"Not at all!" said Paul Cremarre quietly. "How should I know? I mean nothing, except that Captain Francis Newcombe is a man like no other man in the world; that he is, as I once had the honour to remark—incomparable."
Runnells grunted over the wheel.
"I shan't ask him," he said tersely.
"Nor I," said Paul Cremarre.
Again there was silence; then the Frenchman spoke abruptly:
"Slower, Runnells. If I am not mistaken, we are arrived. The lodge gates can't be more than a quarter of a mile on, and the bit of lane that borders the park ought to be just about here—yes, there it is!"
Runnells stopped the motor; and then, with the engine running softly, backed it for a short distance from the main road down an intensely black, tree-lined lane.
"That's far enough," said Paul Cremarre. "We can't take any risk of being heard from the Hall. Now edge her in under the trees."
"What for?" grumbled Runnells. "It's so bloody dark, I'd probably smash her. She's right enough as she is. There's a fat chance of any one coming along this here lane at two o'clock in the morning, ain't there?"
"Runnells," said the Frenchman smoothly, "I quote from the book of Captain Francis Newcombe: 'Chance is the playground of fools.' Edge her in, my Runnells."
"Oh, all right!" said Runnells—and a moment later the lane was empty.
Still another moment, and the two men, each carrying two rather large-sized, empty travelling bags, began to make their way silently and cautiously through the thickly wooded park of the estate. It was not easy going in the darkness. Now and then they stumbled. Once or twice Runnells cursed fiercely under his breath; once or twice the Frenchman lost his urbanity and swore softly in his native tongue.
Five, ten minutes passed. And now the two reached the farther edge of the wooded park, and halted here, drawn back a little in the shadow of the trees. Before them was a narrow breadth of lawn; and, beyond, a great, rambling, turreted pile lay black even against the darkness, its castellated roof and points making a jagged fringe against the sky line.
Runnells appeared suddenly to find vent for his ill humour in a savage chuckle.
"What is it, Runnells?" demanded the Frenchman.
"I was just thinking that in the five or six years since I was here with Lord Seeton, you know, I ain't forgotten his nibs the Earl of Cloverley. I'd like to see his face in the morning! He's a crabbed old bird. My word! He'll die of apoplexy, he will! And if he don't, he won't be so keen on his 'ouse parties to visiting nabobs and cabinet ministers. He didn't send into London and get his gold service out of the bank for us when we were here."
"Perhaps," said the Frenchman gently, "he did not know that you were valeting Lord Seeton at the time—or perhaps it was because he did!"
"Aw, chuck it!" said Runnells gruffly. He stared at the black, shadowy building for a minute. Then abruptly: "It's two o'clock, ain't it? You looked, didn't you?"
"Yes," said Paul Cremarre. "I looked when we left the motor. The time's right. It was just ten minutes of two."
"Well, what the blinking 'ell's the matter now, then?" complained Runnells. "The place is as black as a cat. They're all in bed, aren't they?"
"That is not for me to say," replied the Frenchman calmly. "We will wait, Runnells."
Runnells, with another grunt, sat down on one of the bags, his back against a tree. The Frenchman remained standing, his eyes glued on the great house across the lawn.
"Aye," said Runnells after a moment, and chuckled savagely to himself again, "I'd give a bob or two, I would, to see the old boy in the morning! A fussy, nosey, old fidge-budget, that's what he is! A-poking of his sharp little nose into everything, and always afraid some 'un won't earn the measly screw he's paying for work he'd ought to pay twice as much for! It's no wonder he's rich!"
"You seem to have very pleasant recollections of your visit, Runnells," said the Frenchman slyly. "I wonder what he caught you at?"
"He didn't catch me!" said Runnells defiantly. "Though I'll say this, that if I'd known then that I was ever coming back now, I'd have kept my eyes peeled, and he'd be going into mourning for more'n his blessed gold plate to-night! He didn't bother me none, me being Lord Seeton's man, but at that I saw enough of him so that the talk that went on in the servants' hall wasn't in any foreign language that I couldn't tumble to. My eye!" said Runnells. "A rare state he'll be in!"
The Frenchman said nothing.
The minutes dragged along. Runnells too had relapsed into silence. A quarter of an hour passed. Then Runnells commenced to mutter under his breath and move restlessly on his improvised seat; and then, getting up suddenly, he moved close over beside the Frenchman.
"I say!" whispered Runnells uneasily. "I don't like this, I don't! What d'you suppose is up?"
"A great deal, I have no doubt, my Runnells," said the Frenchman imperturbably. "More perhaps than you and I could overcome in the same time—if at all."
"That's all right!" returned Runnells. "I'm not saying it ain't, but it's getting creepy standing here and staring your eyes out. I'm beginning to see the trees moving around and coming at you, and in every bit of breeze the leaves are like a lot of bloody voices whispering in your ears. I wish to Gawd you hadn't said anything about that night! It gives me the—"
"Look!" said the Frenchman suddenly.
From an upper window, out of the blackness of the building across the lawn, there showed a faint spot of light that held for a few seconds—and then, in quick succession, a series of little flashes came from the room within.
The two men stood motionless, intent, staring at the window.
The flashes ceased.
The Frenchman reached out and laid his hand on Runnells' arm.
"No need for a repeat," he said quickly. "You got it, didn't you?"
"My word!" exclaimed Runnells. "Two guards—butler's pantry—all clear! Strike me pink!"
The Frenchman laughed purringly under his breath.
"Did I not say he was incomparable? Come on, then, Runnells—quickly now!"
And now it was as though two shadows moved, flitting swiftly across the lawn, and along the edge of the building and around to the rear. And here they crouched before a doorway, and the Frenchman whispered:
"Don't be delicate about it, Runnells. This isn't any inside job! Nick it up badly enough so's a blind man could see where we got in."
"That's what I'm doing," said Runnells mechanically. His mind seemed obsessed with other things. "Two guards!" he muttered. And again: "Strike me pink!"
And after a moment, with both door and frame eloquent of the rough surgery that had been practised upon them, the door opened.
The two men entered, and closed the door silently behind them. An electric torch stabbed suddenly through the blackness and played for a moment inquisitively over its surroundings.
"'Tain't changed a bit, as I said when I saw the plan," commented Runnells.
They went on quickly. But where before there had been a steady play of the electric torch it winked now through the darkness only at intervals. A door opened here and there noiselessly; the footsteps of the men were cautious, wary, almost without sound. And then, as they halted finally, and the torch shot out its ray again, Runnells drew in his breath with a low, catchy, whistling sound.
The torch disclosed a narrow serving pantry, and, on the floor at one side, a great metal box or chest—obviously the object of their visit. But Runnells for the moment was apparently not interested in the chest.
"Look at that!" he breathed hoarsely—and pointed to the farther