"I hope I haven’t been too cocksure," he muttered, under his close-trimmed gray mustache. "I pinned my faith to Alec’s company securing the fellow’s safety on the journey at least." He took another turn, and then, striking a vesta, looked at his watch. It was twenty minutes to eleven, whereas if those he expected had caught the 8.45 from St. Pancras, the carriage should have been back half an hour ago. He had hardly finished this calculation when from behind a gigantic vase on the plinth of the steps leading to the lower level of the gardens there sounded the hiss of a cobra, thrice repeated. "Azimoolah?" said the General, softly. His faithful servitor glided forward, almost invisible in the shabby blue tunic which had replaced the spotless white garments of Grosvenor Gardens. "A queer orderly-room, sahib, but not more so than some we wot of in the by-ways of the Deccan," he whispered, glancing up at the loom of the great mansion. "Well, I have done thy bidding, and have secured a lodging in the village as a poor vendor of Oriental trifles. Furthermore, I have already done some good police work." "You have discovered that there are strangers dwelling in the place?" "Not so, sahib; but they have been _seen_ in the village," was the reply. "The woman with whom I have hired shelter says that two men, professing to be painters, were in the park all day painting the trees and the deer, for which purpose they had obtained permission of the steward. Whence the men came the woman did not know, but they drove in in a dog-cart on the St. Albans road." "Your informant could not tell you if the picture was finished—whether the men were coming again?" the General asked quickly. It was too dark to see the Pathan’s face, but a ring in his carefully managed undertone told of pride in the answer: "_She_ could not tell _me_, sahib, but _I_ can tell _you_. The picture makes the trees look like cauliflowers and the deer like unto swine. Moreover, it is not finished, and the men are coming again—to-morrow, perchance." General Sadgrove congratulated himself on his foresight. He would have preferred having Azimoolah in the house with him, but he had detached him from personal service, and had sent him down separately to pick up unconsidered trifles in the character of a traveling huckster. And the old sleuth-hound had done well, after only a couple of hours in the place, in bringing this news of painters who could not paint, yet were returning on the morrow. The General had such absolute trust in his henchman’s methods that he did not trouble to inquire how the news had been acquired, thereby sparing Azimoolah the needless narrative of a deal with the landlady of the "Hanbury Arms," where the strangers had put up their cart and lunched.