“When you went off to summon assistance I ran across the lawn, scrambled through the bushes, and succeeded in climbing down into the little gully in which the stream runs, and up on the other side. I had proceeded practically in a straight line from the sun-dial, and do you know where I found myself?” “I can guess,” I replied. “Of course you can. You have visited the place. I came out immediately beside a little hut, Knox, which stands at the end of the garden of the Guest House. Ahead of me, visible through a tangle of bushes in the neglected garden, a lamp was burning. I crept cautiously forward, and presently obtained a view of the interior of a kitchen. Just as I arrived at this point of vantage the lamp was extinguished, but not before I had had a glimpse of the only occupant of the room--the man who had extinguished the lamp.” “Who was it?” I asked, in a low voice. “It was a Chinaman.” “Ah Tsong!” I cried. “Doubtless.” “Good heavens, Harley, do you think--” “I don’t know what to think, Knox. A possible explanation is that the household had been aroused by the sound of the shot, and that Ah Tsong had been directed to go out and see if he could learn what had happened. At any rate, I waited no longer, but returned by the same route. If our portly friend from Market Hilton had possessed the eyes of an Auguste Dupin, he could not have failed to note that my dress boots were caked with light yellow clay; which also, by the way, besmears my trousers.” He stooped and examined the garments as he spoke. “A number of thorns are also present,” he continued. “In short, from the point of view of an investigation, I am a most provoking object.” He sighed wearily, and stared out of the window in the direction of the Tudor garden. There was a slight chilliness in the air, which, or perhaps a sudden memory of that which lay in the billiard room beneath us, may have accounted for the fact that I shivered violently. Harley glanced up with a rather sad smile. “The morning after Waterloo,” he said. “Sleep well, Knox.” CHAPTER XX A SPANISH CIGARETTE Sleep was not for me, despite Harley’s injunction, and although I was early afoot, the big house was already astir with significant movements which set the imagination on fire, to conjure up again the moonlight scene in the garden, making mock of the song of the birds and of the glory of the morning. Manoel replied to my ring, and prepared my bath, but it was easy to see that he had not slept. No sound came from Harley’s room, therefore I did not disturb him, but proceeded downstairs in the hope of finding Miss Beverley about. Pedro was in the hall, talking to Mrs. Fisher, and: “Is Inspector Aylesbury here?” I asked. “No, sir, but he will be returning at about half-past eight, so he said.” “How is Madame de Stämer, Mrs. Fisher?” I enquired. “Oh, poor, poor Madame,” said the old lady, “she is asleep, thank God. But I am dreading her awakening.”