The Lady Sleuths MEGAPACK TM(166)

                Miss Brooke appeared to be all-absorbed in the contents of this book during the first half of her journey. During the second, she lay back in the carriage with closed eyes, and motionless as if asleep or lost in deep thought.

                The stopping of the train at Huxwell aroused her, and set her collecting together her wraps.

                It was easy to single out the trim groom from Craigen Court from among the country loafers on the platform. Someone else beside the trim groom at the same moment caught her eye—Bates, from Scotland Yard, got up in the style of a commercial traveler, and carrying the orthodox “commercial bag” in his hand. He was a small, wiry man, with red hair and whiskers, and an eager, hungry expression of countenance.

                “I am half-frozen with cold,” said Loveday, addressing Sir George’s groom; “if you’ll kindly take charge of my portmanteau, I’d prefer walking to driving to the Court.”

                The man gave her a few directions as to the road she was to follow, and then drove off with her box, leaving her free to indulge Mr. Bate’s evident wish for a walk and confidential talk along the country road.

                Bates seemed to be in a happy frame of mind that morning.

                “Quite a simple affair, this, Miss Brooke,” he said: “a walk over the course, I take it, with you working inside the castle walls and I unearthing without. No complications as yet have arisen, and if that girl does not find herself in jail before another week is over her head, my name is not Jeremiah Bates.”



                             “You mean the French maid?”

                “Why, yes, of course. I take it there’s little doubt but what she performed the double duty of unlocking the safe and the window too. You see I look at it this way, Miss Brooke: all girls have lovers, I say to myself, but a pretty girl like that French maid, is bound to have double the number of lovers than the plain ones. Now, of course, the greater the number of lovers, the greater the chance there is of a criminal being found among them. That’s plain as a pikestaff, isn’t it?”

                “Just as plain.”

                Bates felt encouraged to proceed.

                “Well, then, arguing on the same lines, I say to myself, this girl is only a pretty, silly thing, not an accomplished criminal, or she wouldn’t have admitted leaving open the safe door; give her rope enough and she’ll hang herself. In a day or two, if we let her alone, she’ll be bolting off to join the fellow whose nest she has helped to feather, and we shall catch the pair of them ’twixt here and Dover Straits, and also possibly get a clue that will bring us on the traces of their accomplices. Eh, Miss Brooke, that’ll be a thing worth doing?”

                “Undoubtedly. Who is this coming along in this buggy at such a good pace?”

                The question was added as the sound of wheels behind them made her look round.

                Bates turned also. “Oh, this is young Holt; his father farms land about a couple of miles from here. He is one of Stephanie’s lovers, and I should imagine about the best of the lot. But he does not appear to be first favourite; from what I hear someone else must have made the running on the sly. Ever since the robbery I’m told the young woman has given him the cold shoulder.”

                As the young man came nearer in his buggy he slackened pace, and Loveday could not but admire his frank, honest expression of countenance.



                             “Room for one—can I give you a lift?” he said, as he came alongside of them.