from the station? Five miles? Why, the moon doesn't rise till nearly seven! He'll have a lot of time on his hands. We'll start at one o'clock precisely, arriving at 6.15, and be in good time to prevent him making a fool of himself that is to say, if the effect of the potion has not worn off, for if it has I'm certain that there will be no need for our interference. Now we've just time to make a few arrangements. I will telegraph for some sort of a gig to take us from the station to the Tor, and I'll have the Tor watched, so as to be on the safe side, and the local police shall keep an eye on the station, and -but I'll tell you all I have done when we are in the train. Now you must go home at once, get some wraps, and pack up your night-gear, because we certainly shan't be back till to-morrow. You'll have to deceive your mother a little, but of course you won't mind that! Tell her I insist on taking you down to Exmoor to choose a pony, or any other likely story that you can invent. You will have lunch with me in the train. Away with you, keep up your spirits, and be on the Waterloo platform, main line, not later than five minutes to one. I believe I was intended by nature to be a detective. I

did some work of the kind when I was a young man, and the regular police did not like it at all-said I was taking the bread out of their mouths! And that," he added thoughtfully, "has always struck me as such a very unpleasant figure of speech.'

*

*

*

*

Sir Peregrine's arrangements, the relation of which in detail would be tedious, were made with the rapidity which invariably characterized his actions. Before he arrived at the rendezvous on the platform at Waterloo he had instructed his own servant and Mr. Ernshaw's to meet him there with bagfuls of necessaries, and had paid a visit to Scotland Yard, where, in an interview with a friend in high position, he briefly explained the facts of the case. From this personage he received the assurance that instructions should be sent by telegraph to the Inspector of Police at Burnt Down to look out for the arrival of Mr. Ernshaw at the station, and to keep an

eye, in an unobtrusive plain-clothes way on his subsequent movements. The Inspector would also be told to station two constables near the summit of the Tor at nightfall, whose duty would be to lie in wait, and watch the proceedings of a gentleman who might be expected to repair thither; and should he display suicidal intentions, to seize, disarm, and convey him to the little local police station near the foot of the Tor, where his friends would be waiting to receive him.

On arrival at Waterloo, Sir Peregrine inquired whether any passengers had been booked for Burnt Down by the 9.50 train that morning, and was informed that one such ticket had in fact been issued; and as Burnt Down was not a place to which the London public flocked in any noticeable number, Sir Peregrine was pleased to consider that the hypothesis on which he was acting had received some of the support which it so greatly needed.

Miss Nevil and the servants were punctual in their arrival; and Sir Peregrine, who had decided that the adventure should be carried through in the presence of as few witnesses as possible, explained to the men that their further services were not needed. To Mr. Ernshaw's servant, who was evidently disappointed at being left behind, he made some encouraging remarks, and advised him to be reticent on the subject of his master's proceedings. Jane took her place in the compartment, the baronet followed her, and the train moved out of the station. Where they were to sleep that night, and what to do with Mr. Ernshaw if they caught him, were subjects to which they had not given any consideration.

The English valet stared gloomily at the train as it drew out of sight, and, after a moment's silence, observed to his companion: "I don't know what your opinion may be, but even if I could feel sure that Mr. Ernshaw was all right I should call this a rum go.

Achmet, who was ignorant of the object of the journey and to whom no proceedings on the part of his master ever caused the least surprise, only smiled assentingly. Perhaps he was dimly conscious that the luxuriance of

an Oriental vocabulary would be inadequate to the task of summing up the situation so succinctly as to bear comparison with the Englishman's masterly monosyllables.

IV.

Burnt Moor is a part of that bewilderingly tumbled assemblage of hill, valley, and plain which occupies so large a portion of the county of Devon. Few houses are visible, and but one road, which, winding up from the railway station, takes a bold curve round the base of the Tor, and stretches away across the moor like a narrow yellow ribbon. About half a mile short of the Tor this road passes a little group of cottages, one of which is distinguished by the words "County Police" on an enamelled iron plate over the door. To this modest rallying point of law and order which was also the abode of Mr. John Quincey, the local Inspector of Police-Sir Peregrine Brooke and Miss Jane Nevil were conveyed, on the completion of their railway journey, in one of those curiously antique wagonette-shaped vehicles which are still to be found tottering about in remote country districts.

Mr. Quincey (as appeared from a note which had been delivered to Sir Peregrine on arriving at Burnt Down Station) had done his best to carry out the instructions sent to him from London. In one particular, however, he had been unable to fulfil them. "The gentleman from London," as he called Mr. Ernshaw, had not arrived at Burnt Down, as anticipated, by the train of a quarter to four. The Inspector, had been at first somewhat nonplussed by this unexpected alteration of programme, but an exchange of telegrams with the neighboring stations on the line soon established the fact that the suspected stranger (described as "tall, with dark mustache, but without luggage") had alighted from the train at Buddleton, the station next before Burnt Down, distant some ten miles from the Tor. In consequence of this move on Mr. Ernshaw's part the Inspector had been unable to keep a watch on his movements. He learnt, however, that he had started walking

from Buddleton station in the direction of the Tor, and Mr. Quincey had made the necessary arrangements for his reception there by placing two constables in hiding near the rocks at the summit.

It was cold and it was dark, though with a pale indication of approaching moonrise behind the blackness of the hill-slopes eastward, when the baronet and Miss Nevil arrived at the police station, where, being persons of manifest distinction, they were invited by Mr. Quincey into the parlor and provided with tea. The Inspector, after a brief conversation, left his guests to themselves, and walked up the road toward the Tor, "just to see how things were going. Sir Peregrine was pleased with Jane. The suspense of a situation which would have been farcical but for the possibility of a tragic dénouement, must have been painful to her, but she accepted it as a necessity and displayed no inclination to whimper. Strangely enough, she felt no fatigue. As for him, in spite of his outward cheerfulness, he was in fact somewhat perturbed at finding that Ernshaw's mad resolution had not evaporated en route to Devonshire. Sir Peregrine had expected that the effect of that copious draft of potent liqueur would have worn off during the long railway journey, and that the extravagant and erring young mau would have returned with all speed to London from one of the train's many stopping-places. But it was now quite clear that he had not done so. Ernshaw's intentions, suicidal or otherwise, remained unaltered, and for safety's sake it was necessary to assume the worst. Sir Peregrine looked out of the parlor-window and saw the moon's silvery disk just clear of the hill-side. "Could there be something, after all," he asked himself, "in the notion that the moon had a disturbing effect on human brains?" He turned to Jane, and said :

"Mr. Ernshaw will approach the Tor from the further side, and he should be nearly there by this time. If we had arrived at this place earlier, I would have tried to meet him on the Moor. As it is, I should be certain to miss him, whereas he can't possibly

miss the Tor; it's visible for miles. I don't see what I can do; everything depends now on the promptitude of Mr. Quincey's men. But what's that ?" he exclaimed suddenly.

A confused sound of steps and voices was heard approaching the house. Sir Peregrine and Jane hurried to the door.

Clear in the moonlight, on the white road, they saw the black figures of three men, walking abreast, closely followed by a fourth, whom they recognized from his voice to be Inspector Quincey. The man in the middle of the group of three was evidently acting under coercion from his companions, who held him by a wrist and a shoulder on either side. All the men were talking at the same time. The Inspector was understood to be urging the captive to restrain his wrath until he had seen the friends who were waiting for him, and "who would explain everything." The prisoner was denying the possibility of any friends of his being in the neighborhood, and making forcible and uncomplimentary remarks about the imbecility of the British rural police. Sir Peregrine smiled to Jane, and said, "What shall we do with him now that we've got him ?"

The group approached. Miss Nevil looked hard at the central figure, and exclaimed desperately: "They've got the wrong man!"

The policemen relinquished their hold; the captive stood free. He was a good-looking youth, with no resemblance to Mr. Ernshaw, except that he bore a dark mustache.

"You hear!" he said furiously; "you've got the wrong man! Why didn't you believe me? A set of blundering idiots! I told you it was all a mistake. I'm greatly obliged to you, madam"-he turned to Jane with a sudden change of manner. "These fellows are enough to destroy the mildest person's equanimity. There was I, an innocent walking tourist, who had stepped up on to the Tor to see the moon rise. Before I left the top I pulled out my flask with the intention of drinking a thimbleful to keep me warm on my walk down to the station; I was just lifting the flask to my lips, when these two chaps bounced

Of course I thought they were thieves, and struck out a bitOne of the constables pointed ruefully to a damaged eye.

66

Yes, that's one comfort, at any rate. When I found they were policemen I was quiet enough. I know mistakes must occur sometimes. But what annoyed me most was the way they refused to accept my explanations; kept on saying that they had often heard that sort of story before, and insisted on bringing me here to see my friends! Perhaps you, or you, sir-if these fellows are under your orders-can tell me what it all means. My name is Cumberbatch, St. Austin's College, Oxford. Why, I believe I might bring an action-"'

"Pardon me," interrupted Miss Nevil," but you say you are on a walking tour. Would you be so kind as to tell me whether you arrived this afternoon at Buddleton, on the South-Western Railway, and walked to the Tor from that station ?"

"Buddleton ? Certainly not! I came southward from the other side of the moor; left Pinsford this morning at nine."

Sir Peregrine did not wait for more information. He, as well as Jane, had thought it possible that this young man was the person Iwith dark mustache, but without luggage," whose departure from Buddleton on foot had been telegraphed to Mr. Quincey. Ernshaw was still unaccounted for; the Tor unwatched.

"Send back your men to their posts as fast as they can go," he said to the Inspector. Our friend is overdue, and if he has arrived already-" He broke off, and turning to Mr. Cumberbatch, laid a hand on his arm and drew him into the parlor. The crestfallen policemen, each accusing the other of the sole responsibility for the fiasco, moved off in the direction of the Tor.

Mr. Cumberbatch was a gentleman; he quickly became aware that accident had led him into a situation where his presence was an embarrassment. also realized that his unfortunate arrest had inconvenienced others as well as

He

himself. He asked if he could be of any assistance; his offer was courteously declined, and, after a few minutes' conversation, he went on his way completely mollified, and carrying in his breast-pocket a silver flask, full of fine old French brandy, which Sir Peregrine had insisted on his accepting as a memento of the adventure, and to replace the flask which, glittering in the moonlight, had been taken for a pistol by the precipitate policemen.

Sir Peregrine and Miss Nevil stood in the road, listening to the retreating footsteps of the courteous Cumberbatch. The sound grew fainter and fainter, and soon receded out of earshot. An intense silence followed; one of those murky, vicious silences which so commonly precede a very horrible sound. Then came-not loud, for it came from the top of the Tor, half a mile away, but clear and abrupt, final as the full stop at the end of the Apocalypse-the report of a pistol.

V.

Along the upper windings of the road, breathless, speechless, ran Jane Nevil; her grasp of Sir Peregrine's hand, as he raced by her side, seemed to keep her alive; fingers of ice held down her heart. Shadows, flung forward by the radiant splendor of the moon, preceded the flying pair with incessant dancing grotesques.

"The

A man, coming at full speed down the slope, approached, stopped with difficulty, and with difficulty found breath to ejaculate gaspingly : gentleman your friend he's all right! That was all Mr. Quincey was able to say at the moment, but it was enough. The horror was over. Sir Peregrine and the Inspector helped Miss Nevil to reach a convenient pile of brushwood.

When further speech became possible, Mr. Quincey explained that he and his men, on their way back to the Tor, had heard the pistol-shot, and had hurried up the road and up the steep path which led from it to the summit, with in a few yards of which they had met "the gentleman from London." He was coming gayly down the path, humming a tune, "evidently in the best of

spirits," said Mr. Quincey, who, having no doubt of the gentleman's identity, had wasted no time in talk, but had simply turned round and sped away to carry the news.

Let us walk on and meet him," said Jane, rising with complete selfpossession from her seat by the roadside.

Before reaching the point where the path turned off from the highway, the road led them past a level patch of greensward where a party of gypsies had camped for the night. A low roundtopped tent and a rickety caravan stood furthest from the road; near to them a horse was tethered. In the foreground a fire was burning brightly, and around it stood, sat, and sprawled a little group of men, women, and children. A kettle hung over the fire from an oddly shaped iron pot, and a yellow dog lay watching the flying steam. One of the women, brilliantly illuminated by the fire, as though by the footlights of a theatre, stood cutting slices from a large loaf of bread.

As the party of three approached this picturesquely disposed scene, themselves unobserved, they saw the gypsy woman suspend the cutting of her loaf and turn away toward the side of the Tor as though some sound in that direction had attracted her attention. A moment later, from the dark shadow behind the tent, emerged a figure. It was Mr. Charles Erushaw, elegantly dressed in frock coat, gray trousers, and a top hat. He carried a neatly folded umbrella in one hand; the other was concealed behind his back. Peregrine and Jane stood still for a moment, watching. He whispered: "What can have happened? Is it possible that he missed himself? Perhaps he had better not see you until I have assured myself of his sanity." She stood back in the shadow.

Sir

Mr. Ernshaw advanced into the full glow of the firelight, bowed to the astonished company, and, with the air of a conjurer completing his most successful performance, produced from behind his back a fine hare. Grasping it by the ears, he held it up at arm's length. A murmur of admiration arose from his audience, but at that moment the young gentleman caught

sight of Sir Peregrine, who had by this time drawn near on the opposite side of the fire. Ernshaw stood for a few seconds without moving a muscle, still holding out the dangling body of the hare. Then he tossed it across the fire to one of the gypsy men, exclaiming:

Take the kanengro, brother Chumani to hol for you and the tiknos. Oh dear, what an ass I have been !"

Sir Peregrine was not disposed to contradict the last assertion, but the fragments of Romany speech sounded agreeably in his ears; he too had lingered in that sweet-scented woodland by-path of philology. So he waved his hand reassuringly to the young man, and, with the double aim of testing the readiness of his wits and of cautioning him against unwarily revealing the names which had hitherto been kept concealed, addressed him thus:

"Frater, ave atque cave: nostra vera nomina celata tenere debemus.'

Ernshaw, who had at once recognized Sir Peregrine, replied without a moment's hesitation :

66

Rectus es, amice nobilis Peregrine! Cautus ero." Then, with a glance at the two policemen, who were standing by, somewhat bewildered by the curiously polyglot conversation which had passed, he added :

66

Et, quia constabularii rurales nimiam non habent gumptionem—”

The rest of the sentence was lost in an outburst of laughter from the baronet. The yellow dog emitted a series of sharp barks, as though appreciative of Mr. Ernshaw's command of canine Latin, The two men shook hands.

"We will not bother each other now with explanations," said Sir Peregrine. "But there is somebody else here with whom you must make your peace. For heaven's sake, do it as quickly as possible, for we are starving, and we haven't yet decided where to dine-or sleep either." He pointed across the

Jane came out of the shadow into the moonlight. Ernshaw crossed over to where she stood, bent low before her, and raised her hand to his lips. Sir Peregrine turned away to talk to the gypsies.

They were urgent in their invitation

to the whole party, including (this with a twinkle in the eye) the policemen, to stay and sup off the hare. The urgent necessity of finding lodgings for the night, and-in the case of Mr. Quincey and his men-the requirements of professional etiquette, prevented the acceptance of this hospitable offer, and the Inspector proceeded to disband his forces.

Mr. Ernshaw in the meantime had made his peace with Miss Nevil by means of a series of representations which it would be impertinent and unnecessary to reproduce. He had, and did, cut a ridiculous figure; she, knowing his sensitiveness to ridicule, spared him as well as she could.

66

Turning to Sir Peregrine, he said: I propose that for suppers and beds we go to The Choughs' at Yeominster-it's only half an hour by train ; a capital inn, kept by a former butler of my father's. The rascal buttled to such good purpose that he retired with quite a little fortune, and set up as an innkeeper in his native town. I have a suspicion, too, that he retired with some of the contents of my dear father's cellar, because he has some excellent Steinwein in bocksbeutels—”

"What is a 'bocksbeutel ?'" asked Jane.

"A kind of flagon, many specimens of which were in my father's possession. But wherever it came from, I can recommend the Steinwein at The Choughs.'

.

"Very well," said Sir Peregrine. "Of course you two will be my guests. Perhaps Mr. Quincey will be kind enough to walk on and have the wagonette brought round. There is a train to be caught." The party moved off down the hill, leaving the gypsies happy with a hare and a half-sovereign to the good.

VI.