as strewn a quantity of papers.

As he flashed his torch round he was amazed to see, arranged upon a neat
deal table in a corner, some curious-looking machinery which looked
something like printing-presses. But they were a mystery to him.

The discovery was a strange one. What it meant he did not then realise.
There seemed to be quite a quantity of apparatus and machinery. It was
this which had been conveyed there in those furniture vans of the Trinity
Furnishing Company.

He heard Deacon's voice calling again. Therefore, having satisfied
himself as to the nature of the contents of that neglected old house, he
ascended the stone steps into the passage which led through a faded
green-baize door into the main hall.

As he entered he heard voices in loud discussion. Sergeant Deacon and the
servant Pietro had met face to face.

The Italian had evidently aroused the villagers in Asheldham, for there
were sounds of many voices of men out on the gravelled drive.

"I came up here a quarter of an hour ago," the Italian cried excitedly in
his broken English, "and somebody fired at me. They tried to kill me!"

"But who?" asked Deacon in pretended ignorance. He was uncertain what to
do, Mr. Fetherston being still within the house and the ladder, his only
means of escape, still standing against a side wall.

"Thieves!" cried the man, his foreign accent more pronounced in his
excitement. "I challenged them, and they fired at me. I am glad that you,
a police sergeant, are here."

"So am I," cried Walter Fetherston, suddenly throwing open the front door
and standing before the knot of alarmed villagers, though it was so dark
that they could not recognise who he was. "Deacon," he added
authoritatively, "arrest that foreigner."

"Diavolo! Who are you?" demanded the Italian angrily.

"You will know in due course," replied Fetherston. Then, turning to the
crowd, he added: "Gentlemen, I came here with Sergeant Deacon to search
this house. He will tell you whether that statement is true or not."

"Quite," declared the breezy sergeant, who already had the Italian by the
collar and coat-sleeve. "It was I who fired--to frighten him off!"

At this the crowd laughed. They had no liking for foreigners of any sort
after the war, and were really secretly pleased to see that the sergeant
had "taken him up."

But what for? they asked themselves. Why had the police searched The
Yews? Mr. Bailey was a quiet, inoffensive man, very free wit