They nodded and walked off, clinging to the line of the trees.  The others closed up.  Timing their approach with perfect judgment, they crept over the gravelled road at the bend, and gained the turf in front of the window.

Ooma’s back was towards them.  They could hear his voice—­a queer, high-pitched, yet strident voice—­whilst he questioned a somewhat scared footman as to the whereabouts of his mistress.

The man had evidently perceived the remarkable resemblance borne by this uncanny stranger to the Frazer family.  His replies were respectful, but stuttering.  He was alarmed by those fierce eyes, more especially because his inability to give satisfactory information seemed to anger the new-comer.

“You are not a child,” they heard Ooma say, with menace in his tone.  “You must have heard, from her maid or some other source, where Mrs. Capella has gone to?”

“N—­no, sir,” stammered the man.  “I really ’aven’t I t—­t—­thought Mrs. C—­Capella was in London.  The b—­butler says we are all to ’ave a ’oliday next week.”

“Is there no way in which I can find out where your mistress is at this moment?  I must see her.  My business is important.  It cannot wait.  It is of the utmost importance to her.”

Brett, straining without like a hound in the leash, could note a slight accentuation in the perfect English spoken by Ooma.  There was just a suspicion of the liquid “r” so strongly marked in Jiro’s utterance.  What an uncanny thing is heredity!  It even alters the shape of the roof of the mouth.  The Japanese of English descent could necessarily pronounce English better than the pure-born native.

The servant within seemed to rack his brains for a favourable reply.

“You might ask Mr. Capella, sir,” he said at length, with some degree of returning confidence.  “He was expected here by the last train, but missed it in London, I expect.  He is sure to come to-night, and he will tell you, if you care to wait.”

“Mr. Capella!  Coming by the last train!  What is he like?”

“Do you mean in appearance, sir?  He is a small, dark-complexioned gentleman, with wavy black hair and a very pale face.  He—­”

But Ooma turned away from the man, and looked through the window, with the lambent glare of a wild animal in his eyes.  He instantly saw the three motionless figures, Brett, Winter, and Robert Hume-Frazer.

They sprang forward.  Robert was quickest, and reached the open window first.  The Japanese jumped back and made for the door, but it opened in his face, and David entered the room.  Behind him was Holden, who made no secret of the fact that he carried a revolver.

Ooma caught the astounded man-servant by the waist, lifted him as though he were a truss of straw, and threw him bodily at Robert Frazer and Winter, bringing both to the ground by this singular weapon.

It was a fatal mistake to attack the readiest means of exit.  Had he used his human battering ram against Holden and David he might have escaped.  But now he looked into the muzzle of another revolver, and heard Brett’s stern demand: