The instruments were recovered presently from the hiding-place, and with the theodolite on his shoulder Venables stepped boldly on to the lawn in front of the house, and gravely went to work. The blinds were all up by this time. The windows were opened, and a glimpse of well-furnished rooms could be seen in the background. A couple of maids stood in one of the windows, and watched the strangers curiously.
“It looks respectable enough,” Venables muttered, pretending to be exceedingly busy. “You may depend upon it, this is a tougher job than we anticipated. These servants are all right. You may be sure that they know nothing of what is going on. However, to make certain, I’ll ask them for myself.”
Venables approached the window and asked civilly for the loan of a small piece of string. He came back presently, after a chat of a minute or two, and once more appeared to be wholly engrossed in his instrument. At the same time, he was telling his companions the information which he had gleaned.
“I knew I was right,” he said. “The house has been let furnished to an Italian gentleman called something or another, I didn’t quite catch what, and the people only came down yesterday. Those servants go with the freehold, so to speak, and they have all been in their present situation for some considerable time. Their master is a City stockbroker, who, with his family, is on the Continent for the next month or two. If we are lucky we shall probably get a sight of the Italian presently, though I expect we have all got a pretty shrewd notion who the gentleman is.”
The work proceeded gravely for a quarter of an hour. Levels appeared to be taken, and there was much entering of figures in the notebooks. Presently, as Walter glanced around him, he drew a deep breath, for there was no mistaking the identity of the slim figure that emerged from one of the open French windows and came striding eagerly down the lawn.
“Silva,” Walter said under his breath. “Don’t pretend to see him till he gets quite close. I think it would be a good thing if we left all the interviewing to Venables.”
The Italian approached the group and superciliously demanded to know what they were doing there. He looked quite the master of the place in his cool, flannel suit. He had a cigarette between his strong, white teeth.
“Why are you trespassing here?” he demanded. “Don’t you know that this is private property? Go, or I will call in the police and give you into custody.”
“The police won’t help you in this case,” Venables said with the air of a military man who is quite sure of his ground. “We are here on Government business. I don’t know if you understand what I mean, but we are surveying, and nobody has a right to interfere with us, providing we do no damage. We can come into the house if we like. Indeed, I am not quite sure that we shan’t have to. I see you have got a flat roof, sir, with railings round. If we have occasion to take the theodolite up there I will ring the bell and let you know.”
The whole thing was so coolly and naturally done that Silva was taken aback for the moment. Evidently he had come out of the house full of suspicion, and with the fixed intention of getting rid of these intruders as soon as possible. There was an uneasy look in his eyes as Venables suggested the roof of the house as the field of action. He deemed it wise to shift his ground altogether.
“That will be very inconvenient,” he said, in quite another voice. “I hope you will be able to manage without that if you can. However, if you will give me an hour’s notice, I daresay—”
But Walter was no longer listening. He was standing up regarding the house with a professional eye. His gaze vaguely took in a dormer window immediately under the roof. There were bars to the window, pointing to the fact that at some time or another the room had been used as a nursery. The window was blank for a moment, then a face appeared and looked out.
That instant was enough for Walter. There was no mistaking those features. They were those of Vera Rayne.
XXXII
The Midnight Message
It was with the greatest difficulty that Walter restrained himself. He dared not look round again until Silva’s back was turned and the Italian returned to the house. Even then it would have been impolitic to make a sign, for there might be prying, suspicious eyes looking from other windows who would understand, and then the whole of Venables’ ingenious scheme would be wasted. Turning sideways, Walter glanced up again. It seemed to him that he could still catch the outline of Vera’s figure. Then a desperate idea occurred to him. He stooped down and went through all the motions of patting and caressing some favourite animal. There was just the outside chance that Vera might take this as an allusion to Bruno, and the knowledge that the dog had put her friends on her track. The girl was sharp and quick enough, and she might easily, in the light of events, guess the identity of the trio on the lawn. Before Walter could speak, Venables glanced in his direction and smiled.
“Well, did you see it?” the former asked.
“Did you see it, too?” Walter exclaimed. “I am glad of that because now I know I was not mistaken.”
“See what?” Ravenspur asked, apparently busy with his notebook. “I didn’t notice anything.”
“It was Vera,” Walter whispered. “Whatever you do, don’t look up now. I daresay you happened to notice a
