These Dunn replaced where he had found them, but the revolver, the rope, the torch, the dark lantern, and the bunch of wires he took possession of.
He noticed also that the man was wearing rubber-soled boots and rubber gloves, and these last he also kept.Stooping, he lifted the unconscious man on to his shoulder and carried him with perfect ease and at a quick pace out of the garden and across the road to the common opposite, where, in a convenient spot, behind some furze bushes, he laid him down.
"When he comes round," Dunn muttered."He won't know where he is or what's happened, and probably his one idea will be to clear off as quickly as possible.I don't suppose he'll interfere with me at all."Then a new idea seemed to strike him, and he hurriedly removed his own coat and trousers and boots and exchanged them for those the burglar was wearing.
They were not a good fit, but he could get them on and the idea in his mind was that if the police of the district began searching, as very likely they would, for Mr.John Clive's assailant, and if they had discovered any clues in the shape of footprints or torn bits of clothing or buttons - and Dunn knew his attire had suffered considerably during the struggle - then it would be as well that such clues should lead not to him, but to this other man, who, if he were innocent on that score, had at any rate been guilty of attempting to carry out a much worse offence.
"I'm afraid your luck's out, old chap," Dunn muttered, apostrophizing the unconscious man."But you did your best to brain me, and that gives me a sort of right to make you useful.Besides, if the police do run you in, it won't mean anything worse than a few questions it'll be your own fault if you can't answer.Anyhow, I can't afford to run the risk of some blundering fool of a policeman trying to arrest me for assaulting the local magnate."Much relieved in mind, for he had been greatly worried by a fear that this encounter with John Clive might lead to highly inconvenient legal proceedings, he left the unlucky burglar lying in the shelter of the furze bushes and returned to the house.
All was as he had left it, the open window gaped widely, almost inviting entrance, and he climbed silently within.The apartment in which he found himself was apparently the drawing-room and he felt his way cautiously and slowly across it, moving with infinite care so as to avoid making even the least noise.
Reaching the door, he opened it and went out into the hall.All was dark and silent.He permitted himself here to flash on his electric torch for a moment, and he saw that the hall was spacious and used as a lounge, for there were several chairs clustered in its centre, opposite the fireplace.There were two or three doors opening from it, and almost opposite where he stood were the stairs, a broad flight leading to a wide landing above.
Still with the same extreme silence and care, he began to ascend these stairs and when he was about half-way up he became aware of a faint and strange sound that came trembling through the silence and stillness of the night.
What it was he could not imagine.He listened for a time and then resumed his silent progress with even more care than previously, and only when he reached the landing did he understand that this faint and low sound he heard was caused by a woman weeping very softly in one of the rooms near by.
Silently he crossed the landing in the direction whence the sound seemed to come.Now, too, he saw a thread of light showing beneath a door at a little distance, and when he crept up to it and listened he could hear for certain that it was from within this room that there came the sound of muffled, passionate weeping.
The door was closed, but he turned the handle so carefully that he made not the least sound and very cautiously he began to push the door back, the tiniest fraction of an inch at a time, so that even one watching closely could never have said that it moved.
When, after a long time, during which the muffled weeping never ceased, he had it open an inch or two, he leaned forward and peeped within.
It was a bed-chamber, and, crouching on the floor near the fireplace, in front of a low arm-chair, her head hidden on her arms and resting on the seat of the chair, was the figure of a girl.She had made no preparations for retiring, and by the frock she wore Dunn recognized her as the girl he had seen on the veranda bidding good-bye to John Clive.
The sound of her weeping was very pitiful, her attitude was full of an utter and poignant despair, there was something touching in the extreme in the utter abandonment to grief shown by this young and lovely creature who seemed framed only for joy and laughter.
The stern features and hard eyes of the unseen watcher softened, then all at once they grew like tempered steel again.
For on the mantlepiece, just above where the weeping girl crouched, stood a photograph - the photograph of a young and good-looking, gaily-smiling man.Across it, in a boyish and somewhat unformed hand, was written "Devotedly yours, Charley Wright."It was this photograph that had caught Dunn's eyes.Both it and the writing and the signature he recognized, and his look was very stern, his eyes as cold as death itself, as slowly, slowly he pushed back the door of the room another inch or so.
