The car moved out of the lane.
Someone was running towards the back gate of the house ... was
scrambling over the hedge ... was racing across the lawn!
A man burst into the study. He was a man of somewhat heavy build,
clean-shaven and inclined to pallor. The hirsute blue tinge about his
lips and jaw lent added vigour to a flexible but masterful mouth. His
dark hair was tinged with grey, his dark eyes were brilliant with
excitement. He was very smartly dressed and wore light tan gloves. He
reeled suddenly, clutching at a chair for support.
"Quick! quick!" he cried--"the telephone! ... Ah!"
Just inside the window he stood, swaying and breathing rapidly, his
gaze upon the instrument.
"_Mon Dieu!_" he cried--"what has happened, then!"
Stuart stared at the new-comer dazedly.
"Hell has been in my room!" he replied. "That's all!"
"Ah!" said the stranger--"again he eludes me! The telephone was the
only chance. _Pas d'blaque!_ we are finished!"
He dropped into a chair, removed his light grey hat and began to dry
his moist brow with a fine silk handkerchief. Stuart stared at him
like a man who is stupefied. The room was still laden with strange
fumes.
"_Blimey!_" remarked the new-comer, and his Whitechapel was as perfect
as his Montmatre. He was looking at the decapitated telephone. "This
is a knock-out!"
"Might I ask," said Stuart, endeavouring to collect his scattered
senses, "where you came from?"
"From up a tree!" was the astonishing reply.
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