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TONIA found her father at home. He had come by way of Folkestone and motored to The Dene.

“Hullo, Dad! We began to think you were lost in Paris. At your age, too!”

“I didn’t see much of Paris—too busy. Did you get my air signal?”

“Yes—rather graceful, we thought. How did you like it?”

“There’s practically no sensation after you get off the ground. The country just drifts astern and you don’t realize how fast you’re going. The Dene looks rather insignificant from the air.”

“Could you make out the Lodge, too?” she asked curiously.

“Yes, perfectly; and I’m told the avenue is a regular landmark.”

“Then this would be an easy place to find?”

“I don’t see how a pilot could miss it.”

Tonia nodded thoughtfully. “Did you deliver that parcel?”

He nodded. “The man was waiting at the Crillon.”

“What sort of a man was he?” she asked indifferently.

“Well, it’s a queer thing, but it struck me he looked something like that Miss Vinen—same shaped head and rather dead eyes, if you can put it that way. He was very polite, but didn’t seem at all interested. Just said ‘Thank you’ and went off at once. Naturally, I didn’t ask any questions.”

Tonia stood for a moment at the window, very deep in thought. If Julian had not been coming so soon she would have emptied her mind to her father, but as it was she decided on the obvious.

“It might be her brother. She’s a niece of Mrs. Danello’s, isn’t she?”

“Of course—I forgot that. How did you get on with the New Kent Hunt?”

She sent him a quizzical glance. “I kept on—which is something.”

“You liked it?” he laughed.

“Part of it, but not the end. My sympathies were with the fox.”

“So I judged, from what your mother tells me. And Netley?”

“I never met anyone quite like him,” she said candidly. “Of course, he lives for that sort of thing. I couldn’t.”

“He’s coming to shoot?”

“He wouldn’t miss it.”

“And Rodney—with Julian?”

“Yes; perhaps they’ll shoot each other,” she said wickedly.

Charters chuckled. “Is Netley in love with you?”

“He’s thinking about beginning—when he’s ready. It’s rather fascinating to see his mind work—because you can. I happened to make a bit of a jump—not knowing what was on the other side—and he was only anxious about the horse. Simply furious! A few minutes before that he told me not to risk my neck, because it was too nice. He doesn’t understand Canadians. So now he expects to meet Rodney, and Rodney expects to meet him, and all I’ve got to do is to help play hostess and be polite to them both.”

Charters, from past experience, wondered what form the politeness would take. “That leaves Julian without anyone to play with. Why not ask the Danello girl?”

Tonia hesitated. “I’d like her for dinner, but could we ask her without the others?”

“They can come another time.”

“Then for Saturday?”

“Yes, if you want her.”

Half an hour later Tonia entered the Lodge grounds from the main Charterden road, and, eyes very busy, walked up the short drive. The Lodge faced a lawn, beyond which was a small rose garden and a low hedge bounding the two hundred acres Danello had leased. Nothing broke the clear view southward. The house was grey stone, the windows of severe simplicity. She rang and heard a faint tinkle.

The door was opened almost immediately by a man she had never seen before. He looked at her with unconcealed surprise, recovered himself, and gave an awkward bow. There was nothing of the manner of the trained servant.

“Is Miss Vinen in? I’m Miss Charters.”

He bowed again, showed her into a chilly morning-room, and disappeared without a word. At the same instant Tonia, staring curiously about, her ears tense, caught Danello’s voice across the hall, speaking in rapid French, high-pitched, excited and very angry.

“It is always the same, and why be so afraid of nothing. I tell you there was no risk. These simple fools were meant to be used, and I shall use them!”

******

“Who were the simple fools—and how to be used?” Tonia stood glancing about the room, aware of a queer mixture of ornaments. The room told her nothing. Bits of ivory medallions—a gilt clock under a glass dome—coloured prints—elaborately bound books on a centre table—cushions that clashed in hue—nothing intimate, comfortable or personal.

Her eyes took it in, but at the moment it mattered nothing. Then the door opened, and there entered not Olga, but Mrs. Danello. She had a smile that seemed strained.

“It is so kind of you to come. My niece will be here—yes—in a minute.”

“It’s not a formal call at all,” said Tonia quickly. “I wanted to know if she could dine with us on Saturday, quite informally. There’ll be my brother and two other men.”

Mrs. Danello smoothed the dress over her knees. “That is so hospitable, but I fear Olga is not well enough.”

Something in the prepared way she spoke gave Tonia the determination not to be refused.

“But won’t you make an exception this time? We’ll take great care of her and bring her home.”

Mrs. Danello looked worried. It was quite evident she did not want the girl to go, equally difficult to justify a refusal. She was about to speak when Danello himself came in looking very cheerful. Tonia held out her hand, wondering if Olga was locked up.

“Ah, an unexpected pleasure. This English weather, Miss Charters, how do you like it? For myself, it makes me long for France.”

“One seems to get used to it. What a lovely view you have from here!”

He glanced at the Weald of Kent. “Yes—very fine—but it does not exactly make up. Your people are well?”

“Quite well, thank you.” Again she had that sense of unreality, and again she waited. No trace of excitement was visible in his face, and she began to wonder if she had actually heard anything.

“It was very kind of your father to take that parcel. I have heard from my wife’s sister. Think of it—only three hours for delivery from London. You know France?”

“Very little. I have only been there once.”

“You understand French, perhaps?” He asked this very lightly, his head a little on one side, and looking at her with the bright, quick eyes of a bird.

Something signalled Tonia to be very careful. “I was the worst French scholar in my school,” she laughed.

This was quite true, and it was not till afterwards, when she spent a summer in Quebec, that she learned to speak French like a native.

Danello smiled, seeming more cheerful than ever, and her glance turned casually to his wife. She made a little gesture that might have meant anything.

“Miss Charters is so very kind to ask Olga to dinner on Saturday, but I explained that——”

“Ah, but are you not over-cautious about that girl? Yes, most certainly she should go. When good friends are sent to us,” he added, with a little bow to Tonia, “how inhuman not to use them! And here is Olga to speak for herself.”

The girl entered, smiled at Tonia and shook hands with a sort of listless grace. Her eyes seemed unusually dark and large.

“Olga,” said Danello, apparently resolved to do the rest of the talking, “Miss Charters asks you to dine at The Dene. Your aunt was uncertain, but”—here he waved a hand—“I have persuaded her.”

Followed an odd little silence. Tonia, susceptible to an indefinable tension in the air, felt again that this was all artificial. Olga looked at her uncle with a startled surprise that she forced into an expression of pleasure. Tonia shot a glance at the elder woman and detected the faintest frown. This vanished in a flash, and her husband’s voice came in again.

“One must not stand in the way of youth, Marie, and it is doubtless wrong not to avail oneself of kindness like this, even though health be not of the best. Also”—here he shrugged his narrow shoulders—“it seems that these young people should know each other while they can.”

He said this with an impersonal lightness that seemed to be understood by the others, though it conveyed nothing to Tonia. Olga drew a long breath, and Mrs. Danello made a little movement of finality.

“I’m so glad you can come,” said Tonia to the girl; then, turning to Danello: “Are you thinking of leaving the Lodge?”

“It is perhaps too soon to say, but finance on the Continent is very disturbed, and I may be called back. Let us hope not.”

“I hope so too. Shall I send the car?”

He shook his head vigorously. “No—please—it is but a step, and we will provide an escort both ways. You are most kind.”

“Then seven-thirty on Saturday?”

Olga nodded, said in a low voice how glad she was to come, and Tonia found herself in the hall. The front door was opened by the same man who had let her in. He waited awkwardly till Danello said one word in some foreign language. The little man gave one of his quick smiles.

“Servants in the country—what a trouble! Life was not endurable here till I brought over my own Hungarians—who know nothing except their work. You like this English life—yes?”

“It’s all very different,” said Tonia diplomatically.

“Exactly, and so firmly established. And so slow, especially in a hamlet like Charterden. But,” he added with a curious inflection, “even here it is not all on the surface. For instance, I hope you do not go about late in the evening unattended.”

She sent him a straight, uncomprehending stare. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Well, I wouldn’t. That murder of which you will have heard. It was close to us—only that stone wall between—and no one knew anything. Imagine our feelings. Since then Olga has not moved out alone.”

“I did hear about it, and how dreadful!” Tonia’s brown eyes fixed on him unwavering. “And they never found the man who did it!”

Danello made a cigarette, his long, delicate fingers light as feathers. “With permission?” He struck a match and inhaled with the gusto of an epicure. “No, he was not found—nor will he be found.”

“Why? How can anyone know that?” Tonia demanded abruptly.

“No motive has ever been established, so the matter remains a mystery. Motives! That, mademoiselle, is the great factor explaining all things.” He gave a little laugh. “It would be well that more people stopped themselves to ask, ‘What is my motive in this affair?’ before they go too far. Especially young people. How foolishly impulsive are the young at times! Au revoir, and a thousand thanks for your kindness to our dear niece.”

His smile was very polite, but so elusively mocking that it followed her all the way home. It expressed many things, and chiefly a cynical contempt for anything she might do. But, she argued, it was at the same time a sort of admission.

Trying to ferret out the truth, she perceived that he had said nothing she could fasten on, nothing she could use to justify her own suspicions to another. Yet she was assured they were well founded.

And if Olga, with her dark, mysterious eyes, knew what went on behind the screen, why was she permitted out of their sight? What hold could they have on her except that of fear?

******

“Tonia,” said Mrs. Charters on the Thursday, “wouldn’t it be a good idea if you wired Julian to meet us in London? We can all dine there and come down later by car.”

The girl agreed with a swiftness that made her mother laugh, and on Friday she sat opposite Rodney at a corner table in a certain well-known restaurant not a stone’s-throw from Devonshire House. Her eyes were very bright, and Rodney controlled himself with difficulty. They were talking haphazardly but guardedly, and she told him about the New Kent episode. He grinned at the way she put it.

“You think that men have the best of it in England, don’t you?”

“You can trust them for that—they’re so frightfully sure of themselves.”

“Sooner have ’em uncertain?”

She looked at him critically and very coolly. The old antagonism was born again, and she felt once more the former secret attraction. He was very particular about his clothes, and the result justified his care. But there was nothing of the fop about him. His skin was very clear, he moved with undeniable grace, yet was essentially virile.

The combination rather puzzled Tonia. She admitted that she had never seen a more engaging type, and grew angry with herself for the admission. She was aware that other girls at other tables were regarding him with approving eyes.

Presently one of them, flaxen-haired like himself, waved a friendly hand. Rodney bowed, but did not go over.

“Who’s that?” asked Tonia with an oblique glance.

“Letty Pethick—properly speaking. Lady Letty Pethick. We used to play together.”

Tonia took a second glance. “She’s awfully pretty.”

“Fair to middling,” said Rodney cheerfully, “and rolling in money of her own, but the nose is too long for me. I like ’em short and a shade tilted. Dance this?”

She made a face at him and nodded. He danced perfectly. She forgot about the Pethick girl and began to enjoy herself; then, of a sudden, thought of the last time Rodney’s arm was round her. She fought with herself, and felt a little frightened. Her body stiffened, communicating something that reached him instantly. “He’s not going to have me,” she whispered to herself, “and he needn’t think so. No one is.”

“Tonia?” he said, his lips close to her face.

“Well?”

“Why do you give yourself such a hard time of it?”

“What do you mean?” she asked sharply, knowing full well what he meant, and the more frightened because he had perceived it.

“If that is your answer, I can’t explain.”

She was silent for a moment, aware that the eyes of Lady Letty were following them observantly. She hated to be watched like this, and read the other girl’s thoughts. She frowned a little.

“Rodney!”

“Your humble servant.”

“I hope you’re not going to spoil the week-end for me?”

“I didn’t leave Oxford with any such intention. What’s up?”

“You want to be friends?”

“Put it that way if you like,” he said calmly.

“Then don’t put questions like you did just now.”

He smiled, regarding her with unruffled good-humour. “Are there plenty of pheasants at The Dene, and how do you like living in England, and is it very different from Canada—something like that?”

She bit her lip. “Yes, if it’s the best you can do.”

“You rather cramp my style. Still angry with me?”

“About what?” Her face was child-like with innocence.

The music stopped, and he steered her back to Mrs. Charters’ table, thinking rather hard. It was impossible to tell what she felt—if anything. But he was expected to keep off the grass.

Why? The idea of Netley obtruded itself, and he was inwardly disturbed. The next time he danced with Tonia she was very gay and utterly impersonal.

It was the same in the car going down to Charterden. The arterial road flung itself across Kent in a wide grey ribbon, over which was the continual lisp of speeding tyres. The country slept, only an occasional light blinking drowsily in the distance.

Julian, who wanted to smoke, sat outside with the chauffeur. Tonia tucked herself into a corner. She hardly spoke till, east of Maidstone, they passed a great arched gateway, and she sleepily explained that it was that of Fidlow, the Netleys’ place.

“You’ll meet Bruce to-morrow,” she added. “He’s the only son.”

Rodney was still wondering if she was in love with Bruce when the car left the main road and they were amongst the ivy-grown cottages of Charterden.

Mrs. Goddard’s windows were blank, the Lodge was like a house of the dead, and the headlights illuminated a ghostly perspective of great grey trunks. Suddenly in the middle of this glare appeared the figure of a man carrying a gun.

Mrs. Charters rapped on the dividing window, and Julian put his head in.

“Who can that be?” she asked nervously.

“Dunno,” he said blankly. “Shall we shoot past him?”

“No—I can see now—it’s Hammond. But what’s he doing here at this time of night?”

“Who’s Hammond?” asked Rodney sharply.

“The head keeper. Stop the car beside him, Julian.”

Tonia grew breathless. The car pulled up, and the keeper stepped to the door, touching his hat.

“What’s the matter, Hammond?”

He sent Tonia an extraordinary glance, and hesitated a moment. “Can’t exactly say, ma’am, but there’s something queer been going on in the avenue.”

“Please tell me—exactly.”

The man cleared his throat huskily.

“Well, ma’am, it’s this way. I was taking a turn round late thinking happen there might be some poacher trying to get ahead of us to-morrow, when my dog—that’s the black lurcher, Miss Tonia, the one you liked—started off by himself. Matter of ten minutes later he began to howl. It seemed about here, and he wouldn’t come, so I goes after him. The howling stopped like with a sort of choke—and sudden.

“I couldn’t see him anywhere, and he didn’t answer, though he’s well broke. Presently I found him at the edge of yon thicket you’ve just passed. Dead, ma’am—with his throat cut.”

There was a blank silence, broken only by the soft purr of the engine. Hammond, his red face very grim, cast a significant glance at Tonia, as though asking whether his warning were not now justified. Tonia felt shaky. There was something indescribably savage about this—almost more inhuman than murder.

“Dog!” burst out Julian. “Why should anyone butcher a dog?”

“Poacher,” said Rodney laconically. “I’ve known it happen before.”

Mrs. Charters made a nervous gesture. “What do you make of it yourself, Hammond?”

Another glance at Tonia, and the keeper caught an unspoken but imperative signal.

“I’m thinking myself it must have been a poacher,” he said with slow deliberation. “Bob—that’s the lurcher—might ha’ been following him. He didn’t want to shoot, knowing I’d be somewheres near, so finished the dog that way.”

Julian seemed unconvinced. “In that case it’s queer the dog howled instead of barking. How long ago did this happen?”

“Matter of fifteen minutes, sir, and I haven’t seen a soul in the last two hours. Don’t you worry, ma’am. There ain’t anything else to it, and I reckon we’ll have a good day to-morrow.” He touched his cap, stepped back, and the car moved on.

Tonia’s heart beat fast. It was quite evident now that her mother knew nothing of the murder of young Cramp.

Half an hour later she was sitting curled up on her bed, smoking one of Julian’s cigarettes and talking very fast. Her brother, in dressing-gown and slippers, listened intently, interjecting an occasional question, and staring into the fire as though he suspected the solution lay there.

“That girl,” he demanded presently; “does she look as though she knew something she was afraid to say?”

“In one way, yes—in another she looks blank.”

“And the man who opened the door?”

“Hungarian probably—short and square, with black eyes and hairy hands. He didn’t look like a servant at all. He must have understood English, but never spoke.”

“Any idea why Danello should differ with his wife about the girl coming here?”

“No, but he hinted that they might not be at the Lodge much longer, so perhaps it didn’t matter much.”

“Then he’s not afraid of her letting the thing out?”

“It doesn’t seem so.”

“And since the Cramp murder nothing out of the way has happened till to-night?”

“Nothing I know of.”

He pulled down his brows. “There’s one thing we ought to do.”

“What?”

“Let Rodney into this—and I’m not sure we shouldn’t tell father.”

“But suppose it’s nothing at all?”

“It’s the off-chance there is anything,” he admitted. “In fact, it’s all understandable except about that machine with the red lights. Seen it since?”

“No.”

“If we could find out whether it had ever landed there we’d know that Danello is communicating with the Continent by air. Thing is, with whom? That sister-in-law is a bluff.”

“Yes, and why should he send a parcel by dad when a machine was coming for it? That’s what he meant in what I overheard about ‘simple fools.’ We’re the fools. That’s why he’s letting Olga come—more bluff. But if Danello or anyone in the Lodge had to do with the Cramp matter or killing the dog, wouldn’t it be risky to run round that wall? They couldn’t get over it.”

“Rope ladder—might do it with that. Anyway, it’s evident that both Cramp and the dog had seen something or found something that was no ghost. It meant death.”

Tonia nodded gravely, realizing that curiosity had led her to the edge of very deep water.

“Rodney,” ruminated her brother, “we ought to tell him. He knows the people and the country better than we do. Why not tell him?”

She hesitated, not wanting to share any secrets with Rodney lest it lead to other developments. But, she admitted, he might be very useful.

“Is he coming here for Christmas?” she asked dubiously.

Julian laughed. “Don’t you want him?”

“I don’t mind—if he’ll hold on to himself,” she said, wondering secretly if that was what she really hoped.

“He’s one of the best,” maintained her brother stoutly. “You ought to hear what other men think of him.”

She was on the defensive at once. “Your letter covered that ground pretty fully. I have no opinions at all.”

“That’s what makes me suspicious. It means you’re thinking about him.”

“I’m not!” she flamed.

Julian got up, yawned prodigiously, and examined the fire with renewed interest.

“That chap Netley—how about him?”

“No opinions there, either. Wait and see.”

“And the Olga person?”

“Same answer. Good night, Julian. I’m going to bed.”

“Well, thanks for the information, and I’ll tell Rodney to-morrow night. Won’t have a chance before the shoot. Going to be a nice little job for the Vac, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid it may be anything but nice,” said Tonia.