“Not by a ghost,” she said, “but by a very human man, a mysterious individual in black. The woman who looks after me saw him the other night in the garden: I myself have seen him from my window and challenged him. He has been seen by other people pacing the road outside. Now tell me honestly, Tab Holland, am I under the observation of the police?”
The thought had also occurred to Tab.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Carver does not tell me everything, but he has never mentioned your name to me as being under the slightest suspicion. In black, you say?”
“Yes,” nodded the girl. “From head to foot in black, including black gloves. It was rather spectacular—”
“Black gloves?” interrupted Tab. “I wonder if it is my burglar?” and he told her of the visitor who had come the night before.
“It is extraordinary,” she said, “more extraordinary because he was not seen last night. I am not usually nervous, but I must confess that it is a little worrying to know that somebody is watching me.”
“How did he come? Had he a car or bicycle, or did he come by train?”
On this point she could not enlighten him.
“I almost wish you had not come up,” said Tab. “If you had told me, I would have gone to Stone Cottage and stayed the night, especially after my burglar. I should like to meet the gentleman who treats my flat so unceremoniously.”
She made no reply and then:
“Why did I come here, I wonder?” she asked, and it was as though she were speaking to herself, for she laughed. “Poor Mr. Tab,” she said, with that little hint of mockery in her voice which he adored, “I am laying all my burdens upon you. Mystery upon mystery, some of my own, but this, I promise you, not of my making.” She considered, her finger at her lips. “Suppose I return to Stone Cottage on Monday morning and you come down later? My woman will be an efficient chaperon, and I think you should come after dark—that is, if you can spare the time.”
Tab wanted to tell her that all eternity, so far as he was concerned, was at her disposal, but very wisely refrained.
He saw her to her car and went back to his room with a sense of exhilaration that he had not felt all that week.
XVII
It was a delicate matter broaching the subject of police espionage to Carver. In the first place, he did not want to give the inspector the slightest hint that Ursula Ardfern expected to be watched. He compromised by telling that gloomy man, at the first opportunity, that he had seen Miss Ardfern. And then he mentioned casually and by-the-way, the story of her watcher.
“Of course it isn’t a thief,” said Carver promptly. “Thieves do not advertise their presence by alarming the people they hope to rob. Has she complained to the local police?”
Tab did not know, but he guessed that she had not.
“It may be a coincidence,” said Carver, “and the man in black may really have nothing whatever to do with the murder of Trasmere, but I am intrigued. You are going down, you say? I wonder if Miss Ardfern would mind my coming too?”
Tab was in a dilemma here. To hesitate would be to give the police officer a wholly wrong impression. To accept was to eclipse the happy evening he had in prospect. For to be alone with Ursula Ardfern, to stand to her in the nature of a protector, would be a wonderful experience, which he had no desire to share.
“I am sure Miss Ardfern would be delighted,” he said.
“If I can get away I will come,” said Carver.
Tab fervently hoped that urgent business would keep his friend in town.
He sent a note round to Ursula putting forward Carver’s suggestion and received a reply by return, extending her invitation.
After mature thought, Tab decided that it was not at all a bad idea to have Carver with him. It would give the girl an opportunity of making friends with one who might, in certain circumstances, be a difficult man to satisfy. She could not have too many friends, he thought, and was almost relieved when Carver hurried into the station a few minutes before the last train to Hertford left.
It was dark when they arrived and by prearrangement they did not speak in the long walk which separated them from Stone Cottage, but in single file, keeping to the shadow of the road, they marched forward without meeting with a soul.
When at last they came to the highway in which Stone Cottage was situated, they proceeded with greater caution. But there was nobody in sight and they reached the garden unobserved.
Ursula was standing in the doorway to welcome them.
“I’ve had all the blinds pulled down,” she said, “and Inspector Carver’s coming is rather providential, for my woman has had to go home—her mother has been taken ill. I hope you don’t mind appearing in the role of a chaperone,” she smiled at Carver.
“Even that is not an unusual one,” he replied unsmiling. “Where does she live, the mother of your servant?”
“At Felborough. Poor Margaret only had time to catch the last train.”
“How did Margaret know her mother was ill?” asked the inspector. “Did she have a telegram?”
Ursula nodded.
“Late this afternoon?”
“Yes,” said the girl in surprise. “Why do you ask?”
“She got the telegram in time to catch the train to town; in time, too, to catch a train for Felborough. That was why I asked. You did not see the man last night?”
“I didn’t come down until this morning,” she answered troubled. “Do you think that Margaret has been sent for by—somebody—that it was a ruse to get her away?”
“I don’t know,” said Carver. “In my profession we always apply the worst construction and we are generally right. What time do you usually go to bed?”
“At ten o’clock in the country,” she said.
“Then
