We piled out of the car onto the lawn. I noticed that Bartley stood a moment, his gaze apparently fixed upon some point. It was already dark, and would soon be much darker. In the sky the clouds were hanging low and black, with the promise of rain any moment. The wind was rising and already was sweeping across the lake in stormy gusts. Down in the garage the dog, hearing the car stop, howled long and loudly. For some reason Bartley did not seem to be in the same hurry as a few moments before. We followed him into the house and watched him go up the stairs to his room. Carter, who had been watching him with a puzzled air, turned to me and asked: “Do you know what is on his mind?” I shook my head, started to speak, only to hear Bartley from above calling to Carter to be sure and get his gun. With a startled glance at Ranville, Carter gave a shrug of his shoulders and left the room. Both he and Bartley returned at the same moment, and it needed but a glance at the squatty automatic which he carried to see he had obeyed his friend's instructions. But though he had obeyed it, he was not satisfied. In a voice which was bursting with curiosity he turned to Bartley. “For God's sake, John! What have you up your sleeve?” “Carter,” came the slow reply, “there is not time to tell you now just what I am afraid of, but I have the idea we are going to put our hands on the murderer of both Warren and the gardener. That is not my chief object. I am going to save the secretary from a similar fate.” “I don't see how you can say that—” burst from Carter's lips. He would have said more, but his friend placed his arm around his shoulder saying: “I may be wrong, Carter. But you know my way of working very well. There is but one logical solution to this entire affair; that is the one I am going to test now. If I am wrong, there is no damage done; but if I am right, then I save further trouble. I only ask you to do one thing; do not lose your head. Say nothing, and if you have to shoot, do not be afraid of shooting to kill.” Bartley led the way out of the hall. As we reached the front door, he slipped a revolver in the hands of Ranville and myself. And at that second for the first time I discovered Patton was not with us and had not come into the house when we got out of the car. In a surprised voice I asked where he might be—asked, only to have Bartley respond that Patton was following a suggestion he had made, and that we would see him in a short while. With Bartley in the lead we went down the steps and across the grass. Where we were going, I did not have the slightest idea and wondered greatly. I half expected we would take the car, but instead he struck off over the lawn in the other direction. This puzzled me, and as we came to the opening in the hedge, I became more perplexed than ever. For the high hedge separated Carter's grounds from the wide sweeping lawn which ran to the stone church.