At that moment there was a shout from the yard outside.  Carrie sprang like a hare up the stairs to the window, and looked out with straining eyes.

The afternoon was one of those dull misty winter days, with a leaden sky and an east wind.

“I’ll see that she isn’t hurt!” called out Max, as he bounded down the stairs and ran into the yard behind the house.

Here he found a motley group—­the stablemen, the laundry-maids and the gardeners—­all hunting in the many corners and crannies of the outbuildings for the old woman who had alarmed Anne.

Max spoke sharply to the men.

“Here, what are you about?” said he.  “Hunting a poor old woman as if she were a wild animal?  Go back to your work.  She’ll never dare to show her face while you are all about!”

“She’s left the well-house, sir, and, we think, she’s got into the big barn,” explained one of the lads, with the feeling that Mr. Max himself would want to join in the chase when he knew that the game was to hand.

“Well, leave her there,” answered Max, promptly.  “She’ll come out when you’ve all gone, and I’ll send her about her business.”

Max saw, as he spoke, that there was a man standing at a little distance just outside the stable-gate, whom he did not recognize.  Before he could ask who he was, however, the man had disappeared from view.  He remembered what Carrie had said about the presence of a policeman, and he thought the time was come to take the bull by the horns.

So he walked rapidly in the direction of the gate, and addressed the man whom he found there.

“Are you a policeman?” he asked, abruptly.

“Yes, sir,” answered the man, touching his hat.

“What is your business here?”

“I’m on the lookout for some one I have a warrant for.  Charge of murder, sir.”

“Man or woman?”

“Man, sir.”

“Will you tell me his name?”

“Horne, sir.”

Max thought a moment.

“Why are you pottering about here, instead of going straight up to the house?”

“Well, sir, I’m obeying orders.”

“Come with me,” said Max suddenly.  “There’s an old hag hiding in the barn now, who knows more about this business than Mr. Horne.”

Behind the young gentleman’s back the detective smiled, but he professed to be ready to follow him.

“There’s only one way out of this barn,” explained Max, as he approached the door, beside which a groom was standing.  “By this door, which is never locked.  There is a window, but it’s too high up for anybody to get out by.”

Telling the groom to guard the door, Max went into the barn, followed by the detective.  There was still light enough for them to find their way about among the lumber.

“Where’s the window, sir?” asked the detective.

Max pointed to a speck of light high in the south wall of the barn.