He passed slowly out of London, for all the streets in the metropolis seemed to be “up,” and at last struck the open country, avoiding the main roads and taking a more circuitous route which would bring him to the main Sussex road between Dorking and Horsham. With a clear road before him, he sent his car at full speed. He was not well acquainted with the road, but he knew that it joined the old Roman “street” at a gentle angle, and he did not slow down as he approached the principal thoroughfare.

Left of him, on the London side, the road was clear; to the right, the view was a little obstructed. He sounded his klaxon and came out on to the main thoroughfare at thirty miles an hour.

He saw the car just in time, jammed on his brakes and threw the machine into reverse. The big car ahead of him skidded round; he caught one malevolent gleam from Dick Alford’s eyes, and then he saw the bag and, driving to the side of the road, picked it up. His first inclination was to leave it; he had no particular desire to help the second son; but there are certain innate decencies to be observed by motorists, even though they loathe each other, and he picked the little bag from the pavement and threw it into the back of his car.

As he did so, it opened, and, turning to fasten it, he saw something that made him change his mind. Getting out of the car, he lifted the bag to the pavement, opened it wide and pulled out – the sombre habit and cowl of the Black Abbot!

52

So Dick Alford was the Black Abbot! It was unbelievable; he could hardly credit the importance of his find. Here, then, was the greatest lever of all. Beside this, the threat of a charge against Leslie Gine’s brother faded to unimportance. He snapped the lock, put the bag carefully back in the car, and, restarting his engine, moved at a slower pace towards Chelfordbury.

He stopped in the village, where he was recognised, and heard at first hand from the innkeeper the story of the strange happenings at the “big house.”

“They do say that something’s happened to the young lady from Willow House.”

“What!” Gilder almost shouted the word. “You don’t mean Miss Gine?”

“Yes, Miss Gine,” nodded the landlord. “I haven’t got the rights of it yet, it’s only a rumour down here, but, Lord bless your heart, Mr Gilder, there’s never been so many rumours in this village since I came to live here forty-eight years ago. Some say that his lordship’s been murdered” – he lowered his voice and looked round – “by his brother! Mr Alford is a very hard man, though the people who work for him have got nothing to say against him, but that doesn’t seem possible to me.”