Though he was not anxious to make himself conspicuous, he had to flash on his torch twice to get the line.

  “I can’t be very far from it now,” he said to himself presently, shifting the spade from one shoulder to another, as he came abreast of some gorse bushes. “I saw these in the photograph. Must be somewhere within twenty yards of this.”

  Chapter XXV

  THERE was a curious singing in Ned’s ears. His head was throbbing, and there seemed to be weights on his eyelids. He had the sensation of a man in a dentist’s chair, who comes slowly to after gas, and, in a few seconds, that appear like æons, goes through the weighty and depressing business of coming again to life.

  Yes, he must be at the dentist’s, he decided. He could hear the man’s voice speaking as through many folds of cloth. But no rays of light filtered through the tissue of his eyelids. The room must be dark. What the dickens did it mean? Dentists couldn’t operate in a dark room. And what was the matter with his body? It was so heavy, laden, and unresponsive.

  He felt himself lifted suddenly. He knew he was being lifted almost in an upright position, arms about his thighs, he felt a shoulder in his chest, and then his head drooped down. Were they hanging him? For what? Some one had killed some one. But it was all a mistake. Now he was being joggled along. He opened his eyes for a moment, but saw nothing; it was all dark about him.

  What world was he in? The question answered itself absurdly. Within an inch of his nose was something that smelt faintly of cloth, mildly of perspiration; the pressure of the shoulder which was now on his stomach gave his awakening senses the impression that he was being carried slung over some one’s shoulder, like a sack. Quite near him there was heavy breathing. He swayed regularly.

  With awakening came the ache in his head again, something at the back, and, with that, realisation that somewhere was wrong. He must cry out, give an alarm. He tried several times without success, and then, at the fourth attempt, a curious strangled shrill cry broke from his lips. The jolting ceased. He was put down, his shoulders rested on a hard knee, and a familiar voice spoke.

  “It’s all right, sir. It’s all right.”

  “Is it out ?” said Ned, and then began to laugh rather hysterically.

  “Out for good,” said Brews. “Easy now, sir! I’m here. You’re fit to take a drop of brandy now. I thought you had gone west at first.”

  Ned stared up at the face invisible above him in the dark. He must be in Hampshire. That was where Brews had gone. Somehow, he must have driven down to look for the inspector, and had a crash.

  A flask was put to his lips, and a few fiery drops of brandy were doled into his mouth.

  “Swallow that,” said Brews.

  Ned swallowed. A few more drops came, and he swallowed those.

  “Where am I?” he asked, weakly.

  “On the road,” said Brews. “I’ve sent Hoggett off to scout round. “But don’t worry. I’m going to carry you into your house in a minute or two. Just a drop more, and we’ll go on.”

  Ned drank. He realised now that the less he exerted himself the sooner he would be able to move and recover. He knew where he was at last. He had gone down to Fen Court, gone out to look at the hide.

  Brews took him up again, and carried him along very carefully down the short lane. Outside the door of Fen Court he felt in Ned’s pockets, produced the key, and laid his burden down while he opened the door. Then on again. He heard some one beyond, and a crackling sound. He was taken into a sitting-room, and there was brushwood burning in the wide old grate, and a burly man on his knees by the fire, feeding it.

  “Going all right, Sankey?” Brews asked, gently, letting Ned down, so that his back was against the wall.

  The burly man got up. “Fine, sir. Is the gentleman all right?”

  “Will be,” said Brews, cheerily. “Cut out for more wood. Leave your lantern here!”

  “Yes, sir,” said Sankey, who was evidently a policeman. “Did they get the fellow yet, sir?”

  “Not yet; but we shall,” said Brews.

  Sankey went out. Ned had his eyes open now, and was gazing curiously about him. It was a strange scene in which he found himself; the big, bare room, the little lantern throwing a pale and scanty beam on the floor, the flames from the dry brushwood leaping up and throwing dancing shadow on the walls, and, in the half-light, Brews, his face beaming, staring at Ned, and rubbing his hands together.

  “Feeling better, sir?” he asked.

  Ned felt a different man already. “Rather!” he said. “What happened to me? Can’t have been very serious, or I shouldn’t have come round so soon?”

  Brews nodded. “Good. It wasn’t. But an inch further up, and there might have been a different tale to tell.”

  Ned moved his feet and legs, moved his arms, and was chiefly conscious now of a dull ache just at the nape of his neck.

  “Did I crash?”

  “You were crashed,” said Brews, grimly. “You must have shifted a fraction, or the back of your skull would have been bashed in. But don’t worry about that now. As soon as you feel like it, I’ll drive you to Upperton in your car. We’ll make arrangements for you to spend the rest of the night at the ‘Blue Boar.’”

  Ned looked puzzled. “What time is it?”

  “Round about half-past eleven, sir, not more.”

  Ned put a hand to the back of his head. He withdrew it, and stared at it. There was a little blood on his fingers, and he bit his lip.

  “It’s very little; just broke the skin,” said Brews, watching him. “We’ll fix it up when we get to Upperton.”

  Ned shrugged.

  “I feel heaps better already. I say, put me in the car and let’s get off out of this.”

  “Sure you can manage, sir?”

  Ned nodded. “Yes, I think I can.”

  Brews came over, and helped him up, scientifically supported him, and walked him out. The policeman met them at the door. He dropped the brushwood he was carrying.

  “Can I help, sir?”

  “Yes, crank up the car, and get her started, see? We shan’t need the wood. We’re going into Upperton at once.”

  “Very well, sir. I’ll see to it.”

  “And tell the Superintendent we’ve gone, if he comes along.”

  Brews helped Ned into the car, while the constable whirled the crank viciously. The engine was cold, but, within a couple of minutes, the car got into gear and started off, with Brews at the wheel.

  Ned felt a bit sick at first, but that wore off, and he congratulated himself on having come off so lightly. He did not attempt to question Brews further about the matter, but worked it out for himself in silence as they drove along.

  He remembered now that he had taken a spade, and gone out to look at the hide Hench had made in the marsh. What had happened after that? He puzzled for a few moments, then had it. He had been very near the place for which he was searching, then he had passed a clump of gorse bushes—or had he passed them? No. It was at that point that his senses had left him.

  Surely he had not tripped and fallen, and struck the back of his head on the blade of the spade? No; he did not remember falling. Besides, Brews had told him that he had been “crashed” or “bashed.” That meant an outsider; some one who had hidden in the gorse clump, and attacked him when he came level with it.

  “Hench!” said Ned under his breath. “The little beast has been keeping an eye on the place, and thought I was after the bonds! Got away too! Didn’t that constable ask if they had caught him?”

  It was very puzzling and worrying, and yet it wasn’t. They knew who they were after now, and Hench would not get very far.

  “Have you sent some one to dig up the hide?” he asked Brews, suddenly.

  Brews turned towards him.

  “Hoggett will dig it up, sir; don’t worry about that,” he said. “If he gets the bonds there, we can make our arrest.”

  Ned felt happier. Things were moving. He had an extra grudge against the murderer now for giving him this sore head.

  “Does any one know who hit me?” he asked.

  Brews grunted. “Hoggett says he saw a man running like a hare; a small man. We’ll see.”

  Ned found that talking and thinking made his head ache more than ever. The shaking of the car was bad enough without that, and he sat back in his corner, closed his eyes, and did not speak again until they had driven into Upperton, and were at the “Blue Boar.”

  The little hotel was closed, but Brews soon had the door opened, and the half-dressed proprietor busy brightening up the kitchen fire. Ned was placed before it in an easy chair, and promptly asked for a light. When he had got a cigarette going, Brews announced that he must run round to the police station.

  “Sit quiet and rest, Mr. Hope,” he said, “I shan’t be ten minutes.” He was less, by many minutes. When he got to the door of the inn, he heard two men come stumping down the street, stopped and hailed them.

  “Constable Hoggett there?”

  The footsteps stopped. “Here, sir,” said Hoggett’s voice.

  “Come into the ‘Blue Boar,’ constable. Bates can get back to the station,” said Brews.

  Ned was surprised a few moments later, to see Brews step into the kitchen, followed by Hoggett, who was mopping his brow like a man who has had a hard run.

  “You didn’t catch the little man you saw, Hoggett?” said Brews, sitting down.

  Hoggett shook his head, disappointedly. “No, sir, what with my weight and the lumbagy I had recent, I didn’t. But he had a start of me. I stopped to see if the gentleman was dead before I give chase.”

  Ned smiled faintly. “Not quite dead yet, Hoggett,” he remarked. “Still it was kind of you to look. I wish you had gone on, though, and arrested the brute.”

  Brews nodded. “What actually happened, Hoggett?” he asked. “I haven’t had time to get your report properly.”

  Hoggett scratched his head, “Let me see, sir. I was patrolling down the main road near Fen Court when I thought I saw a flash or two in the marsh—the marsh.”

  “That would be Mr. Hope’s torch,” assented Brews, “well, you went towards the spot——”

  “Not at once, sir. I asks myself what it could be at that time of night, and wondered if it wasn’t one of those marsh lights. But it seem more like a torch, and I hide down and keep low.”

  “In the roadway?”

  “Just at first, sir, I did. Then I got in through the hedge, and crept along towards where the light was moving. I was pretty sure then t’was some one with a torch, and it might be the man we wanted, so I thought it would be wisest to fall in some distance behind him, to see where he was going, and what he was up to.”

  “You didn’t suspect that it might be Mr. Hope?”

  “No, sir, of course not. Well, I was about fifty yards behind, and going very cautious like, when I saw the gentleman fall. I run up, and as I runs up, a little man jumps out of the gorse, and cuts off. I stopped to see what had become of the man who’d fallen, and there he was, lying on his face, and looked mighty bad. I had just set off to chase the little fellow, when I ran into you and the Superintendent——”

  “Wait a moment,” Ned interrupted. “Weren’t you going down to Hampshire, Brews?”

  “I did go,” said the inspector. “But I was on a false trail, and came back at once. The superintendent wanted me to have a look round the marsh with him, and we set out. That’s where we came on Hoggett.”

  “Pity you weren’t a minute earlier, sir,” said the constable.

  “We both felt that, but it’s too late now to worry over it,” Brews replied. “All right, Hoggett. Get back to the station, and give your report to the station-sergeant.”

  “Now, sir,” said the inspector, when Hoggett had gone. “You must get to bed, and no bones about it. To-morrow will be time enough for talk. No doubt you feel better; what with the brandy and the excitement and all, but to-morrow you’ll feel the reaction, and worse, if you don’t rest now. The landlord’s made a bed up for you.”

  “Bed for me, and me for bed,” was the reply. “I feel fuzzy and silly. Perfectly putrid, to be honest! Give me an arm up.”

  Brews took his arm, helped him out of his chair, out of the kitchen, and up the stairs.

  “You’ve done well, sir,” he said, as they entered a bedroom where a fire had been recently lit. “Now I’ll help you off with your clothes, if you’ll let me.”

  “You’d make a dashed fine valet, Brews,” said Ned, as the inspector gently helped him to get ready for bed. “I’m glad you think I have given you a leg-up in the case.”

  Brews nodded and smiled. “You have, proper, sir. When you get near a plover’s nest, the plover comes out to dash at you. You lit on the nest of eggs to-night, I’ll swear! But now I must get on. I’ll be round in the morning to see how you are.”

  Chapter XXVI

  FOR some reason which she could not explain, though it was obvious enough, Nancy slept ill that night. She had gone to bed still thinking of the excursion Ned proposed to make after dark, and though, at first, she was pleased with the idea, and thought it an excellent one, doubts had begun to assail her later on.

  If Hench had really hidden the bonds in that hole in the marsh, was it not possible that he kept an eye on the place? Suppose he saw Ned making his way there, spied on him as he began to dig? She knew that Ned was capable of taking care of himself in any ordinary scrap, but a man who had callously murdered three people would hardly expose himself to an open attack. More likely he would strike from ambush, and against that kind of thing Ned would have no defence.

  It was this thought, subconsciously working while she slept, that gave her a disturbed night, and wakened her early in the morning with an ominous but inexplicable sense that something was wrong. She jumped out of bed at seven, took a hasty bath, then dressed quickly. Of course she must be mistaken. If anything had happened to Ned she would have heard of it. Brews or some one would have notified her.

  She kept saying that to herself, as she ate her breakfast, but the consolation became less and less convincing. Ned had gone out by night on the marsh in that lonely place. Brews and his men would have been busy all day; it was unlikely that they would have occupied themselves patrolling the marsh after dark.

  It was now just before nine. A man lying out in the open country near Fen Court might remain undiscovered till late in the day, for more than a day perhaps, in that unfrequented spot.

  She finished her breakfast and went to the telephone. She found it impossible to wait any longer for news of Ned. In ten minutes she got through to Upperton Station. The station-sergeant answered her call.

  “I suppose Inspector Brews is still away?” she asked, when she had made herself known.

  “No, Miss, he came back yesterday evening,” said the sergeant. “But he is over at the ‘Blue Boar’ at present, talking to Mr. Hope.”

  Nancy started. “Is Mr. Hope at the inn?”

  The sergeant assented. “The gentleman got a knock on the head last night, Miss. Nothing to hurt, but the inspector thought he would be better at the inn.”

  Nancy turned very pale. “Are you telling me the truth?” she cried, almost shrilly. “You’re sure he is not hurt seriously?”

  “I am quite sure of it, Miss,” was the reply. “Mr. Hope is all right this morning.”

  “Tell him I am coming down—Miss Johnson is coming down at once,” said Nancy, and rang off.

  She was very white and a good deal shaken when she ran upstairs to get ready. The sergeant had reassured her somewhat, but there was always the possibility that he had minimised the injury Ned had received.

  How right she had been in her fears, she said to herself, as she hurried in a taxi to Liverpool Street Station. Ned had been seen and followed, attacked and hurt. What an ass she had been not to ask the sergeant who had done it, and if they had taken the man.

  If Ned was not much hurt then it was obvious that he had put up a fight and not been taken altogether unawares. Of course Hench was a little man. He might be effective from ambush, but he would have no chance with Ned in a rough-and-tumble.

  She caught an early train with just a few seconds to spare, and felt better when she was rushing along towards Upperton. Ned was at the ‘Blue Boar.’ He was not unconscious, if Brews had gone over to talk to him. That was something. And Brews had come back early from Hampshire. Since he had only started yesterday morning, he could not have been there very long.

  When the train drew into the station, she poked her head out of the window and looked about eagerly. Then she saw Brews, and beside him Ned, who was waving to her. She drew her head in again, and wiped her eyes. By the time the train had stopped, and Ned was opening the door of her compartment, she was smiling gaily, and showed no traces of the emotion which had threatened to overwhelm her a few moments before.

  “Been in the wars, I hear, Ned,” she said, as he gripped her hand.

  “Not a word!” he cried, grinning. “Here’s Brews. He’ll tell you that my little private war is to be kept completely dark for the moment. No one, outside the police force, knows that the skirmish took place. But come along. We’re going to see Hench now, and the car is outside.”

  “Why, haven’t you arrested Hench yet?” she asked Brews, in a low voice.