“Well, I’ll go home,” he said. “I had better sleep this afternoon if I am to be up all night.”
“Up all night?” she said in surprise. “What is happening? Is there a ball or something?”
“There will be something livelier than a ball,” he said grimly, “if I find anybody in your garden to-night. And Miss Maxell, if you look out of your window and you see a solitary figure on sentry-go don’t shoot, because it will be me.”
“But you mustn’t,” she gasped. “Please don’t do it, Mr. Anderson. Uncle would be——”
He stopped her with a gesture.
“Possibly nobody will come to-night,” he said, “and as likely as not I shall be pinched by the police as a suspicious character. But there’s a chance that somebody will come, and that’s the chance I’m going to take.”
CHAPTER XII
TRUE to his word, he returned to his lodgings and spent the afternoon in slumber. He had the gift which all great men possess, of being able to sleep at will. He was staying at a boarding-house, and occupied a room which had originally been a side veranda, but had been walled in and converted into an extra bedroom. It was a remarkably convenient room for him, as he had discovered on previous occasions. He had but to open the window and drop on to the grass to make his exit without anybody in the house being the wiser. More to the point, he could return at any hour by the same route without disturbing the household.
He had his supper, and whilst it was still very light he went out to reconnoitre Sir John’s demesne. He was able to make the circuit of the house, which occupied a corner site and was isolated by two lanes, and he saw nobody until, returning to the front of the house, a car drove up and a woman alighted.
He had no difficulty in recognising Lady Maxell, but the taxi interested him more than the lady. It was smothered with mud and had evidently come a long journey.