presently.

"Yes, sir. If I don't make a mistake, it is the same lady who asked me
the way to The Yews soon after Mr. Bailey took the house--the lady who
came with the man whom she addressed as 'Doctor'!"

"Are you quite certain of this?"

"Not quite certain. She was dressed differently, in brown--with a
different hat and a veil."

"They came only on that one occasion, eh?"

"Only that once, sir."

"But why, I wonder, is she going to The Yews? Pietro, you say, went up to
London this morning?"

"Yes, sir, by the nine-five. And the house is locked up--she's evidently
unaware of that."

"No doubt. She'll go there, and, finding nobody at home, turn away
disappointed. She must not see us."

"We'll take good care of that, sir," laughed the local sergeant breezily,
as he left his companion's side and crossed the road so that he could see
the bend. "Why!" he exclaimed, "she ain't goin' to Asheldham after all!
She's taken the footpath to the left that leads into Steeple! Evidently
she knows the road!"

"Then we are free to go straight along to The Yews, eh? She's making a
call in the vicinity. I wonder where she's going?"

"Your friend will ascertain that," said the sergeant. "Let's get along to
The Yews and 'ave a peep round."

Therefore the pair, now that Enid was sufficiently far ahead along a
footpath which led under a high, bare hedge, went forth again down the
high road until, after crossing the brook, they turned to the right into
Asheldham village, where, half-way between that place and New Hall, they
turned up a short by-road, a cul-de-sac, at the end of which a big,
old-fashioned, red-brick house of the days of Queen Anne, half hidden by
a belt of high Scotch firs, came into view.

Shut off from the by-road by a high, time-mellowed brick wall, it stood
back lonely and secluded in about a couple of acres of well wooded
ground. From a big, rusty iron gate the ill-kept, gravelled drive took a
broad sweep up to the front of the house, a large, roomy one with square,
inartistic windows and plain front, the ugliness of which the ivy strove
to hide.

In the grey light of that wintry afternoon the place looked inexpressibly
dismal and neglected. Years ago it had, no doubt, been the residence of
some well-to-do county family; but in these twentieth-century post-war
days, having been empty for nearly ten years, it had gone sadly to rack
and ruin.

The lawns had become weedy, the carriage-drive was, in places,