might lie, and laze, and dream, and be offended by nothing which could recall unpleasant memories.

As the possibility that this might be so occurred to her she became possessed by a strange, morbid disposition to put it to the test. She was nearly half inclined to stroll once more along that winding path, and see if there was anything to prevent her enjoying another waking dream. This inclination began to be so strong that, fearful lest it should get the better of her, to escape what was becoming a hideous temptation, she went for another run upon her car, and, in returning, met Hugh Morice.

They saw each other's car approaching on the long straight road, while they were yet some distance apart, possibly more than a mile, backed by the usual cloud of dust. She was descending an incline, he was below, far off, where the road first came in sight. For some moments she was not sure that the advancing car was his, then she was undecided what to do; whether to sweep past him, or to halt and speak. Her heart beat faster, her hands were tremulous, her breath came quicker. She had just resolved to go past him with a commonplace salutation, when the matter was taken out of her hands. When he was within a hundred yards of her he stopped his car, with the evident design of claiming her attention for at least a second or two. So she stopped also, when the machines were within a yard of one another.

He was alone. He glanced at her chauffeur with his big grey eyes, as if the sight of him were offensive. Then he looked at her and she at him, and for a while they were silent. It seemed to her that he was devouring her with his eyes. She was vaguely conscious of a curious feeling of satisfaction at being devoured. For her part she could not take her eyes off his face--she loved to look at him.

It was only after some moments had pa.s.sed that it appeared to occur to him that there might be anything singular in such a fashion of meeting, especially in the presence of her mechanic. When he spoke his voice seemed husky, the manner of his speech was, as usual, curt.

"Why weren't you at home yesterday morning as you promised?"

"I had forgotten that I did promise."

"You had forgotten?"

"Not that it would have made any difference if I had remembered; I should not have stayed in. I did not suppose you would come."

"I told you I should come."

"Yes, you told me."

"What I tell you I will do that I do do. Nothing that may happen will cause me to change my mind." He looked past her along the way she had come, then addressed the chauffeur. "There is something lying on the road. It may be something Miss Arnott has dropped--go and see."

"I don't think it is anything of mine. I have had nothing to drop."

"Go and see what it is." The man, descending, returned along the road.

"I don't choose to have everything you and I may have to say to each other overheard. You knew that I should come, why did you not stay in?

of what were you afraid?"

"Afraid? I? Of nothing, There was no reason why I should be afraid."

He searched her face, as if seeking for something which he was amazed to find himself unable to discover.

"You are a strange woman; but then women were always puzzles to me. You may not be stranger than the rest--I don't know. Hadn't you better go away again to-day? Back to the Lake of Como or further?"

"Why should I go away? Of what are you afraid?"

"Of what am I not afraid? I am even afraid to think of what I am afraid--of such different stuff are we two made. I never knew what fear was, before; now, I hardly dare to breathe for fear."

"Don't you trust me?"

"Trust you? What has that to do with it?"

"I see, you think it doesn't matter. I hardly know whether you intend to flatter me or not. Why don't you go away?"

"What's the use? Where should I go where I could be hidden? There is no hiding-place, none. Besides, if I were to hide myself under the sea it might make no difference. Don't you understand?

"I'm not sure; no, I don't think I do. But, tell me, I want to know! I must know! It was all I could do to keep myself from going to see--what have you done with him?"

"Done with him?"

"Have you--have you buried him?"

"Buried him? Do you think he could be buried?"

Something came on to his face which frightened her, started her all trembling.

"I--I didn't know. Don't look at me like that. I only wondered."

"You only wondered! Is it possible that you thought it could be hidden like that? My G.o.d! that you should be such a woman! Don't speak, here's your chauffeur close upon you; you don't want him to understand. You'll find the dust is worse further on. Good-day!"

He whizzed off, leaving her enveloped in a cloud of the dust of which he had spoken.

CHAPTER XV

COOPER'S SPINNEY

Not till the Friday following was the dead body discovered. And then in somewhat singular fashion.

A young gamekeeper was strolling through the forest with his dog. The dog, a puppy, strayed from his side. He did not notice that it had done so till he heard it barking. When he whistled it came running up to him with something in its mouth--a brown billyc.o.c.k hat. The creature was in a state of excitement. On his taking the hat from it, it ran back in the direction it had come, barking as it went. Puzzled by its behaviour, curious as to how it had found the hat, he followed to where the dead man lay beneath the beech tree.

He thought at first that it was some stranger who, having trespa.s.sed and lighted on a piece of open ground, had taken advantage of the springy turf to enjoy a nap. It was only after he had called to him three times, and, in spite, also, of the dog's persistent barking, had received no answer, that he proceeded to examine more closely into the matter. Then he saw not only that the man was dead, but that his clothing was stiff with coagulated blood. There had been a violent thunderstorm the night before. The rain had evidently come drenching down on the silent sleeper, but it had not washed out that blood.

Clarke was a country b.u.mpkin, only just turned eighteen. When it began to break on his rustic intelligence that, in all probability, he was looking down on the victim of some hideous tragedy, he was startled out of his very few wits. He had not the faintest notion what he ought to do. He only remembered that the great house was the nearest human habitation. When he had regained sufficient control of his senses, he ran blindly off to it. A footman, seeing him come staggering up the steps which led to the main entrance, came out to inquire what he meant by such a glaring breach of etiquette.