“Where were you, Arkwright?” demanded Sir Charles. “Weren’t you with him?”
“No! I had left him for a moment. I stopped behind one of the trees on the way to the tennis courts to light a cigarette. There’s a strong wind blowing.”
“And Jack had walked on?”
“Yes, Jack was a couple of dozen paces ahead of me. Just as I was in the act of lighting up, my attention fully taken up—I heard two shots—revolver shots, I knew with certainty. I saw Jack spin round in amazement—his hat had been neatly drilled.”
“A merciful escape,” murmured Sir Charles.
“A merciful escape indeed, sir,” replied Arkwright. “Then Jack shouted and I shouted—and I rushed back to tell you. He’s coming along.”
I ran into Jack some distance from the house. He looked a bit rattled and nervy, but was otherwise none the worse for the adventure.
“Been having a Wild West display, William,” he grinned, when I met him. “Some enterprising blighter has succeeded in letting daylight into my best hat.” He held out his soft hat to me. “Look!”
“What the devil’s the matter with the place?” I growled. “Not much peaceful Sussex about it now. Who was it—any idea?”
“Not on your life, Bill,” he responded. “All I know is that the beggar popped at me from the Allingham direction. And very nearly got me!” He paused and grasped me by the shoulder. “Considine Manor doesn’t seem to be a health resort these days.”