west gate – to find himself looking into the dimly gleaming barrel of a revolver. It was not a weapon with which the sturdy constable holding it was likely to be over-familiar, and Appleby was relieved when his identity was established. At least, this was a vigilant man; he might safely be left on guard alone a little longer. In a whisper Appleby gave directions. He himself was going back to explore Little Fellows’. The constable was to continue to keep watch and to make sure of anybody who came along. By lying low there was a chance of capturing the burglar neatly with his spoils upon him. A general alarm and search might discover somebody who would have difficulty in explaining his presence, but that somebody would be unlikely to have anything incriminating still upon his person. Meantime, a search of Little Fellows’ might discover one of its four occupants missing; and this would be evidence in itself supposing anything were to go amiss with the hoped-for capture by the west gate.
Appleby was on the point of turning back into the orchard when he became aware that during this prolonged night prowl he had grown exceedingly cold. And in front of him, after he had searched Little Fellows’, lay what might be a long vigil beside his colleague. Just across the lawn, at the foot of the Dean’s staircase, was hanging his overcoat, and as his course to it would be untouched by the dim light over the Surrey archway he decided he could cross once more without any appreciable risk of giving alarm.
With a word of his intentions to the constable he set off and in a moment was round the corner of the hall and making for his staircase with fair certainty. He came upon the gravel path again just by his doorway and slipped inside. He groped his way forward to where he knew the coat hung. His hand had gone out to it when he sensed a movement in the darkness behind him. And before he could turn there came a smashing concussion. He crumpled up on the floor.
6
In something under half an hour Appleby regained consciousness. His head was throbbing and he felt sick. Nevertheless he had barely become aware of these circumstances before he was aware too that his brain was beginning to work clearly. Almost his first reflection was that he had by no means been made the victim of a murderous attack: he had merely been neatly and not unmercifully stunned. It required little thinking to tell why. His pockets, he discovered on passing a hand over himself, had been rifled and his key to Orchard Ground was gone. But not the key which he had found: that was safely in his pocket-book still – with whatever tell-tale fingerprints it might conceivably bear. The assailant had been content with securing a key: beyond that he had not stopped to think. And this was Appleby’s second indication that night that something less than a perfectly efficient mind was at work.
The unknown had been content to secure a key; there was little doubt to what purpose. The west gate was guarded but the east gate was not; as long as all the keys had been in police custody there had been no need for that, for whoever was lurking in these courts could get out only by the open west gate where the constable stood. But now Appleby’s assailant was as good as a free man. All he had to do was to hurry down the east side of Bishop’s, down the passage between library and chapel – all this being remote from the hearing or observation of the constable across the court – and let himself into Orchard Ground by the alternative route. Then if he were Empson, Pownall, Haveland or Titlow he could go straight to bed; if he were an outsider he could let himself through the wicket and vanish.
Appleby got painfully to his feet. The movement started a trickle of blood from the wound on his scalp; as he bent forward it ran down his forehead and dropped suddenly and sickeningly into his eyes. Impatiently he made a rough bandage with his handkerchief, and wrapped his now shivery
Appleby was on the point of turning back into the orchard when he became aware that during this prolonged night prowl he had grown exceedingly cold. And in front of him, after he had searched Little Fellows’, lay what might be a long vigil beside his colleague. Just across the lawn, at the foot of the Dean’s staircase, was hanging his overcoat, and as his course to it would be untouched by the dim light over the Surrey archway he decided he could cross once more without any appreciable risk of giving alarm.
With a word of his intentions to the constable he set off and in a moment was round the corner of the hall and making for his staircase with fair certainty. He came upon the gravel path again just by his doorway and slipped inside. He groped his way forward to where he knew the coat hung. His hand had gone out to it when he sensed a movement in the darkness behind him. And before he could turn there came a smashing concussion. He crumpled up on the floor.
6
In something under half an hour Appleby regained consciousness. His head was throbbing and he felt sick. Nevertheless he had barely become aware of these circumstances before he was aware too that his brain was beginning to work clearly. Almost his first reflection was that he had by no means been made the victim of a murderous attack: he had merely been neatly and not unmercifully stunned. It required little thinking to tell why. His pockets, he discovered on passing a hand over himself, had been rifled and his key to Orchard Ground was gone. But not the key which he had found: that was safely in his pocket-book still – with whatever tell-tale fingerprints it might conceivably bear. The assailant had been content with securing a key: beyond that he had not stopped to think. And this was Appleby’s second indication that night that something less than a perfectly efficient mind was at work.
The unknown had been content to secure a key; there was little doubt to what purpose. The west gate was guarded but the east gate was not; as long as all the keys had been in police custody there had been no need for that, for whoever was lurking in these courts could get out only by the open west gate where the constable stood. But now Appleby’s assailant was as good as a free man. All he had to do was to hurry down the east side of Bishop’s, down the passage between library and chapel – all this being remote from the hearing or observation of the constable across the court – and let himself into Orchard Ground by the alternative route. Then if he were Empson, Pownall, Haveland or Titlow he could go straight to bed; if he were an outsider he could let himself through the wicket and vanish.
Appleby got painfully to his feet. The movement started a trickle of blood from the wound on his scalp; as he bent forward it ran down his forehead and dropped suddenly and sickeningly into his eyes. Impatiently he made a rough bandage with his handkerchief, and wrapped his now shivery
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