had rushed with a whole regiment of loose and hopping stones ten
minutes before. He regained the wall at last, and crept back to the
place where he had left Raymond. It was with a sigh of relief that he
found that he was gone. No doubt he had got into safety somewhere,
perhaps in the cottage itself, where no one would dream of looking for
him. He stumbled along among the loose stones by the wall till he came
to the place by the gate where it was broken down, and clambering up,
for the gate was locked, made his way back through the shrubberies, and
desolate remains of garden, towards the point near the house where
Raymond had first broken cover. As he came round a clump of bushes his
heart gave a great leap, and then sank within him.

Three men were standing in the middle of the lawn in the moonlight,
gathered round something on the ground. Seized by a horrible misgiving,
he hurried towards them. At a little distance a dog-cart was being
slowly led over the grass-grown drive towards the house.

"What is it? Any one hurt?" he asked, hoarsely, joining the little
group; but as he looked he needed no answer. One glance told him that
the prostrate, unconscious figure on the ground, with blood slowly
oozing from the open mouth, was Raymond Deyncourt.

"Great God! the man's dying," he said, dropping on his knees beside him.

"He's all right, sir; he'll come to," said a little brisk man, in a
complacent, peremptory tone. "It's only the young chap,"--pointing to
the bashful but gratified Brooks--"as crocked him over the head a bit
sharper than needful. Here, Esp,"--to the grinning Slumberleigh
policeman, whom Charles now recognized, "tell the lad to bring up the
'orse and trap over the grass. We shall have a business to shift him as
it is."

"Is he a poacher?" asked Charles. "He doesn't look like it."

"Lord! no, sir," replied the little man, and Charles's heart went
straight down into his boots and stayed there. "I'm come down from
Birmingham after him. He's no poacher. The police have wanted him very
special for some time for the Francisco forgery case."

CHAPTER XXVII.

Charles watched the detective and the policeman hoist Raymond into the
dog-cart and drive away, supporting him between them. No doubt it had
been the wheels of that dog-cart which they had heard in the distance.
Then he turned to Brooks.

"How is it you remained behind?" he asked, sharply.

Brooks's face fell, and he explained that just as h