That the nocturnal visitor would prove to be Lady Clavering Cleek had not the smallest shadow of a doubt, although he marvelled much at her temerity in venturing into the grounds of the Grange after that experience at the wall door so short a time previously, and he therefore remained as breathless and as still as the shadows surrounding him, and waited the coming of events. Not, however, without some slight feeling of disappointment at the thought that, intricate and puzzling as this case had been, it now promised to be solved in such a tame and paltry manner; for if the newcomer should prove to be Lady Clavering, as, naturally, he had every reason for supposing, the affair would resolve itself into simply playing the part of eavesdropper at her interview with the General, and then making capital of the information thus obtained.

The intruder was advancing with extreme caution, but lacking his own peculiar gift of soundless stepping and noiseless movement, did not succeed in passing between hedge and coppice without the betraying rustle of disturbed leaves; and it was out of this circumstance the mischief which followed was formed.

The shrubbery where Ailsa was waiting lay but a rope's cast distant from the spot where Cleek now crouched; and as if the ill-luck which had balked him once before to-night was intent upon flooring him at all quarters, he had no sooner grasped the unwelcome fact—made manifest by the clearer sound of the approaching body as it came into closer range—that the steps were advancing in a direct line with that shrubbery than a thin, eager whisper pierced the stillness.

It was the voice of Miss Lorne, saying cautiously, yet distinctly:

"Goodness gracious! Why, Purviss! You don't mean to tell me it's you?"

Purviss! Not Lady Clavering, but Geoff Clavering's old valet, Purviss? Here was a facer to be sure. Well, well, you never can tell which way a cat will jump, and that's a fact.

Purviss, eh? So he, too, was in the know, was he? Of course he must be, to be playing the rÔle of Mercury and carrying messages between them in this secret manner. Cleek decided to have a look at Mr. Purviss, and a word or two as well, by George! For now, of course, he would make no attempt to go near that window.

The thought had no sooner presented itself to him than he acted upon it. With the speed of a hound, but with no more noise than a moving shadow, he left his hiding-place, skirted the house, got round to the front of it, crawled up the steps, then, rising suddenly, appeared to come out of the doorway and down the steps whistling, as he descended to the gardens and moved leisurely along in the direction of the shrubbery.

When he was within a foot of it he suddenly stopped, pulled out his cigarette case, struck a match as if for the purpose of smoking, and by the aid of that light saw standing within a yard of him Miss Ailsa Lorne in close conversation with a mild-mannered, mild-faced elderly person, upon whom the word "valet" was clearly written.

"Hullo, Miss Lorne, enjoying an evening ramble, too? May I be allowed to join you?"

"With pleasure, Mr. Barch," said Ailsa. Then she motioned toward the valet, who had stepped meekly back.

"Purviss has just come over from Lady Clavering to inquire for Mr. Geoffrey——"

"Ah, yes," said Cleek, smiling to himself unnoticed in the dark. "He left this afternoon, did he not? You have evidently just missed Sir Philip, who was himself here."

"Yes," added Ailsa, "I was just telling him, but it seems he has a message for General Raynor from Lady Clavering——"

"I thought as much," said Cleek to himself triumphantly, though aloud he remarked, calmly enough: "Ah! but the General has gone to bed. I heard him say that he was not to be disturbed, but if you care to give any message or letter, I'll go and knock him up."

"Oh, no, there's no need to do that, sir," replied Purviss hurriedly. "It's only a request for a gardening book if I happened to see General Raynor; of no importance at all, sir."

"I quite understand," said Cleek, the smile on his face hidden in the screening darkness.

"As for Mr. Geoffrey," put in Ailsa kindly, "he is quite safe. He went up to town on an errand for Lady Katharine——"

"Thank you, Miss," returned Purviss respectfully. "That will be a relief to her ladyship to know that. She was very anxious. Good-night, Miss! Good-night, sir!" With a deferential salute, the man turned and disappeared swiftly into the night.

"You see now," said Ailsa, "that I was right, that Geoff's absence would create such a panic at the Close that they would scour the place for news of him. First his father, and now Purviss. I thought you would be satisfied as to the truth of his mission directly I spoke."

"Yes," said Cleek quietly, "but he did not come here to seek Geoff Clavering. That was a lie. He came for the purpose of having an interview with some one else, and for the second time this night, Miss Lorne, you have unfortunately prevented me from hearing something which might have cleared this mystery up without any further search on my part. You remember how I rushed past you at the time when Dollops had set me on the track of the lady in pink? She came and she had an interview, or, at least, she had the beginning of an interview, with the man she was there to see. What's that? No, she was not Margot. She was Lady Clavering. Sh-h-h! Quiet! Quiet! Yes, she was Lady Clavering. And she had just accused the man she came to meet of having murdered De Louvisan, when your approach startled the pair of them and made them separate hurriedly. Miss Lorne, can you stand a shock? Good! Then hold your nerves under tight control. The man Lady Clavering met at the wall door to-night was the master of this house, General Raynor!"

She all but collapsed when she heard that.

"General Raynor?" she breathed in a horrified voice. "General Raynor? And Lady Clavering? Oh, but why, but how? Dear Mr. Cleek, it—it is like some horrible dream! What possible connection could there be between those two people of all others?"

"I don't know. I have a suspicion—it is my business to have that, you know—but I want something stronger. I shall have it soon. My work here in this house is pretty well finished, I fancy. Maybe to-morrow, maybe the next day, but this week certain, I shall be off to Malta. I am going to hunt up a man's army record there."

"The General's?"

"Yes. His and—well, possibly, some one's else. When I come back I promise you that I will have the solution to this riddle in my hands. What's that? Oh, yes, Margot is in it."

"Then why—then how can Lady Clavering——"

"Lady Clavering, it appears, knows Margot. So does the General, evidently, for she mentioned her name to him."

"Dear heaven! And you say that she accused him of the murder? Accused him? How could she?"

"She was there—at Gleer Cottage—last night. She went there to meet him. But she was not, however, the first to direct my suspicions against the General. That was done hours before and by a totally different person."

"Whom?"

"His son," said Cleek, and forthwith told her of that memorable interview with Harry Raynor after dinner, and of the typewritten letter he had abstracted from the young wastrel's coat pocket. "Miss Lorne, I waste no sympathy upon that worm," he went on. "From the top of his empty head to the toe of his worthless foot there's not one ounce of manhood in him. But he spoke the truth! His father did type that forged letter and for the purpose he declared."

"To get him out of the neighbourhood for the night?"

"Yes. And but for the mere accident of the fellow's having discovered that the typist girl was out of England, he would have succeeded without having to resort to other means."

"How do you know that the General typed the letter?" asked Miss Lorne.

"I didn't in the beginning," returned Cleek. "I did know, however, that it had been typed by somebody in this house; for I stole the letter, then tricked Hamer into getting me an unused sheet of the typing paper that was left over from the manuscript of the General's book. A glance at the watermark showed them to be identical; in other words, that the letter had been typed upon one of those left-over sheets. Well, that was one thing; the other was that the General, having failed to get his son out of the way for to-night by that means, took steps to accomplish it by drugging him."

"Drugging him?"

"Yes. Earlier in the day Purviss had brought him a note from Lady Clavering, and it was imperative that he should go out to-night to meet her in secret. He didn't want his son prowling about, and he didn't want me prowling about, either. Still less did he want you prowling about, or that his wife should know of his leaving the house after she had gone to bed. To make sure of having no such risk to run, he put a sleeping draught into every drop of spirit or liqueur that was served in this house to-night. What he had not reckoned upon, however, was the fact that neither you nor I tasted either. But at this moment his son lies drugged and unconscious in the dining-room, and it would be a safe hazard to stake one's life that his wife is lying unconscious in bed."

"But—but—are you sure there is no mistake?"

"No, Miss Lorne, there is no mistake. It was the General who did the drugging. I found the paper in which the sleeping draught had come from the chemist's in the waste basket in the library; and when I wanted to clench the belief and make it absolutely positive, I tricked the General into confessing that he stood in need of a stimulant after the stress of the night, then invited him to join me in one from the decanters in the dining-room. He knew what was in that liqueur and—he declined. I knew then that there was no mistake about his being the hand that had done the drugging, just as I had known previously that he was the man Lady Clavering had met at the wall door.

"When I rushed past you that time and raced through these grounds, I had no more idea than a child unborn who the man I was pursuing would prove to be. He might have been Harry Raynor; he might have been Lord St. Ulmer. I even said to myself that he might be any male member of this household from the General down; and my one idea was to get to the house and to find which man was missing. I found no one absent! St. Ulmer was in his bedroom; Harry Raynor was sleeping over the table in the dining-room; and as I came clattering down the stairs the General stepped out of the library to inquire into the cause of the disturbance. To all intents and purposes he had been in there reading the whole evening long. But it was a significant fact that as he opened the door and came out, I was able to see past him into the room and to discern that the curtains drawn over the swinging window were bellying inward, showing that the opening of the door had started a current of air which could be created only by the window behind them being likewise open.

"That gave me the first suspicion of a clue. I looked at the man himself for further evidence to back it up and, in the first glance, found it. There was black soil on the toes of his house shoes and a smudge of green wall-moss on his shirt cuff! I knew then just what he had done, and how I had failed to overhaul him in that hot race. He had simply ducked down out of sight, lain still in the bushes and allowed me to run past him. For me there was, of course, no other means of entering the house but by the door; for him there was the library window! He waited to give me time to get into the house, then rose, ran across the intervening space and back into the library by means of that window, and had had just about sufficient time to get there when I came rushing down the stairs. You will remember, will you not, that I spoke of those two things: the spot of black and smudge of green? You know now to what I alluded."

"It is wonderful and—yes, it is horrible also!" she said with a faint shudder. "What a day of horror this has been! I think the shadow of it will weigh upon me forever."

"Not if I can help it," said Cleek very gently, very tenderly. "And I count very, very much indeed, Miss Lorne, upon the possibility of making you bless it before the whole twenty-four hours of it have been rounded out. Don't you remember what I said to you about my hopes for the clearing of all shadows from the path of Geoff Clavering and Lady Katharine, about the theory of Loisette?"

"Loisette? That is the great French scientist, is it not? The first man who actually did establish a standard rule for the training of the memory and schools for the teaching of his system all over the world?"

"Yes, that is the man. His principle is somewhat akin to that of the principle of homoeopathy. 'Like cures like,' says the homoeopathist. 'Like produces like,' says Loisette, 'and the similarity of events acting upon the human mind may, by suggestion, produce similar results,' Well, last night Lady Katharine Fordham went through an experience which no living woman is ever likely to forget: the knowledge that hope of happiness is over, and that the man she loves is lost to her beyond all possible recall. This evening, in the ruin over there, she went through an exactly similar experience, and after some few hours of hope, was thrust rudely back into the absolute certainty that a barrier as high as heaven itself had come between Geoff Clavering and her. I stake my hopes upon that, Miss Lorne. I look for Loisette to be vindicated. I look for last night to be repeated in all particulars, and I am so hopeful of it that I have sent for Geoff Clavering to come here and be a witness to it."

"Sent for Geoff Clavering to come here—here?"

"Yes. At twelve o'clock he will be waiting for me at the lodge gates; and if all goes as I hope and believe that it will go—ah, well, it will be a blessed time for him, for her, for you! As for myself—but that doesn't matter. I shall have but one more thing to accomplish under the roof of this house, and then if the trail leads elsewhere, I'll be off to Malta as fast as steam can take me."

"And that one thing, Mr. Cleek? May I ask what it is?"

"Yes, certainly. It is to discover Lord St. Ulmer's part in this elusive business, and then to be absolutely certain of getting at the man who killed the Count de Louvisan, and at the reason for the crime."

"The reason? The man?" repeated Ailsa in utter bewilderment. "I thought you said just now that you were satisfied regarding that? Why, then, should you speak as if there were a possibility of Lord St. Ulmer being concerned in the murder if you are seemingly so sure that General Raynor did it?"

"General Raynor? Good heavens above, Miss Lorne, get that idea out of your mind! Why, General Raynor is no more guilty of the murder of De Louvisan than you are!"