He glided toward a neighboring clump of bushes, and was about to crouch down behind them when a pair of great, flashing eyes came into view at the foot of the drive. In other words, the car which he had heard had just turned in at the main gates of Meadowview.
For a moment, but only for a moment, Max was completely taken aback, then the truth dawned on him, and the look of bewilderment vanished from his face.
“I see the point,” he thought. “This isn’t Atherton, it must be Massey himself and his womenfolk coming back from the opera. Atherton told Frost that they would probably arrive about half past twelve, but they must[Pg 12] have had a breakdown. At any rate, they’re an hour and a half late.”
The waiter was right. Earlier in the evening Mr. and Mrs. Massey and their two daughters had motored to New York in order to attend the closing performance at the Metropolitan. They had started back for Freehold shortly after eleven, but engine trouble had delayed them for over an hour, and later they had had the bad luck of a blow-out, so that instead of reaching the house about half past twelve, they had not arrived until just after two.
The car, which was a closed one, swept up the drive, and halted before the entrance. The butler and the footman hurried down the steps, and the latter opened the door of the car. The first to alight was a middle-aged man in evening dress, who the waiter rightly guessed was Francis Massey.
“Here we are at last!” Max heard him say. “Did you think we were lost?”
“We were beginning to grow anxious, sir,” replied the butler. “James and I were just discussing whether we ought not to set out in search of you. Have you had an accident, sir?”
“Nothing but a blow-out and a cranky engine,” was the reply. “Are the rest of the servants in bed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, you and James can follow their example as soon as you’ve locked up. We don’t want any supper. We’re all tired out, and we’re going straight to bed.”