When they occurred to Derrick, he was not very far from the spot where Heyton had disappeared for a minute or two; and Derrick sauntered towards the place and stood looking round him. He was keen-eyed, and in some of his experiences in South America he had learnt a certain amount of bush-craft; and he had no difficulty in finding the exact spot in which he had lost sight, for a moment, of Heyton.
With a feeling that was scarcely one of curiosity, he examined the ground in close proximity, and presently, he caught sight of a portion of the fringe of a bathing-towel. He took it from the thorn on which it hung, and fingered it absently; and while doing so, he noted the mark of footsteps which had trodden down the bracken in front of a certain bush. Almost at the same moment, he saw a little heap of dried leaves beneath the bush, and, mechanically, he stirred them with his foot. To his amazement, the displaced leaves revealed a box covered with morocco leather. He stood and looked down at it with that sense of incredulity which comes to all of us when we happen upon something absolutely unexpected; then he knelt down and took up the box. It was heavy and, when he shook it, it rattled softly.
He stood with the box in his hand, staring at it, and wondering whether it was the thing Heyton had concealed, and what it contained. Also another most important question was agitating him: What should he do with it? Presumably, it was Heyton's property; and should be returned to him at once. But why on earth should Heyton come out in the early morning to conceal a morocco-covered box under a bush in Thexford Woods?
To say that Derrick was suspicious is to express inadequately the feeling that suddenly assailed him. He knew that the man was a scoundrel, and as unscrupulous as he was weak; a man who could forge a cheque, and plant the blame on another, is capable of anything; and Derrick scented a mystery, a base, ignoble one, with Heyton as its centre. He sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, the box in his hand, and stared frowningly before him. He could find no answer to the enigma. That he himself should march up to the Hall and restore the box to Heyton, was impossible. After all, the affair was none of his, and, perhaps, the best thing he could do would be to put the box back in its hiding-place and leave things to work themselves out. He wanted to have nothing more to do with Heyton, or any business of his. Yes; the easiest and the safest plan would be to leave the box where he had found it and have nothing more to do with it. With this more or less wise resolution, he rose and had taken a step forward, when he heard a sound behind him, felt a hand fall heavily on his shoulder, and, turning, met the stern and agitated gaze of Inspector Brown.
"I arrest you for robbery and attempted murder!" said the Inspector.
His voice, for all its sternness, shook and his face was red and working; for this was the most important moment of Inspector Brown's life, and it was little wonder that he was agitated and strung up. While the great detective from Scotland Yard was doing nothing, here had he, the Inspector, actually discovered the criminal, caught him red-handed, so to speak!
"It is no use your offering any resistance," he said, brusquely. "Three or four constables are within call; you could not possibly escape. I've had my eye upon you for some time, my man, and have taken precautions."
This assertion was not strictly true, but the Inspector almost felt it was.
Derrick stared at the red face in a kind of stupefied amazement; at last he said:
"You mean that you are charging me with stealing this thing?"