They were well matched, and victory might have been on Tom’s side but for the action of Dick, who, seeing the second man about to leap on him, thrust out his foot and laid him sprawling.
It was unfortunate for Tom, though. The man was so near that he tripped over him, and lay for the moment half-stunned; while now all three rushed into the room and to the open window.
“Below there!” cried Gilderoy—“have you seen him?”
“No,” was the reply. “He came down with a crash, though, into the shrubs here, and I think he’s hurt—he hasn’t moved since. Come down, and bring a light.”
Jessie’s window looked down upon a great clump of lilacs, into which it seemed that Fred must have jumped; and, running back to the landing, the three men dashed downstairs, through Dick’s study, into the conservatory, and thence to the enclosed back garden.
As they did so, Fred glided out from behind the window curtains, placed his hand to his lips, and bounded down the staircase, almost into his brother’s arms.
Tom saw the ruse, seized a coat and hat from the stand, and opened the front door.
“Cabstand at the corner,” he whispered. “Walk—don’t run.”
Fred went leisurely out, and as Tom closed the door the private inquiry man came back, and placed himself as sentinel to guard the door.
The search went on for a few moments outside, and then there was a shout.