We drove straight into the courtyard, having no groom with us and entered the house from the back. As we passed the little room on the ground floor given up for our sole use as a repository for cricket-nets, fishing-tackle, guns, spare harness, and such like appliances, I opened the door, intending to hang my whip up. To my surprise de Cartienne was there in an old coat, with his sleeves turned up, cleaning a gun. He looked up and greeted us as we entered. "What a time you men have been! What have you been up to in Little Drayton?" "Oh, we had lunch with your friend Fothergill and shacked about," Cecil answered. "Tell you what, Len, he's a very decent fellow." de Cartienne was examining the lock of his gun with great attention, and in the dusk I could not catch his expression. "Oh, Fothergill's all right!" he answered. "You didn't find him very hungry for his winnings, did you?" "I should think not," Cecil replied enthusiastically. "Why, I believe he was actually annoyed with himself for having won at all. I've given him my I O U's." "He'll most likely tear them up," de Cartienne remarked. "He's beastly rich and he can't want the money." "Where did you drop across him, Len?" asked Cecil, seating himself upon a chest and lighting a cigarette. "He's a friend of my governor's. I've known him ever since I was a kid," de Cartienne answered slowly. "There, I think that'll do!" critically looking at the gleaming muzzle which he held in his hand. "Why this sudden fit of industry?" inquired Cecil, yawning. "Going to do any shooting?" de Cartienne nodded and began deliberately pulling the gun to pieces. "Yes; I've had a long day indoors to-day and I mean to make up for it by potting some wild duck to-morrow. Hilliers told me that he'd heard of some very fair sport round by Rushey Ponds last week. You'd better come with me." "Thanks, I'll see," Cecil answered. "I'm not very keen on wild duck potting." "Haven't you been out all day, then, de Cartienne?" I asked--"not even to Drayton?" "Not outside the house," he answered. "Do I look like it?" He pointed to his slippered feet, his old clothes, and held up his hands, black with oil and grease, I took in the details of his appearance, feeling a little bewildered. It seemed barely possible that he could have been in Little Drayton an hour ago. The dressing-bell rang out and we hurried off to our rooms, for Dr. Randall, easy-going enough in some things, was strictness itself with regard to our punctuality at dinner-time. But no sooner had I seen de Cartienne safely in his room than I softly made my way downstairs again and crossed the yard to the stables. It was as I had expected. The stall in which de Cartienne kept his mare was carefully closed, but through the chinks I could see that a lamp was burning inside. I tried the door softly, but it was locked. Then I knocked. There was no answer. Turning away, I entered the next stall and, mounting a step-ladder, looked over the partition.