What a fat, smug, oily face the man had, and surely there was something

decidedly shifty in his eye.

 

“Mr. Ackroyd particularly does not want to be disturbed,” I said coldly. “He

told me to tell you so.”

 

“Quite so, sir. I—I fancied I heard the bell ring.”

 

This was such a palpable untruth that I did not trouble to reply.

 

Preceding me to the hall, Parker helped me on with my overcoat, and I stepped

out into the night. The moon was overcast and everything seemed very dark and

still. The village church clock chimed nine o’clock as I passed through the

lodge gates. I turned to the left towards the village, and almost cannoned into

a man coming in the opposite direction.

 

“This the way to Fernly Park, mister?” asked the stranger in a hoarse voice.

 

I looked at him. He was wearing a hat pulled down over his eyes, and his coat

collar turned up. I could see little or nothing of his face, but he seemed a

young fellow. The voice was rough and uneducated.

 

“These are the lodge gates here,” I said.

 

“Thank you, mister.” He paused, and then added, quite unnecessarily, “I’m a