“Will you attend to him, Doctor?” asked Eltham. 
“We must see that the villain does not escape.”

His face was grim and set.  This was a different man from the diffident clergyman we knew:  this was “Parson Dan” again.

I accepted the care of the canine patient, and Eltham with the others went off for more lights to search the shrubbery.  As I was washing a bad wound between the mastiff’s ears, Miss Eltham joined me.  It was the sound of her voice, I think, rather than my more scientific ministration, which recalled Caesar to life.  For, as she entered, his tail wagged feebly, and a moment later he struggled to his feet—­ one of which was injured.

Having provided for his immediate needs, I left him in charge of his young mistress and joined the search party.  They had entered the shrubbery from four points and drawn blank.

“There is absolutely nothing there, and no one can possibly have left the grounds,” said Eltham amazedly.

We stood on the lawn looking at one another, Nayland Smith, angry but thoughtful, tugging at the lobe of his left ear, as was his habit in moments of perplexity.

CHAPTER IX

With the first coming of light, Eltham, Smith and I tested the electrical contrivances from every point.  They were in perfect order.  It became more and more incomprehensible how anyone could have entered and quitted Redmoat during the night.  The barbed-wire fencing was intact, and bore no signs of having been tampered with.

Smith and I undertook an exhaustive examination of the shrubbery.

At the spot where we had found the dog, some five paces to the west of the copper beech, the grass and weeds were trampled and the surrounding laurels and rhododendrons bore evidence of a struggle, but no human footprint could be found.

“The ground is dry,” said Smith.  “We cannot expect much.”

“In my opinion,” I said, “someone tried to get at Caesar; his presence is dangerous.  And in his rage he broke loose.”

“I think so, too,” agreed Smith.  “But why did this person make for here?  And how, having mastered the dog, get out of Redmoat?  I am open to admit the possibility of someone’s getting in during the day whilst the gates are open, and hiding until dusk.  But how in the name of all that’s wonderful does he get out?  He must possess the attributes of a bird.”

I thought of Greba Eltham’s statements, reminding my friend of her description of the thing which she had seen passing into this strangely haunted shrubbery.

“That line of speculation soon takes us out of our depth, Petrie,” he said.  “Let us stick to what we can understand, and that may help us to a clearer idea of what, at present, is incomprehensible.  My view of the case to date stands thus: 

“(1) Eltham, having rashly decided to return to the interior of China, is warned by an official whose friendship he has won in some way to stay in England.