The man's audacity in coming there openly and boldly as Lord
Stanchester's guest so utterly astounded me that my very words froze
upon my lips. Was this some further development of the intrigue in
which one man had already lost his life?
Yet the visitor, bluff and hearty of speech, stood smiling at me with a
calmness that was absolutely amazing. In the first instant, I wondered
whether the dim light of the corridor had deceived me, or whether his
face only resembled in a marked degree the dusty wayfarer who had
refreshed himself with such gusto at the _Stanchester Arms_. Suddenly I
recollected that although I had watched him on that hot afternoon, he
had been unable to see me where I remained in the publican's back
parlour. There was a screen on purpose to hide any person seated in the
little low inner room from the vulgar gaze of those in the tap-room, and
at the moment he had faced me I had been peeping round the corner
watching him. As I crossed the room he had seen my back, of course, but
his self-assurance at the moment of our meeting made it quite plain that
he did not recognise me.
The dim light having concealed my surprise, I quickly regained my
self-possession, and with effusive greeting asked him into my room.
"Lord Stanchester, her ladyship, and most of the party are still out," I
explained. "There's been a big shoot to-day. He asked me to entertain
you until he returned," I said, when he had seated himself in an
armchair.
His tall figure seemed somewhat accentuated; his dark face, however, no
longer wore that expression of weariness, but on the other hand he
seemed hale and hearty, and had it not been for his rather rough speech,
he might, in his well-cut suit of grey tweed, have passed for a
gentleman.
"Oh! her ladyship is at home, then?" exclaimed the man who called
himself Smeeton. "I've not yet had the pleasure of meeting her. In
fact I haven't been in England since the Earl's marriage."
"You're a big-game hunter, I hear," I remarked.
"I shoot a little," was his modest rejoinder. "I shot with Lord
Stanchester in Africa, one season, and we had fair sport. I notice that
he has some of his trophies in the hall. By Jove!" he added. "He's a
splendid sportsman--doesn't know what fear is. When we were together he
got in some very tight corners. More than once it was only by mere
chance that there was an heir left to the title. It wasn't through
recklessness either, but sheer pluck."
He at any rate seemed to possess an unbounded admiration for my friend.
"You spend most of your time abroad?" I remarked, hoping to be able to
gather some further facts.
"Well, yes. I have a house abroad," he answered. "I find England a
nice place to visit occasionally. There's no place in the world like
London, and no street like Piccadilly. But I'm a born wanderer, and am
constantly on the wing in one or other of the five continents, yet at
infrequent intervals I return to London, stand for a moment beside the
lions in Trafalgar Square, and thank my lucky planet that I'm born an
Englishman." He laughed in his own bluff hearty way.
And this was the man of whom both Lolita and Lady Stanchester lived in
such mortal terror!
He took a cigarette, lit it, and leaned back in the chair with an easy
air of comfort, watching the smoke ascend.
"Pretty country about here, it seems," he remarked presently. "The
drive from Kettering station is a typical bit of rural English scenery.
The green of the fields is refreshing after the scorched lands near the
Equator. What's the partridge season like? It seems an age since I
shot a bird in England."
"Oh! They're fairly strong," I replied. "The spell of wet was against
them in the early season, but I believe the bags are quite up to the
average."
"And who's here just now?"
I enumerated a list of his fellow-guests, in which I saw he was greatly
interested.
"There's Lord and Lady Cotterstock, Sir Henry Kipton, General Bryan,
Captain Harper, the Honourable Violet Middleton, Count Bernheim, the
German Ambassador, Lady Barford, Mr Samuel Woodford--"
"Sammy Woodford!" he exclaimed, interrupting me. "How long has he been
here?"
"Ever since the opening of the season. Are you acquainted?"
"Well--not exactly," he responded evasively. "I've heard a good deal
about him from mutual friends. I'll be glad to meet him. He's the man
who was in the Chitral affair. They swear by him in India."
"So I believe," I remarked, puzzled at the strange expression which
crossed his features when I mentioned the name of the Earl's very
intimate friend. Mr Samuel Woodford, or "Sammy" to his intimates, was
a district superintendent of Bengal Police, who was home on two years'
leave, a short well-preserved fair-headed man, a splendid athlete, a
splendid shot, a splendid tennis and polo player. At Sibberton, where
he had been a guest on several occasions, he was a great favourite, for
he was always the merriest of the house-party and the keenest where
sports or games were concerned.
Stanchester liked him because he was so perfectly honest and straight.
The very look in his clear steel-grey eyes spoke truth, uprightness and
a healthy life, and after their first meeting, one season at Cowes, his
lordship had taken a great fancy to him.
"Anybody else I'm likely to know?" asked the visitor, with a
carelessness which I knew was assumed.
"Well, there's the Marchese Visconti, of the Italian Embassy, young Hugh
Hibbert from Oxford, and `Poppa,' as they call the newly-made Lord
Cawnpore. And the honourable Lucy Whitwell, the daughter of Lady
Drayton."
"Is she here also?" he exclaimed, looking at me in quick surprise, which
he did not attempt to disguise. "She's with her mother, of course?"
I responded in the affirmative, and recognised by his manner that the
presence of the lady in question somewhat nonplussed him. Possibly she
might be acquainted with him as Richard Keene, seafarer, and he
anticipated an awkwardness about his introduction as the celebrated
big-game hunter.
I anticipated a scene when the Countess met him, and was inwardly glad
that at least Lolita was absent.
Ought I to warn the Countess, I wondered? She had, I remembered,
appealed to me to assist her, and surely in this I might. Nevertheless,
if her husband were in ignorance of the man's real identity, it was not
likely that he would expose it willingly, or seek to injure her
ladyship, or make any demonstration before her guests. On the one hand,
I felt it my duty to give her warning of the stranger's arrival, while
on the other I feared that by doing so I might be defeating the ends
which the man Keene might have in view, namely, the discovery of the
real author of the crime in Sibberton Park.
Thus I remained, undecided, continuing to chat with him, watching his
attitude carefully, and seeking to learn from his conversation something
regarding his intentions.
"I should imagine Lord Stanchester to be a very lucky fellow," he
remarked presently. "If the photographs one sees in the papers are any
criterion, her ladyship must be a very beautiful woman."
"Yes," I answered, smiling. He was very cleverly trying to impress upon
me the fact that they had never met. His shrewd cunning showed itself
in the sidelong glance he gave me.
At that moment the door suddenly opened, and Lord Stanchester, in his
rough shooting kit, came in.
"Halloa, Smeeton! Welcome, my dear fellow!" he cried, wringing his
guest's hands. "Excuse my being away, won't you? I've got a lot of
people here, you know, and had to go out with them. By Jove! When you
said good-bye to me and left the boat at Zanzibar, I never expected to
see you again?"
"Well, here I am--turned up in England again, you see!" he replied
merrily. "When we parted I had no intention of coming back. But
somehow, on occasions, a longing for home comes over me, and I'm drawn
back to London irresistibly. I see," he added, "some of the trophies
are up in the hall."
"Yes," laughed his lordship. "I had them all mounted. And often when I
look at them, they bring back pleasant recollections of those many weeks
we were together. Well," he added, "I'm very pleased, Smeeton, to see
you here at Sibberton--very. My wife knows you're here; she'll be
delighted to meet you. I'm sure. I've often spoken of you, and told
her how you saved me from that lioness. By Jove! I was within an ace
of being done--and should have been if you hadn't been such a dead
shot."
"Oh, that's enough," laughed the guest, modestly. "I can't shoot
partridges--that you'll see."
The Earl walked to the mantelshelf, took a cigarette, and lit it,
saying--
"I see Woodhouse has been making you at home. This is Willoughby
Woodhouse, my friend as well as my secretary," he exclaimed. "I spoke
of him, I believe."
"You did, on several occasions," and turning, Smeeton added, "I'm
delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr Woodhouse. His lordship said
all sorts of kind things about you."
But I scarcely heeded the newcomer's remarks. I was wondering what
would occur when he met her ladyship face to face.
"I want you to have a good time, my dear fellow," exclaimed the Earl to
his guest. "Just make yourself at home. You'll find the house a big
barrack of a place, too big in fact--but with the aid of the servants
you'll very soon discover the proper trails. If you don't, just go into
the nearest room, ring the bell and wait. That's what most people do.
My wife was fully six months before she could find her way about
properly--it's a fact! She wanted to shut up the place and live in the
new wing. But," he added, "the old guv'nor always kept it up properly,
and I feel it my duty to do just as he did."
That a cordial friendship existed between the pair was plain, and yet I
had only once heard his lordship mention him, and that was in the
smoking-room when daring feats of big-game hunting and the achievements
of Selous and others were being discussed. Then he had declared that he
knew a man that held his own with them all--a man named Smeeton, who had
spent the greater part of his life exploring and hunting, some of whose
trophies, sold to well-known dealers, were the finest in the world.
His lordship was never a boastful man, and had not referred at all to
his acquaintance with this renowned hunter, nor to his own African
exploits, which were in no way a mean achievement.
He had just ordered Slater to bring in whiskies-and-sodas, as it was his
habit to have a "peg" before dressing, when there sounded out in the
corridor a light quick footstep, and the scamper of a dog, and the next
instant the door opened, and the Countess of Stanchester halted on the
threshold, facing the man she held in such deadly fear--Richard Keene!