Anthony started. “Good God! No! I didn’t mean that. Look here, I’ll tell you. I went to Abbotshall because I wanted to play burglars on the first floor. And the best time to do it was when everybody was downstairs at the inquest. See?” “Of course. But how thrilling! Do go on. I won’t tell a soul!” “If I hadn’t known that,” said Anthony, “I wouldn’t have said anything at all.” “Thank you. Did you find anything—that you expected to find?” “I found. Some of what I found I had expected to find; some not.” His tone was final and silence fell again. The big car’s speed increased. Soon they were among London’s outskirts. “Where are you going to stay?” Anthony asked. “Brown’s Hotel. May I go there first, please?” To Brown’s he took her, and waited with the car till she reappeared. During the journey to Hastings’s flat in Kensington there was little opportunity for conversation. Once, threading skillfully through a press of traffic, he began to whistle, under his breath, the dirge of Cock Robin. Then Hastings’s flat was reached. Introductions over, they were left alone in Hastings’s study while Hastings went to prepare the invalid. Anthony picked up his hat. “I must go,” he said. “Where?” “Back to Marling.” “Oh, Mr. Gethryn!” Lucia cried. “Did you only come up to bring me?” “Yes,” he said, after a pause. “How awfully nice of you! But ought you to have wasted all that time?” “All pleasure,” Anthony said oracularly, “is gain. Did you warn your sister that Deacon would probably be arrested after the inquest?” “I did. And I tried to persuade her not to worry. So I obeyed orders, you see.” “Did you believe there was no cause for worry?” The great dark eyes met his. In their great depths he saw little golden fires dancing. “Yes,” she said. Anthony bowed. “Good-night,” he said, and was gone. Chapter X. Birds of the Air 1 It was a few minutes after half-past four when Anthony descended to the street and re-entered his car. Through London he drove fast; clear of it, terrifically. Always, when he found himself disturbed, he sought consolation in speed. It was preferable to be on a horse; but the car was better than nothing. Besides, was there not work to be done? On the journey he thought much. One half of his mind was occupied with a problem of _x_ and _y_; the other with a quantity more obscure even than _x_. It was that second half of his mind which conceived doubts of the worthiness of Anthony Ruthven Gethryn. The sensation was new. As he drove through the great gates of Abbotshall and up the drive, the clock over the stables struck. A quarter to six! If the distance from Kensington to Marling is what they say it is, the word “terrifically” was not misused. He stopped the car. Round the corner of the house, running, came Sir Arthur Digby-Coates. Though the thick, gray-flecked hair was unruffled by the wind of his speed, there was yet an agitation, a wildness about him, his fluttering tie, his clothes, most unusual.