THE NAME OF "SMITHSON." A man was kneeling, facing me, on the outskirts of the wood on the hill, not a hundred yards away. His face was in shadow, and partly hidden by a slouch hat, so that I could hardly see it. The rifle he held was levelled at me--he was taking steady aim--his left arm extended far up the barrel, so that his hand came near the muzzle--the style adopted by all first-class shots, as it ensures deadly accuracy. I am bound to confess that I completely lost my nerve. I sprang to one side almost as he fired. I had just enough presence of mind left to pick up the driver in my arms--even at the risk of my life I couldn't leave him there--lift him into the car, and slam the door. Then I jumped on to the driving-seat, put in the clutch--in a perfect frenzy of fear lest I myself should be shot at the next instant--and the car flew down the avenue. Twice I heard reports, and with the second one came the sound of a whistling bullet. But it went wide of the mark. The lodge came quickly into view. It was well out of sight of the wood on the hill where the shots had been fired. I uttered an exclamation as I saw that the big white gate was shut. It was hardly ever shut. Slowing down, I brought the car to a standstill within a few yards of the lodge, jumped out, and ran forward to open the gate. It was fastened with a heavy chain, and the chain was securely padlocked. Shouting failed to bring any one out of the lodge, so I clambered over the gate and knocked loudly at the door. But nobody answered, and, when I tried to open the door, I found it locked. There seemed to be but one way out of the difficulty. I have said that I am strong, yet it needed all my strength to lift that heavy gate off its hinges. It fell with a crash back into the road, and I managed to drag it away to one side. Then starting the engine again, I set off once more for Oakham "all out." I went straight to the hospital, but a brief examination of the poor fellow sufficed to assure the doctors that the man was already dead. Then I went to the police-station and told them everything I knew--how a man giving the name "Smithson" had called at Houghton Park to see Sir Charles Thorold; how Thorold had repudiated all knowledge of the man; how Sir Charles and Lady Thorold and their daughter, and Lady Thorold's maid, Judith--I did not know her surname--had suddenly left Houghton, and mysteriously disappeared; how I had, that afternoon, found the house shut up, though I had seen a man disappear from one of the windows; how I had discovered the butler's body in the lake; how my driver had been shot dead by some one hidden in a wood upon a hill, and how other shots had been fired at me by the assassin.