“Ortmann is living here as Mr Horton,” Kennedy whispered. “They told me in the village that he took the house furnished about three months ago, from a Major Jackson, who is at the front.”
“But why is he living down here—in a house like this?” she asked.
“That’s just what we want to discover. Many Germans have country houses in England for some mysterious and unknown reason.”
Kennedy, glancing at his luminous wrist-watch, noted that it was nearly two o’clock in the morning. From where they stood at the edge of the wood the house was plainly visible, silhouetted on the other side of a wide lawn.
No light showed in any of the windows, and to all appearances the inmates were asleep.
As the pair stood whispering, a big Airedale suddenly bounded forth, barking angrily as a preliminary to attacking them.
It was an exciting moment. But in that instant Ella recognised the bark as that of her father’s dog.
“Jack!” she said, in a low voice of reproof. “Be quiet, and come here.”
In a moment the dog, which Drost had evidently lent to his friend Ortmann as watch-dog, bounded towards his mistress and licked her hand.
It was evident that the occupiers of the lonely place did not desire intruders.