The minister’s rug and umbrella and two leather bags were put into the car, he and Mr. Taylor got aboard, and off they went at last. Mr. Burnett had another glance at the chauffeur, and again was haunted by an odd sense of familiarity; but once they had started, the view of his back in the gathering dusk suggested nothing more explicit.
Presently they passed a corner, and the minister looked round uneasily.
“What road are you taking?” he asked.
“We’re going to join the coast road from Berwick,” said Mr. Taylor.
“Isn’t that rather roundabout?”
Mr. Taylor laughed jovially.
“My good James has his own ideas,” said he. “As a matter of fact, I fancy he knows the coast road and isn’t sure of the other. However, we needn’t worry about that. With a car like this the difference in time will be a flea-bite!”
He had provided the minister with another excellent cigar, and smoking in comfort behind a glass windscreen, with the dim country slipping by and the first pale star faintly shining overhead, the pair fell into easy discourse. Mr. Taylor was a remarkably sympathetic talker, the minister found. He kept the conversation entirely on his companion’s affairs, putting innumerable questions as to his habits and way of life, and indeed his whole history, and exhibiting a flattering interest in his answers. Mr. Burnett said to himself at last, with a smile, that this inquiring gentleman would soon know as much about him as he knew himself.
Once or twice the minister wondered how fast they were really going. They did not seem to him to be achieving any very extraordinary speed, but possibly that was only because the big car ran so easily. In fact, when he once questioned his companion, Mr. Taylor assured him that actually was the explanation. It was thus pretty dark when they struck the coast road, and it grew ever darker as they ran northward through a bare, treeless country, with the cliff edge never far away and the North Sea glimmering beyond.
They had reached an absolutely lonely stretch of road that hugged the shore closely when the car suddenly stopped.
“Hallo!” exclaimed Mr. Taylor, “what’s up?”
The chauffeur half-turned round and said in a low voice—
“Did you see that light, sir?”
“Which light?”
The chauffeur pointed to the dark stretch of turf between them and the edge of the cliffs.
“Just there, sir. I saw it flash for a second. I got a glimpse of someone moving too, sir.”
Mr. Taylor became intensely excited.
“A spy signalling!” he exclaimed.
“Looks like it, sir,” said the chauffeur.
Mr. Taylor turned to the minister with an eager, resolute air.
“Our duty’s clear, Mr. Burnett,” said he. “As loyal subjects of King George—God bless him!—we’ve got to have a look into this!”
With that he jumped out and stood by the open door, evidently expecting the minister to follow. For a moment Mr. Burnett hesitated. A vague sense that all was not well suddenly affected him. “Do not go!” something seemed to say to him. And yet as a man and a loyal subject how could he possibly decline to assist in an effort to foil the King’s enemies? Reluctantly he descended from the car, and once he was on the road, Mr. Taylor gave him no time for further debate.
“Come on!” he whispered eagerly; and then turning to the chauffeur, “come along too, James!”
Close by there was a gate in the fence, and they all three went through this and quietly crossed the short stretch of grass between the road and the cliffs, Mr. Taylor and the minister walking in front and the chauffeur following close at their heels. Now that the car was silent, they could hear the soft lapping of the water at the cliff foot, but that and the fall of their feet on the short crisp turf were the only sounds.
Mr. Burnett peered hard into the darkness, but he could see absolutely nothing. All at once he realised that they were getting very close to the brink, and that if there were anyone in front they would certainly be silhouetted against the sky. There could not possibly be any use in going further; why then did they continue to advance? At that a clear and terrifying instinct of danger seized him. He turned round sharply, and uttered one loud ringing cry.
He was looking straight into the chauffeur’s face, and it seemed as though he were looking into his own, distorted by murderous intention. Above it the man’s hand was already raised. It descended, and the minister fell on the turf with a gasp. He knew no more of that night’s adventure.
IV
Mr. Drummond’s Visitor
Upon a secluded road in the quiet suburb of Trinity stood the residence of Mr. Robert Drummond. It was a neat unpretentious little villa graced by a number of trees and a clinging Virginia creeper, and Mr. Drummond was a neat unpretentious little gentleman, graced by a number of virtues, and a devoted Mrs. Drummond. From the upper windows of his house you could catch a glimpse of the castled and templed hills of Edinburgh on the one side, and the shining Forth and green coasts of Fife on the other. The Forth, in fact, was close at hand, and of late Mr. Drummond had been greatly entertained by observing many interesting movements upon its waters.
He had looked forward to exhibiting and expounding these features to his friend Mr. Burnett, and felt considerably disappointed when upon the morning of the day when the minister should have come, a telegram arrived instead. It ran—
Unavoidably prevented from coming to stay with you. Shall explain later. Many regrets. Don’t trouble reply. Leaving home immediately.
As Mr. Drummond studied this telegram he began to feel not only disappointed but a trifle critical.
“Alec Burnett must have come into
