cended.

Five minutes later they were in the open park, where their assistant
scouts awaited them. None of the others had found any indication of a
stranger's presence, and Farrow led them to the house in Indian file,
by a path.

"Scotland Yard is on the job," he announced. "Now we'll be told just
wot we reelly ought to have done!"

He did not even exchange a furtive glance with Bates, but, for the
life of him he could not restrain a note of triumph from creeping into
his voice. He noticed, too, that Tomlinson, the butler, not only
looked white and shaken, which was natural under the circumstances,
but had the haggard aspect of a stout man who may soon become thin by
stress of fearsome imaginings.

Farrow did not put it that way.

"Bates is right," he said to himself. "Tomlinson has something on his
chest. By jingo, this affair _is_ a one-er an' no mistake!"

At any rate, local talent had no intention of kowtowing too deeply
before the majesty of the "Yard," for the Chief of the Criminal
Investigation Department himself could have achieved no more in the
time than Police Constable Farrow.

CHAPTER III

THE HOUNDS

Superintendent James Leander Winter, Chief of the Criminal
Investigation Department at Scotland Yard, had just opened the
morning's letters, and was virtuously resisting the placid charms of
an open box of cigars, when the telephone bell rang. The speaker was
the Assistant Commissioner.

"Leave everything else, and motor to Roxton," said the calm voice of
authority. "Mr. Mortimer Fenley, a private banker in the City, was
shot dead about nine thirty at his own front door. His place is The
Towers, which stands in a park between the villages of Roxton and
Easton, in Hertfordshire. His son, who has just telephoned here,
believes that a rifle was fired from a neighboring wood, but several
minutes elapsed before any one realized that the banker was shot, the
first impression of the servants who ran to his assistance when he
staggered and fell being that he was suffering from apoplexy. By the
time the cause of death was discovered the murderer could have
escaped, so no immediate search was organized. Mr. Hilton Fenley, a
son, who spoke with difficulty, explained that he thought it best to
'phone here after summoning a doctor. The dead man is of some
importance in the City, so I want you to take personal charge of the
inquiry."

The voice ceased. Mr. Winter, while listening, had glanced at a cl