“What do you really think of Nanny?” she asked.
“About as good as they make,” I replied.
“That’s what I think too. You know, Dick, I feel I’m far too fussy about Peter John. I give hours of my time to him, and it’s quite unnecessary. Nanny can do everything better than I can. I scarcely dare let him out of my sight, and yet I’m certain that I could safely leave him for weeks with Nanny and Paddock—and Dr. Greenslade within call.”
“Of course you could,” I agreed, “but you’d miss him, as I do, for he’s jolly good company.”
“Yes, he’s jolly good company, the dear fellow,” she said.
In the afternoon we went for a canter on the downs, and I came back feeling as fit as a racehorse and keyed up for anything. But that evening, as we walked in the garden before dinner, I had another fit of longing to be free of the business and to return to my quiet life. I realised that I had buried my heart in my pleasant acres, and the thought of how much I loved them made me almost timid. I think Mary understood what I was feeling, for she insisted on talking about David Warcliff, and before I went to bed had worked me into that honest indignation which is the best stiffener of resolution. She went over my plans with me very carefully. On the 28th, if I could manage it, I was to come home, but if I was short of time I was to send her a wire and go straight to London. The pretence of my being in bed was to be religiously kept up. For safety’s sake I was to sign every wire with the name of Cornelius.
Very early next morning, long before anyone was stirring, I started the big Vauxhall with Paddock’s assistance, and, accompanied by a very modest kit, crept down the avenue. Paddock, who could drive a car, was to return to the house about ten o’clock, and explain to my chauffeur that by my orders he had taken the Vauxhall over to Oxford as a loan for a week to a friend of mine. I drove fast out of the silent hill roads and on to the great Roman way which lay like a strap across the highlands. It was not much after six o’clock when I reached The Silent Woman, which sat like an observation post on a ridge of down, at a junction of four roads. Smoke was going up from its chimneys, so I judged that Sandy had ordered early breakfast. Presently, as I was garaging the car in an outhouse, Sandy appeared in flannel bags and a tweed jacket, looking as fresh as paint and uncommonly sunburnt.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he said. “Capital fellow the landlord! He knows what a man’s appetite is. I ordered eggs, kidneys, sausages and cold ham, and he seemed to expect it. Yes. These are my headquarters for the present, though Advanced G.H.Q. is elsewhere. By the by, Dick, just for an extra precaution, my name’s Thomson—Alexander Thomson—and I’m a dramatic critic taking a belated Easter holiday.”
The breakfast was as good as Sandy had promised, and what with the run in the fresh air and the sight of him opposite me I began to feel lighthearted.
“I got your letters,” I said, “but, I say, your knowledge of Derby winners is pretty rocky. I thought that was the kind of information no gentleman was without.”
“I’m the exception. Did you act on them?”
“I told Medina I had broken with you for good and never wanted to see your face again. But why did you make such a point of it?”
“Simply because I wanted to be rid of his attentions, and I reckoned that if he thought we had quarrelled and that I had gone off for good, he might let me alone. You see he has been trying hard to murder me.”
“Good Lord!” I exclaimed. “When?”
“Four times,” said Sandy calmly, counting on his fingers. “Once before I left London. Oh, I can tell you I had an exciting departure. Three times in Paris, the last time only four days ago. I fancy he’s off my trail now, for he really thinks I sailed from Marseilles the day before yesterday.”
“But why on earth?”
“Well, I made some ill-advised remarks at the Thursday Club dinner. He believes that I’m the only man alive who might uncover him, and he won’t sleep peacefully till he knows that I am out of Europe and is convinced that I suspect nothing. I sent you those letters because I wanted to be let alone, seeing I had a lot to do, and nothing wastes time like dodging assassins. But my chief reason was to protect you. You mayn’t know it, Dick, but you’ve been walking for three weeks on the edge of a precipice with one foot nearly over. You’ve been in the most hideous danger, and I was never more relieved in my life than when I saw your solemn old face this morning. You were only safe when he regarded our friendship as broken and me out of the way and you his blind and devoted slave.”
“I’m that all right,” I said. “There’s been nothing like it since Uncle Tom’s Cabin.”
“Good. That’s the great thing, for it gives us a post in the enemy’s citadel. But we’re only at the beginning of a tremendous fight and there’s no saying how it will go. Have you sized up Medina?”
“Only a little bit. Have you?”
“I’m on the road. He’s the most complex thing I’ve ever struck. But now we’ve got to pool our knowledge. Shall I start?”
“Yes. Begin at the Thursday dinner. What started you off then? I could see that something he said intrigued you.”
“I must begin before that. You see, I’d heard a good deal about Medina up and down the world and couldn’t for the life of me place him. Everybody swore
