We were going uphill. The meadow through which we were passing sloped to an oaken fence, stoutly constructed to save the cattle from a perilous fall. For on its farther side the ground fell away sheer, so that at this point a bluff formed one high wall of the sunken road for which we were making. The Thatcher, I remembered, stood immediately opposite to the rough grass-grown steps, hewn years ago for the convenience of such passengers as we. There was a stile set in the fence, and as I swung myself over I glanced down past the edge of the bluff and into the road below.
In the little curved space that fronted the inn the Rolls was standing silent and unoccupied.
I must have exclaimed, for Agatha was over the stile In an instant, and asking me what was the matter. Then she saw, and the words died on her lips. Together we stood spell-bound.
The door of the inn was shut, and there was no one in sight.
My first impulse was to dart down the steps, beat upon the door of the tavern, and confront the thief. But valour yielded to discretion. The great thing was to recover the car. I had but a slip of a girl with me, the spot was a lonely one, and it was more than likely that the highwayman was not working alone. Besides, Agatha must not be involved in any violence.
I turned to my lady.
"You stay here. I'm going to take her and drive straight to the police-station. I'll pick up some police and come back just as quickly as ever I can."
Miss Deriot shook her pretty head.
"I'm coming with you," she said. "Carry on."
"But, my dear——"