That day, and the following, passed uneventfully, and I heard nothing of any tragic discovery being made beyond Brigstock, therefore the suspicion that a second crime had been committed seemed negatived. I had driven over to Gretton in the afternoon to give instructions to one of the keepers, and returning about seven o’clock, was walking along the corridor to my room when, at the further end, in the fading light, I saw two figures, one a guest, and the other Slater, the butler.
“This is Mr Smeeton, sir,” the old servant explained. “He’s just arrived, and been shown his room. His lordship said you would entertain him until he and her ladyship returned.”
The newly-arrived guest came forward from the shadow to greet me, and as he did so the light fell straight across his face.
I stood open-mouthed, unable to utter a word in response.
The guest was none other than Richard Keene himself!
Chapter Eighteen.
Which Teaches the Value of Silence.
The man’s audacity in coming there openly and boldly as Lord Stanchester’s guest so utterly astounded me that my very words froze upon my lips. Was this some further development of the intrigue in which one man had already lost his life?