“It’s a crack,” said the policeman, excitedly, “and the chaps must be in here. Will you gents keep watch while I get help, and put some one on at the other side in the Gardens?”
“Yes—no—yes,” exclaimed Artingale. “I’m afraid some one’s ill. We saw two people come away hurriedly and take a cab at the end.”
“They wouldn’t have took a cab,” said the constable. “There’s a doctor at the end there close by. We’re too late, for a suverin. Or no; stop. There’s something else up. Look here, sir, I’ve had you hanging about here and on the other side ever since the family has been in town. Now then, who are you?”
“There is my card, constable,” said Artingale, shortly. “You know why I came.”
“Yes, sir—my lord, I mean. But why did that big hulking rough chap, like a country gamekeeper, come? He’s been hanging about—”
“Stop!” cried Artingale. “Was it a big black-bearded fellow above six feet high?”
“That’s the man, sir. I set him down as from the country house, and after one of the maids.”
“When—when did you see him last?” cried Magnus.
“To-night, sir.”
“To-night?”