MR CODY was not a good walker, and was, moreover, a particularly fearful man, otherwise he might have walked the six miles which separated him from Gallows Cottage on a dark and windy night. Instead, he ordered his car, his chauffeur protesting sourly, and drove to within a hundred yards of the house.
“Back into that lane, put your lights out, and don’t move until I return.”
Mr Tom Cawler growled something under his breath.
“And don’t you be long!” he said. “What is the game, anyway, Cody? Why didn’t you get him to come over?”
“Mind your own dam’ business!” snapped the little man, and disappeared into the darkness.
He reached the cottage soon after one o’clock, and groped his way up the dark drive. Once, as he put out his stick to feel his way, it almost dropped from under him. If he
