‘My veil is something of a disguise, and I will put on another cloak before he has a chance of seeing me again,’ said Loveday.
All she had seen in the brief glimpse that the train had allowed, was a tall, powerfully-built man walking along a siding of the line. His cap was drawn low over his eyes, and in his hand he carried a workman’s basket.
Gunning seemed much annoyed at the circumstance. ‘Instead of landing at Redhill,’ he said, ‘we’ll go on to Three Bridges and wait there for a Brighton train to bring us back, that will enable you to get to your room somewhere between the lights; I don’t want to have you spotted before you’ve so much as started your work.’
Then they went back to their discussion of the Redhill Sisterhood.
‘They call themselves “undenominational”, whatever that means,’ said Gunning. ‘They say they are connected with no religious sect whatever, they attend sometimes one place of worship, sometimes another, sometimes none at all. They refuse to give up the name of the founder of their order, and really no one has any right to demand it of them, for, as no doubt you see, up to the present moment the case is one of mere suspicion, and it may be a pure coincidence that attempts at burglary have followed their footsteps in this neighbourhood. By the way, I have heard of a man’s face being enough to hang him, but until I saw Sister Monica’s, I never saw a woman’s face that could perform the same kind office for her. Of all the lowest criminal types of faces I have ever seen, I think hers is about the lowest and most repulsive.’
After the Sisters, they passed in review the chief families resident in the neighbourhood.
‘This,’ said Gunning, unfolding a paper, ‘is a map I have specially drawn up for you – it takes in the district for ten miles round Redhill, and every country house of any importance is marked with it in red ink. Here, in addition, is an index to those houses, with special notes of my own to every house.’
Loveday studied the map for a minute or so, then turned her attention to the index.
‘Those four houses you’ve marked, I see, are those that have been already attempted. I don’t think I’ll run them through, but I’ll mark them “doubtful”; you see the gang – for, of course, it is a gang – might follow our reasoning on the matter, and look upon those houses as our weak point. Here’s one I’ll run through, “house empty during winter months”, that means plate and jewellery sent to the bankers. Oh! and this one may as well be crossed off, “father and four sons all athletes and sportsmen”, that means firearms always handy – I don’t think burglars will be likely to trouble them. Ah! now we come to something! Here’s a house to be marked “tempting” in a burglar’s list. “Wootton Hall, lately changed hands and rebuilt, with complicated passages and corridors. Splendid family plate in daily use and left entirely to the care of the butler”. I wonder, does the master of that house trust to his “complicated passages” to preserve his plate for him? A dismissed dishonest servant would supply a dozen maps of the place for half-a-sovereign. What do these initials, “EL”, against the next house in the list, North Cape, stand for?’
‘Electric lighted. I think you might almost cross that house off also. I consider electric lighting one of the greatest safeguards against burglars that a man can give his house.’
‘Yes, if he doesn’t rely exclusively upon it; it might be a nasty trap under certain circumstances. I see this gentleman also has magnificent presentation and other plate.’
‘Yes. Mr Jameson is a wealthy man and very popular in the neighbourhood; his cups and epergnes are worth looking at.’
‘Is it the only house in the district that is lighted with electricity?’
‘Yes; and, begging your pardon, Miss Brooke, I only wish it were not so. If electric lighting were generally in vogue it would save the police a lot of trouble on these dark winter nights.’
‘The burglars would find some way of meeting such a condition of things, depend upon it; they have reached a very high development in these days. They no longer stalk about as they did fifty years ago with blunderbuss and bludgeon; they plot, plan, contrive and bring imagination and artistic resource to their aid. By the way, it often occurs to me that the popular detective stories, for which there seems too large a demand at the present day, must be, at times, uncommonly useful to the criminal classes.’
At Three Bridges they had to wait so long for a return train that it was nearly dark when Loveday got back to Redhill. Mr Gunning did not accompany her thither, having alighted at a previous station. Loveday had directed her portmanteau to be sent direct to Laker’s Hotel, where she had engaged a room by telegram from Victoria Station. So, unburthened by luggage, she slipped quietly out
