It was settled thus, and the details of the plan were laid. After the party had retired to bed, first one and then another of the syndicate crept down. They were all armed with powerful electric torches, and in the pocket of Anthony’s coat lay a revolver.
Anthony had said that he believed another attempt to resume the search would be made. Nevertheless, he did not expect that the attempt would be made from outside. He believed that Virginia had been correct in her guess that someone had passed her in the dark the night before, and as he stood in the shadow of an old oak dresser it was towards the door and not the window that his eyes were directed. Virginia was crouching behind a figure in armour on the opposite wall, and Bill was by the window.
The minutes passed, at interminable length. One o’clock chimed, then the half-hour, then two, then another half-hour. Anthony felt stiff and cramped. He was coming slowly to the conclusion that he had been wrong. No attempt would be made tonight.
And then he stiffened suddenly, all his senses on the alert. He had heard a footstep on the terrace outside. Silence again, then a low scratching noise at the window. Suddenly it ceased, and the window swung open. A man stepped across the sill into the room.
He stood quite still for a moment, peering round as though listening. After a minute or two, seemingly satisfied, he switched on a torch he carried, and turned it rapidly round the room. Apparently he saw nothing unusual. The three watchers held their breath.
He went over to the same bit of panelled wall he had been examining the night before.
And then a terrible knowledge smote Bill. He was going to sneeze! The wild race through the dew-laden park the night before had given him a chill. All day he had sneezed intermittently. A sneeze was due now, and nothing on earth would stop it.
He adopted all the remedies he could think of. He pressed his upper lip, swallowed hard, threw back his head and looked at the ceiling. As a last resort he held his nose, and pinched it violently. It was of no avail. He sneezed.
A stifled, checked, emasculated sneeze, but a startling sound in the deadly quiet of the room.
The stranger sprang round, and in the same minute Anthony acted. He flashed on his torch, and jumped full for the stranger. In another minute they were down on the floor together.
“Lights,” shouted Anthony.
Virginia was ready at the switch. The lights came on true and full tonight. Anthony was on top of his man, Bill leant down to give him a hand.
“And now,” said Anthony, “let’s see who you are, my fine fellow.”
He rolled his victim over. It was the neat, dark-bearded stranger from the Cricketers.
“Very nice indeed,” said an approving voice.
They all looked up startled. The bulky form of Superintendent Battle was standing in the open doorway.
“I thought you were in London, Superintendent Battle,” said Anthony.
Battle’s eyes twinkled.
“Did you, sir?” he said. “Well, I thought it would be a good thing if I was thought to be going.”
“And it has been,” agreed Anthony, looking down at his prostrate foe.
To his surprise there was a slight smile on the stranger’s face.
“May I get up, gentlemen?” he inquired. “You are three to one.”
Anthony kindly hauled him on to his legs. The stranger settled his coat, pulled up his collar, and directed a keen look at Battle.
“I demand pardon,” he said, “but do I understand that you are a representative from Scotland Yard?”
“That’s right,” said Battle.
“Then I will present to you my credentials.” He smiled rather ruefully. “I would have been wise to do so before.”
He took some papers from his pocket and handed them to the Scotland Yard detective. At the same time, he turned back the lapel of his coat and showed something pinned there.
Battle gave an exclamation of astonishment. He looked through the papers and handed them back with a little bow.
“I’m sorry you’ve been manhandled, Monsieur,” he said, “but you brought it on yourself, you know.”
He smiled, noting the astonished expression on the faces of the other.
“This is a colleague we have been expecting for some time,” he said. “M. Lemoine, of the Sûreté in Paris.”
XIX
Secret History
They all stared at the French detective, who smiled back at them.
“But yes,” he said, “it is true.”
There was a pause for a general readjusting of ideas. Then Virginia turned to Battle.
“Do you know what I think, Superintendent Battle?”
“What do you think, Mrs. Revel?”
“I think the time has come to enlighten us a little.”
“To enlighten you? I don’t quite understand, Mrs. Revel.”
“Superintendent Battle, you understand perfectly. I dare say Mr. Lomax has hedged you about with recommendations of secrecy—George would, but surely it’s better to tell us than have us stumbling on the secret all by ourselves, and perhaps doing untold harm. M. Lemoine, don’t you agree with me?”
“Madame, I agree with you entirely.”
“You can’t go on keeping things dark forever,” said Battle. “I’ve told Mr. Lomax so. Mr. Eversleigh is Mr. Lomax’s secretary, there’s no objection to his knowing what there is to know. As for Mr. Cade, he’s been brought into the thing willy-nilly, and I consider he’s a right to know where he stands. But—”
Battle paused.
“I know,” said Virginia. “Women are so indiscreet! I’ve often heard George say so.”
Lemoine had been studying Virginia attentively. Now he turned to the Scotland Yard man.
“Did I hear you just now address Madame by the name of Revel?”
“That is my name,” said Virginia.
“Your husband was in the Diplomatic Service, was he not? And you were with him in Herzoslovakia just before the assassination of the late king and queen.”
“Yes.”
Lemoine turned again.
“I think Madame has a right to hear the story. She is indirectly concerned. Moreover”—his eyes twinkled a little—“Madame’s reputation for discretion stands very high in diplomatic circles.”
“I’m glad they give me a good character,” said Virginia, laughing. “And I’m
