“What d’you mean?” he said very quietly.
“I mean just this, Mr. Bathurst. I knew very, very little of Gerald Prescott—I had only seen him two or three times before this Cricket Week commenced. And I am positive that during the past week—somebody has been trailing him—spying on him would be the better term.”
I felt myself growing excited. We seemed to go from unexpected to unexpected as we progressed in this affair. What was she going to tell us now?
“I take it you have a definite reason for saying this, Miss Considine?” asked Anthony gravely. “What are your facts?”
“I have, Mr. Bathurst, and when you have heard what I am going to tell you, I think you will agree with me. The first time I noticed it was on the Tuesday. After dinner that evening, Gerald Prescott and I walked out into the garden. We came out of the French doors and walked round by the lawn tennis courts. It was a lovely night, and he asked me to sit on the seat at the back of the courts. After we had been sitting there for a little time, I had that peculiar sensation that comes to one, when one is being watched. There are two big trees a few yards away from that seat—at the side of the path that leads to ‘The Meadow’ and then to the Allingham Road. I turned quickly and looked. There was a man there watching us. He was crouching down and I am almost certain had a soft hat pulled down over his face....” She paused and looked at Anthony.
“This is most interesting, Miss Considine—please go on!”
“I did not tell Mr. Prescott what I had seen, but suggested that we should walk back.”
“Would you pass close to the trees on your way back to the house?”
“No. We came up from the corner of the courts and would have the trees on our right.”
“At what distance?”