To-morrow, I thought, I should be seeking admittance to that house
among the trees. In fact so great was my anxiety to plumb the depths
of the mystery in the hope of recovering some new fact which should
exculpate Coverly, that nothing but the unseemly lateness of the hour
had deterred me from presenting myself that very evening.
Yet, my night of idleness had not been altogether unfruitful. I had
met the scarred man, and from Hawkins I had heard something of his
singular story. Now as I stood there drinking in, as it were, the
loneliness of the prospect, my thoughts turned for the hundredth time
to the game-keeper's account of what had befallen the two rustic
rake-hells. I admit that the concluding part of Hawkins' story, quite
evidently regarded by him as a detail of no importance, had
re-awakened hope which had been at lowest ebb in the hour of my
arrival.
Although it was possible that the gift of a "sort of cat" to young
Edward Hines might prove on investigation to be not a clew but a
will-o'-the-wisp, I preferred to think that fate or the acute
reasoning of Inspector Gatton had sent me down to this quiet country
for a good purpose; and I built great hopes around the figure of the
"lady down from London." Indeed it appeared to me that there were more
lines of investigation demanding attention than alone I could hope to
deal with in the short time at my disposal. Except that I was
determined to visit Friar's Park early on the following day, I
scarcely knew in which direction next to prosecute my inquiries.
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