“Very good, Sir Charles,” remarked Baddeley. “That was going to be my own proposition. Now we haven’t got a great deal of time before getting to our posts. You two gentlemen,” he turned to Anthony and me, “will come into the garden and I will join you. We’ll get whatever cover we can as near the billiard room as possible—Roper will be in the billiard room itself, and will open it when the right moment comes. My other two men will command the exit if he breaks through the three of us and gets away. A contingency I’m prepared to lay very heavy odds against, though. Revolver all serene, Mr. Bathurst?”
“All in order, Inspector,” answered Anthony cheerfully, tapping his pocket. “Do I shoot to kill?”
“Only as a last resource, sir. Come along. And you, Roper, get upstairs to the billiard room.”
We emerged into the grounds. It was a wonderful July night. The sky with its clusters of shimmering stars seemed too serene, too majestic, for any disturbance such as our adventure might prove to be.
Baddeley gave a low whistle and, seemingly from nowhere, two plain-clothes men materialized from the shadows. He whispered them their instructions and they departed as quickly and as quietly as they had come.
“Now, Mr. Bathurst,” he came across to us as silently as a cat, “what about that rhododendron clump?” He pointed to a spot about eight yards from the window. “We three can make for there.”
As we nestled into its shade I heard the village clocks striking twelve. I wondered how many more times I should hear them strike before our vigil ended.
Baddeley gripped my arm. “Don’t speak, gentlemen,” he whispered, “it’s a dead still night, and the sound of the voice carries so. Be as quiet as you can.” I nodded to show him I understood and would obey.
It was, as Baddeley had said, as still as death. Occasionally came the hoot of an owl, but beyond that, the only sound that reached my ears was the breathing of my two companions. Baddeley spoke again. “We’d better not smoke,” he said. “He might easily detect it as he comes up and you can bet your life he’ll come with his eyes skinned.” We reluctantly put our pipes away. The minutes passed with unrelenting slowness. Once there came a sudden swishing sound followed by a soft thud. The sweat stood on my brow as I watched the place from where the noise had come, and Anthony gripped my right arm hard. Baddeley smiled at us out of the darkness. “A cat,” he whispered—“that’s all.” Half-past twelve, a quarter to one, and one o’clock struck. Then a quarter past one.
“He isn’t coming,” I breathed in Anthony’s ear. Baddeley looked perturbed and glanced at his watch. “Nearly half-past one,” he muttered softly.