He ran into a tree trunk, barked his knee, and swore angrily then, more cautiously, with hands extended in the darkness, he crept forward. The eerie silence of the night shrouded glade was broken only by the snapping of twigs beneath his feet.
As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom he could just make out the boles of the big trees in time to avoid them, but the belt was much deeper than he had supposed, almost a strip of woodland, and he had to tiptoe a hundred yards before he emerged into the open.
He found himself then in a meadow, but there was no house or outbuilding in sight, such as he had expected. Turning right he warily continued his advance, sticking closely to the line of trees in order to be able to take cover behind them, if necessary, at a moment's notice, until he came up against an iron fence which bordered a gravel drive.
Remaining in the field he broke cover and proceeded, parallel with the drive, towards the centre of the park. After what seemed an interminable time the big field ended and he came to another wood. Clearing the fence he plunged again into heavy darkness down the driveway between the overhanging trees.
A moment later he caught a glimmer of light through the tree trunks and tiptoed forward until he reached the edge of the wood. Upon his left there was another great open space, a lawn with meadows beyond, perhaps, and on his right the drive broadened into a wide sweep before a long three storied house, up to which trees and bushes grew at both its wings.
The light came from an uncurtained downstairs window and by it Gregory could see clearly now a big closed car drawn up in front of the porch. As he watched, the light in the window was switched off, then four people came out of the darkened doorway and got into the car.
The engine of the motor purred. Next moment the beam of powerful headlights threw a golden glow on the gravel drive. Quick as a cat Gregory leapt back into the shadows and crouched there, dazzled for the moment by the blinding glare, and almost certain that his presence must have been discovered; but the car turned on the sweep and roared away in the opposite direction from which he had come, down the west drive which led to the Birchington Gate of the park and the road to London.
His glimpse of the car's occupants was brief but the man at the wheel and another seated beside him, like chauffeur and footman, had been wearing leather jackets so Gregory guessed them to be the pilots of the plane, while Lord Gavin Fortescue was hunched in the back seat and, next to him, wrapped in heavy furs above which her delicate profile rose as beautiful as a cameo, Sabine had been sitting.
Gregory released his breath with a little sigh of satisfaction at the success of his hunch to follow the solitary plane. It had led him to Lord Gavin's headquarters in England, which was, perhaps, more valuable even than finding one of the places where the contraband was landed.
As soon as the car had disappeared he stepped out from the trees and examined the front of the house. It was now in total darkness and the whole place seemed to be unoccupied. He scanned the lawns before it for the plane, but that was nowhere to be seen, so he assumed it had been run into a hangar, and tiptoed towards the far end of the house to see if he could find any building in which it might be garaged.
Passing through the shrubberies there he came upon some greenhouses and then two high windowless buildings which he thought might have been built for squash or as covered tennis courts.
He beat a gentle tattoo with his fingertips upon the locked door of one of these while he considered the situation. He felt that his luck was very definitely in tonight and that the house might hold all sorts of interesting secrets. This was far too good an opportunity to try and unearth some of them for him to even think of rejoining Rudd and flying back to London yet awhile. The problem was how to force an entry into the house?
Behind the big brick buildings he could just make out, in the faint starlight, a row of outhouses, stables and garages. Proceeding between them with a cautious, almost catlike step, he passed a fifteen foot brick wall with espaliered fruit trees on it; the eastern extremity of a fine walled garden. Turning right, he found himself at the back of the house itself. This too was wrapped in heavy silence and no light came from any of the windows.
Tiptoeing forward across the gravel, so that it barely crunched under his feet, his shoulders hunched, his eyes alert, like some prowling cat, he stalked along the rear side of the house, examining each window with the aid of his torch, which he now no longer feared to show as the place seemed to be quite deserted.
At last he found a spot suitable for his purpose; a small uncurtained window through which he could see a sink. The place appeared to be a scullery and a corner of the window frame was broken. Getting his fingers into the aperture he wrenched with all his might. There was a sharp crack of splintering wood as the catch was torn from its socket and one half of the window swung out towards him. Reaching inside he undid the bolt which held the other half and drew the casement wide open.
Gripping the sill with both hands, he put his head inside, and was just about to lever himself up when he caught the sound of a stealthy, footfall on the gravel close behind him.
8
A Night of Surprises
Gregory jerked his head out of the window and spun round to confront a tall man who had just emerged from the shadows of the shrubbery half a dozen yards away.
The man was alone and did not appear to be armed. A caretaker or keeper perhaps, thought Gregory. He swung his torch meditatively in his right hand. It was long and thicker than a policeman's baton. The big automatic was in his pocket but he had no intention of using it in England, or anywhere else for that matter, unless he found himself trapped and his life in actual danger.
'Come here said the man, 'and no monkey tricks or you'll regret it.'
Gregory came three slow steps forward. He meant to hit the man, and hit him very hard indeed, so that there should be no necessity to hit him a second time. The side of the neck was the place; just in line with the jaw bone. A good crack there, over the jugular vein, with the torch would out the fellow before he had time to shout for help and bring any friends he might have about the place on to the scene of action.
Gregory's empty left fist lifted in a feint, but dropped again almost as quickly, when the man took a swift step backwards and snapped: 'Stop that. I've got a gun here.'
It was only then Gregory realised a thing that he had failed to notice before owing to the difficult light. The man's right hand was thrust into his jacket pocket, which bulged ominously.
For a moment Gregory hesitated; wondering whether to risk an attack. To have to surrender tamely to one of Lord Gavin's men would not only be infuriating but definitely dangerous. He would probably be thrown into some cellar and guarded closely until Lord Gavin visited the place again, and, knowing how utterly unscrupulous the crooked financier was, he did not fancy that prospect at all. He knew that if Lord Gavin made up his mind that he had been spying upon his secret operations he was capable of having him murdered. The interests he had to conceal were so vital and far-reaching that he certainly would not hesitate at taking human life in order to protect them.
On the other hand, this tall fellow who had caught him just as he was about to break into the house seemed a cool customer; not at all the sort to be trifled with. Here, in the silent depths of this great park, a mile or more from the main road or any other habitation no one would hear the shot if the fellow used his gun; and it was highly probable that Lord Gavin had given instructions that if a spy were found about the place this fellow was to take no chances, but shoot rather than risk an unauthorised visitor getting away with any information he might have secured.