As I dashed forward to the gap in the boundary wall of the wood, I
nearly stumbled over a form lying across the narrow path.
So dark was it beneath the trees that at first I could not plainly make
out what it was until I bent and my hands touched the garments of a
woman. Her hat had fallen off, for I felt it beneath my feet, while the
cloak was a thick woolen one.
Was she dead, I wondered? That cry--that single word of
reproach--sounded in my ears, and it seemed plain that she had been
struck down ruthlessly after an exchange of angry words.
I felt in my pocket for my vestas, but unfortunately my box was empty. Yet just at that moment my strained ears caught a sound--the sound of someone moving stealthily among the fallen leaves. Seizing my gun, I demanded who was there.
There was, however, no response. The instant I spoke the movement
ceased.
As far as I could judge, the person in concealment was within the wood
about ten yards from me, separated by an impenetrable thicket. As, however, I stood out against the sky, my silhouette was, I knew, a well-defined mark for anyone with fire-arms.
It seemed evident that a tragedy had occurred, and that the victim at my
feet was a woman. But whom?
Of a sudden, while I stood hesitating, blaming myself for being without
matches, I heard the movement repeated. Someone was quickly
receding--escaping from the spot. I listened again. The sound was not
of the rustling of leaves or the crackling of dried sticks, but the low
thuds of a man's feet racing over softer ground. He had scaled the rough
stone dyke and was out in the turnip-field adjacent.
I sprang through the gap, straining my eyes into the gloom, and as I did
so could just distinguish a dark figure receding quickly beneath the
wall of the wood.
In an instant I dashed after it. But the agility of whoever the fugitive
was, man or woman, was marvelous. I considered myself a fairly good
runner, but racing across those rough turnips and heavy, newly-plowed
land in the darkness and carrying my gun soon caused me to pant and
blow. Yet the figure I was pursuing was so fleet of foot and so nimble
in climbing the high rough walls that from the very first I was outrun.
Down the steep hill to the Scarwater I followed the fugitive, crossing
the old footbridge near Penpont, and then up a wild winding glen towards
the Cairnsmore of Deugh. For a couple of miles or more I was close
behind, until, at a turn in the dark wooded glen where it branched in
two directions, I lost all trace of the person who flew from me. Whoever
it was they had very cleverly gone into hiding in the undergrowth of one
or other of the two glens--which I could not decide.
I stood out of breath, the perspiration pouring from me, undecided how
to act.
Was it Leithcourt himself whom I had surprised?
That idea somehow became impressed upon me and I suddenly resolved to go
boldly across to Rannoch and ascertain for myself. Therefore, with the
excuse that I was belated on my walk home, I turned back down the glen, and half an hour afterward entered the great well-lighted hall of the castle where the guests, ready dressed, were assembling prior to dinner.
I was welcomed warmly, as I was always by the men of the party, who
seeing my muddy plight at once offered me a glass of the sportsman's
drink in Scotland, and while I was adding soda to it Leithcourt himself
joined his guests, ready dressed in his dinner jacket, having just
descended from his room.
"Hulloa, Gregg!" he exclaimed heartily, holding out his hand. "Had a
long day of it, evidently. Good sport with Carmichael--eh?"
"Very fair," I said. "I remained longer with him than I ought to have
done, and have got belated on my way home, so looked in for a
refresher."
"Quite right," he laughed merrily. "You're always welcome, you know. I'd
have been annoyed if I knew you had passed without coming in."
And Muriel, a pretty figure in a low-cut gown of turquoise chiffon, standing behind her father, smiled secretly at me. I smiled at her in return, but it was a strange smile, I fear, for with the knowledge of that additional mystery within me--the mystery of the woman lying unconscious or perhaps dead, up in the wood--held me stupefied.