I uttered a sigh of relief upon emerging upon the highroad.  The certainty that the white-haired Eurasian was dogging me through the trees was an unpleasant one.  And now I perceived that several courses presented themselves; but first I must obtain more information.  I perceived a mystery within a mystery; for I was not likely to forget that in Dr. Damar Greefe’s collection I had noted a number of Bubastite cats.

CHAPTER XIV

THE BLACK DOCTOR

My mail, neatly readdressed by Coates, was awaiting me when I returned to the Abbey Inn.  The postal deliveries in Upper Crossleys were eccentric and unreliable, but having glanced through the cuttings enclosed, I partook of a hasty lunch and sat down to the task of preparing a column for the Planet which should not deflect public interest from the known central figures in the tragedy but which at the same time should hint at new developments.

Many times in the intervals of writing I glanced through my open window across the valley to where the upstanding wing of Friar’s Park jutted above the trees.  Strange and terrible ideas flocked to my mind—­ideas which must be carefully excluded from the Planet article.  But at last the manuscript was completed and I determined to walk into the neighboring town, some miles distant, to post it and at the same time to despatch a code telegram to Inspector Gatton.  The long walk did me good, helping me to clear my mind of morbid vapors; therefore, my business finished, and immune from suspicion in my character of a London pedestrian, I set out to obtain that vital information which I lacked.

A natural taciturnity rendered mine host of the Abbey Inn a difficult subject for interrogation.  Moreover that patriarchal outlook which had been evidenced in his attitude towards the uncouth Edward Hines clearly enough deterred him from imparting to me any facts detrimental to the good name of Upper Crossleys.  But on the highroad and just before entering the outskirts of the little country town, I had observed an inn which had seemed to be well patronized by the local folks, and since your typical country tap-room is a clearing-house for the gossip of the neighborhood, to “The Threshers” I made my way.

The doors had only just been opened; nevertheless as I set my foot upon the step I met the very gossip that I sought.

“Hope you wasn’t caught in the shower, this morning, sir?” said an old man seated solitary in an armchair in the corner of the bar-parlor.  “But the country’ll be all the better for the rain.”  He eyed me, and:  “There’s many a fine walk hereabouts,” he averred.  “There’s lots comes down from London, especially of a Sunday.”

“No doubt,” said I encouragingly, stepping up to the counter.

“There’s Manton-on-the-Hill,” continued the ancient.  “You can see the sea from there in clear weather; and many’s the time in the war I’ve heard the guns in France from Upper Crowbury of a still night.  Then, four mile away, there’s the old Friar’s Park; though nobody’s allowed past the gate.  Not as nobody wants to be,” he added reflectively.