“No doubt about it at all.  Most extraordinary eyes—­too damned extraordinary by half!”

“Well,” I said, “I am much indebted to you for your statement, and you may be confident that it will materially assist the investigation now in progress.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Hines, airily.  “If I can ever do anything else for you, just let me know; but—­I mean to say I rely upon you not to bring me into it.  You understand what I mean?”

“You may be absolutely certain,” I replied, “that no hint of this occurrence will ever be made public so far as I am concerned.”

I took my departure from Leeways Farm fully satisfied with the result of the first move in the plan of campaign upon which I had decided.  Returning to my quarters at the Abbey Inn, I spent the greater part of the afternoon in writing a detailed account of my interview with Edward Hines.  Having completed this, I set out for the town, as by posting my report there and not in the wayside box at Upper Crossleys I knew that I could count upon its delivery at New Scotland Yard by the first mail in the morning.

In leisurely fashion I performed the journey, for my next move could not be made until after dusk.

CHAPTER XVII

THE NUBIAN MUTE

I returned from the little market town beneath a sky of tropical brilliance.  The landscape was bathed in a radiance of perfect moonlight, and under the trees which thickly lined the way, the shadows had a velvet quality rarely met with in England, their edges showing more sharply defined than I ever remembered to have noticed them before.  But ere long I grew oblivious even of the beauty of the night, becoming absorbed in reflections respecting this most extraordinary case.

Every new datum acquired, instead of serving to elucidate, seemed only more completely to obscure the issue.  Mystery revealed itself within mystery, and this was indeed a labyrinth, to the heart of which I sometimes despaired of penetrating.  Who was this woman whose elusive figure appeared at every turn in the case?  Was she one and the same with the visitor to my cottage who had purloined the green enameled statuette—­and could it be that I had actually sat in conversation with her in the coffee-room of the Abbey Inn and had failed to recognize her for what she was?

Beyond doubt she had extraordinary cleverness and was a weaver of spells, so that in a sense she could temporarily disguise her personality.  Whilst at one moment she was a repellent, half-animal creature, at another she was a fascinating woman of the world versed in strange lores and a most entertaining companion.  What object underlay her diverse activities?  Assuming that she was concerned in the murder of Sir Marcus Coverly, the purpose of her visit to my cottage was not far to seek; she had come to recover incriminating evidence and had been aided, it seemed, by the hand of fate.