friend that the man from Scotland Yard accepted his orders
without demur, and, after a brief chat with Mr. Burboyne,
Smith passed briskly downstairs. In the hall a man who looked
like a groom out of livery was waiting.

"Are you Wills?" asked Smith.

"Yes, sir."

"It was you who heard a cry of some kind at the rear of the house
about the time of Sir Crichton's death?"

"Yes, sir. I was locking the garage door, and, happening to look up
at the window of Sir Crichton's study, I saw him jump out of his chair.
Where he used to sit at his writing, sir, you could see his shadow
on the blind. Next minute I heard a call out in the lane."

"What kind of call?"

The man, whom the uncanny happening clearly had frightened,
seemed puzzled for a suitable description.

"A sort of wail, sir," he said at last. "I never heard anything
like it before, and don't want to again."

"Like this?" inquired Smith, and he uttered a low, wailing cry,
impossible to describe. Wills perceptibly shuddered; and, indeed,
it was an eerie sound.

"The same, sir, I think," he said, "but much louder."