There were two men already in the coffee-room, partaking of a cold supper of bread and cheese and onions, when he entered, and they regarded the little party curiously5, but Mr. Jones’ friends, notwithstanding the intent scrutiny7 to which they were subjected, and which made them kick each other slily under the table many times, partook of a highly satisfactory meal of ham and eggs, washed down with copious8 draughts9 of good, strong beer.
Proceeding10 into the yard early the next morning, Jones observed the same two men again, now attending to a motor bicycle outfit11 in one of the stable stalls, and after hesitating a moment, he turned back into the hotel and made a few enquiries about them from the landlord, the young person behind the bar, the waiter, and the boots.
Then returning into the yard, he found that they had gone away, but that the motor bicycle was still there. However, a few minutes later he overtook them as they were walking along very slowly, just before they arrived at where was situated12 the police station of the town, and he stopped to address them.
“I beg your pardons,” he said sharply, and as if he were speaking to inferiors, “but are you by any chance waiting for a Mr. Gilbert Larose?”
The men seemed as surprised as if they had received a very sudden and unexpected slap in the face, and then the older of the two asked gruffly, “What the devil do you mean?”
Jones made a careless motion with his hand. “You have a motor bicycle outfit of the make used generally by the authorities, you walk like policemen upon a beat, and it is is my opinion that you are plain-clothes men from the Yard. Also, I have learnt that the morning before last you were closeted for more than an hour with a gentleman whose description exactly tallies13 to that of my friend, Mr. Larose.” He spoke14 as if the matter were quite settled. “Therefore, I take it for granted that you are now waiting for him.”
The men appeared staggered. “Who are you,” asked the one who had spoken before, “and what business is it of yours?”
“My name is Naughton Jones,” was the haughty15 reply, “and if my surmises16 are correct, kindly17 follow me into the station here. I may be able to be of service to you, and you may not be without service to me.”
Without a word then, they followed him into the police station, and soon all three were in the presence of the inspector18 there.
“I am Naughton Jones,” announced Jones grandly, “and I am close upon the heels of the gang who recently abducted19 Lady Helen Ardane, of Carmel Abbey, also, if I am not mistaken, upon the heels of the Antwerp–Rotterdam coterie20 of illicit21 drug traffickers, too.” He bowed gravely. “I require your assistance in effecting the arrests.”
The inspector thrilled at his words. Downham Market was a well-behaved little town, the chief offenders22 against the law there being, in the main, drunks, and small boys who were caught riding bicycles at night without lights. So prospects23 of distinction and promotion24 for him were, in consequence, never at any time bright, but the world famous case of the abduction of the beautiful Lady Ardane and the rounding-up of a dope-traffic gang — ah! those were very different offences altogether, and might alter the whole course of his life.
He knew Naughton Jones, well by reputation, and association with that great investigator25 would be another feather in his cap. So, he listened with profound attention.
“The matter is quite straightforward,” went on Jones. “I——” He hesitated. “Mr. Larose and I were going through a house upon the sands of Holkham Bay, where certain members of the gang who were concerned in the abduction had been hiding, and I came upon two recently-purchased books of an unusual and abstruse26 character. Then from certain facts that I deduced, I traced the purchase of these books to a shop in Cambridge, and learnt that they had been despatched to a Mr. C. Lamb, at the Southery Post Office, seven miles from here. Yesterday, however, upon making enquiries, I was informed by the young woman in charge there that she had no knowledge at all of this Mr. Lamb. As far as she knew, she had never seen him, and certainly did not know where he resided, but she remembered the coming of the books most distinctly and that they had been called for by a Thomas Jowles, whom she knows quite well, and who keeps the inn at the little village of Methwold.”
“I know him, too,” broke in the Inspector grimly. “He’s a fellow of not too good a character and we’ve had trouble with him several times. Trading after hours, etc., and suspected of being a poacher.”
“Well, the matter is very simple,” said Jones. “We have only to learn from him where this C. Lamb is living and raid the premises28, and without doubt we shall find both Lady Ardane and Sir Parry Bardell there.” He looked sharply at the inspector. “You are the Clerk of Petty Sessions here and can issue a search warrant.”
‘The inspector nodded. “Yes, I can issue a warrant all right”— he hesitated —“but how, Mr. Jones, do you connect this Mr. Lamb so positively29 with the abductors of Lady Ardane?”
Naughton Jones spoke very sharply. “I have seen him, sir,” he replied, “in company with certain members of the gang, before, however, we were aware that they were the gang. He is a tall, spare man, with a long face and big nose, and ——”
“Ah!” broke in Hale, the elder of the two men who had been accompanying Larose, “that’s the man we’re after, tall, long face, and big nose.” He turned excitedly to the inspector. “It’s quite all right. We can go straight ahead.”
“Of course it’s all right,” snapped Jones, “or I shouldn’t be here.” He looked impressively at the inspector. “I know this Lamb personally, sir, and when disguised, have actually spoken to him. One of the men who was with them is called Prince, and he is wanted for the murder of that unknown man who was found shot upon that ditchside on the Fakenham road last week.” He turned round to Hale. “And where is Mr. Larose?”
“We don’t know, sir,” replied Hale, looking very troubled, “and are getting quite anxious about him. We last saw him the day before yesterday and were to have met him the same evening at six o’clock, but he didn’t turn up. We know, however, in which direction he was going and have traced him up to within two miles of Swaffham. He was enquiring30 at all the garages for a party who had recently purchased two valve-caps for a grey Jehu car, but he doesn’t appear to have reached Swaffham, for none of the garages report any enquiries having been made there. Our only hope is that he went to one particular garage, the proprietor of which is at present away, and learnt what he wanted to know there, but we shan’t be able to get in touch with this man until tomorrow.” He took out his handkerchief and wiped over his forehead. “It looks an ugly business to me.”
The inspector was a man of action, and rose at once to his feet. “How many men do you think we shall want, Mr. Jones!”
“I have two,” replied Jones. “There are these gentlemen here,” he nodded. “Come yourself, and bring three others. Can you raise them, or should we ring up King’s Lynn!”
“No, no, I’ve got them,” exclaimed the inspector, quickly, and anxious that at all costs the matter should not pass out of his hands. “That will make nine of us altogether. Meet me in ten minutes at the west end of the town.”
“And come armed,” said Jones significantly, as he prepared to leave the room. “Truncheons will not be sufficient here.”
Less than three-quarters of an hour later then, two cars and the motor bicycle outfit pulled up, by prearrangement, about a hundred yards short of the Methwold Inn, kept by one Thomas Jowles, licensed31 to sell beer, wines, spirits and tobacco.
“I’ll go in with one of my assistants,” said Jones, “and then if the fellow has anything to hide, he won’t, perhaps, be quite so much upon his guard as if we all appear together,” and so, accompanied by Bloggs, the one time Limehouse Bruiser, he made at once for the inn.
The tap-room was unoccupied except for a big, heavy-looking man who was reading a newspaper behind the bar. He was unshaven and rather dirty-looking. His face was large and full, and he had small eyes, set very close together. He rose leisurely33 to his feet when the two appeared.
“Mr. Jowles, I presume,” said Jones very politely.
“Yes,” nodded the man, “I’m Thomas Jowles,” and he gave a hard intent stare at his visitors.
“Well, we’re not exactly customers,” explained Jones, “but we may be after you have answered a question or two.” He spoke very casually34. “You know Mr. Lamb, I believe?”
The man’s face puckered35 instantly into a frown and he looked quickly from Jones to his companion, who, according to instructions, was standing6 in the background.
“Lamb!” he exclaimed slowly, and as if he were putting a great tax upon his memory. He shook his head. “No, I don’t know any gent of that name.”
“He’s tall and slight, with a long face and rather big nose,” went on Jones, still speaking quite casually.
“No, I’ve never heard of him,” said the innkeeper convincingly. “Of course, I may have seen him, but I’m a bad one at all times for faces and I get a lot of strangers in here.”
“Think again, Mr. Jowles,” said Jones sternly, and with all the pleasantry now gone out of his tones. “You remember him all right.”
“No, I don’t,” said the man doggedly36. “I’ve never heard of him.”
“Then why,” asked Jones very slowly, and raising a warning finger to emphasise37 his words, “did you, three weeks ago, last Tuesday, pick up a parcel of books from the Southery Post Office, addressed to a Mr. C. Lamb?”
The man’s face became as black as thunder. “I never picked up any parcel for anyone,” he blustered38, “and he’s a ruddy liar39 who says I did.”
“But the young woman in the Post Office remembers the incident most clearly,” snapped Jones, “and it’s no good your attempting to deny it.”
A crafty40 look came into the man’s face. “Then does this Mr. Lamb accuse me of stealing it?” he asked. “If so, bring him here and I’ll deal with him myself.” He sneered41. “You’re not this Mr. Lamb, apparently42.” and ducking under the counter of the bar, he advanced threateningly towards Naughton Jones, remarking coarsely at the same time, “Get out.”
Whereupon the exbruiser thought it time to take part in the conversation, and in a round of extreme brevity stretched the innkeeper upon the floor. Then when the great investigator was examining the extent of the man’s injuries, Bloggs ducked under the counter in his turn, and with a skill and dexterity43 born of long practice, absorbed ‘two pints’ in the twinkling of an eye. He was back again behind his master before the latter had pronounced that the landlord was all right, and safe, now, to be allowed to recuperate44 by himself.
Leaving the inn, Jones crossed over to a little general shop upon the other side of the road and made some enquiries that heartened him considerably45, and in no small measure compensated46 for the disappointing interview at the inn. The woman there knew nothing of the names of any cars, but she had many times seen a tall man, with a long face, drive up to the inn in a grey-colored one and stop there for quite a long time. She had no idea who he was, but pointed47 out the direction from which he always came.
Returning to the waiting cars, Jones reported all that had happened. “But we are hot upon the trail,” he added confidently, “and the gang are close here. Now follow me, for I have another good card to play.”
At the first turning, then, off the tarred road, he stopped his car and the others followed suit. “Where does this road lead to?” he asked the inspector. “It looks pretty muddy and as if it isn’t often used.”
“It’s a by-road to Feltwell village,” replied the inspector, “but very few people take it, because the surface is always bad. There’s only one place you pass on the way and that’s a farm called Black Gallows, belonging to a man named Fensum.”
“Who is he,” asked Jones, “do you know anything about him!”
“Not much,” was the reply, “but I’ve been there once about two Alsatian dogs he’s got. There were complaints that they had been straying and killing49 sheep, but I couldn’t bring it home to them.”
“Well, you all get out,” ordered Jones quickly, “and we’ll go down this road and look for the imprint50 of a nearly new tyre that has got one square in the middle of its tread almost cut away. I shaved it down low myself, and it ought to show up clearly in this mud. It’s a Nathan cover with the lines of boldly cushioned squares. It’s the offside wheel and upon the car of the man we want.”
They all jumped out on to the road and walking in line, with their eyes glued upon the surface, proceeded slowly along.
“A car’s been here quite recently,” said Jones, after a moment, “but it isn’t the one we want. Its tyres are much too small.”
Nothing happened for about a hundred yards, and then one of the plainclothes men called out gleefully, “Hullo! here’s something that looks like it. There’s a square missing here.”
They all bent51 over the imprint he indicated and then the face of Jones flushed deeply, but he remarked quite calmly, “Yes, that’s it, and there’s another and another, still.” He looked round with an exultant52 smile. “I have my methods and they seldom fail. On to this Black Gallows, my friends.”
They jumped back in great excitement into their cars and proceeded quickly along the road, but they had not gone very far before they came upon a man standing by a car that was stationary53 close near a plantation54 of small trees. They all slowed down as they approached and then the man by the car called out, “Hullo! Inspector Bain. Stop, please. I want you.” His face was very anxious. “Are you by any chance looking for the detective, Gilbert Larose?”
Explanations quickly followed, and then the man jumped back into his own car, with the inspector now taking a seat beside him.
“But it’s lucky we met you, Hart,” said the latter, as the car drove swiftly on. “This business looks very bad to me, with Mr. Larose now missing for nearly forty-eight hours.”
They reached the gate leading on to Black Gallows and the expoliceman of Hoxton gave his orders quickly as if he were now leader of the party.
“We must rush them,” he said, “and go straight round to the far side of the farmhouse55. That’s the only direction in which they can break away, for it’s quite possible they may have boards ready to throw across the narrow dykes56. So all of us in the cars will go round to the front, but you”— he pointed to the plain-clothes men in the sidecar outfit —“stop directly you get near the outbuildings and cut off an escape from that way. I think there’ll be six or seven to account for.”
The cars went like the wind, and Naughton Jones’ dilapidated-looking Goat, goaded57 on to fury by the pressure upon its accelerator, avalanched over the ground for all the world as if it were upon exhibition before an intending purchaser.
Fortune favored the raiders, for it so happened that Lamb and the man with the big scar across his forehead were at that very moment adjusting the carburetter of the Jehu, and with their heads close together under the bonnet58, were roaring up the engine to get the adjustment correct. So they heard nothing of the rush of the oncoming cars until they were just upon them, and then, too astonished to make any attempt at escape, they were pounced59 upon by the Downham Market men.
“Handcuff them,” roared Jones in a voice of thunder, “that’s Lamb and the other one is at all events consorting60 with criminals.”
Then with the two manacled at once and with no parley61, Jones, the Inspector and Hart rushed round to the front door. They met Roy Fensum, coming out with another man close behind him. The two had evidently been partaking of morning lunch, for the latter was holding a slice of bread and butter in his hand.
Jones flourished a big revolver. “Hands up!” he shouted, “and no tricks,” and then pointing to Fensum whose face had turned a ghastly yellow under its tan, he gasped62 excitedly, “But, who’s that?”
“He’s the owner of the farm,” replied the Inspector, “Roy Fensum.”
“No, no, he’s not,” shouted Jones exultingly63, “and clap the darbies on him at once, for he’s wanted, at all events, for breaking his ticket-of-leave.” He laughed scornfully. “It’s no good your trying to screw up your face, Joe, for it won’t deceive me.” He turned to the Inspector. “He’s an old lag, sir, Joseph Minting Shaver, and in 1919 got fifteen years for burglary when carrying a revolver, but he was released some six years ago and has never reported since.” He rubbed his hands together delightedly. “Yes, it was I who traced him to a house in Shoreditch and put the police on him. Didn’t I, Joe?”
The man’s face was in a muck sweat, and neither he nor his companion made any resistance.
“Now where have all you beauties got Lady Ardane and Sir Parry Bardell tucked away?” asked Jones sternly. He shook his fist in Fensum’s face. “By heaven, if any harm’s come to them you’ll ——”
But suddenly there came the sound of a swiftly approaching car, and looking round, they saw one drive up, almost stop, and then after a very white face had peered out through the window, turn almost in its own length and start to race off at a great pace back along the way it had just come.
“After him!” shrieked65 Naughton Jones. “He’s Clive Huntington and one of the worst of the gang. He’s wanted for the murder of Bernard Daller, the airman.”
The plain-clothes men from the Yard jumped into their outfit and started off in pursuit.
“No chance!” wailed66 Jones despairingly. “It’s going eighty, and they’ll never catch it,” and then his eye fell upon a rifle standing in the porch. He made a snatch for it, and his face became transfigured. “It’s loaded,” he gasped. He dropped upon one knee and his breath came in quick jerks. “I was a crack shot once.”
Then with a supreme67 effort he calmed himself down. His muscles became taut68, and then unstrained and under perfect control. In five seconds he was as steady as a rock. He looked down the sights and smiled a cold grim smile.
An intense moment followed. Then — bang went the rifle, bang and bang again. “Got him,” he said calmly, “in one of the back tyres!”
Then a report almost as loud as the rifle reached them, and the swiftly racing car was seen to describe a dreadful curve. The wheels of one side rose up and for a few seconds hovered69 in the air. Then the car turned completely over and slid its own length along the ground in a dense70 cloud of smoke.
The side-car men raced up and were just in time to grab hold of Clive Huntington, who was climbing, badly shaken but unhurt, through one of the windows.
Naughton Jones wiped the perspiration71 from his forehead. “But I was runner-up for the King’s Prize at Bisley once,” he remarked carelessly to the astounded72 spectators, “and after this, if I could spare the time, I almost think I would be inclined to compete again.” He nodded. “Yes, when Daller was murdered four days ago, his murderer was careless and left plenty of fingerprints73 behind him, but the authorities did not know whose they were, until I sent up a print of Huntington’s, and then a warrant was issued for this gentleman at once.”
In the meantime Larose and Lady Ardane, with quickly-beating hearts, had been aware that something very unusual was happening, but the detective, suspecting a ruse27, had not ventured to look out of the window. Earlier in the morning he had cautiously lifted the little mirror off the dressing74 table and had held it just above the window sill in order to see if anyone were still on guard outside, and within ten seconds it had been smashed to atoms and the glass all scattered75 over the room. That experience had made him chary76 of taking further risks, and so they had just sat waiting patiently through all the roar of the cars that they had heard.
But when they heard the rifle shots at some distance from where they were, and the resounding77 bang of the bursting tyre, Larose became convinced that they must do something.
“I’ve got an idea,” he said, with the cheerfulness that he had kept up all along. “We’ll hang one of the sheets off your bed out of the window and they can bang away at that as much as they want to,” and so in a few seconds the sheet had been swung over the window sill and was flapping as a signal of distress78 in the wind.
So almost immediately it came about that Hale, returning with Clive Huntington handcuffed in the side-car, caught sight of the sheet and, depositing his prisoner with the Downham Market officers, instantly rode over to see what it meant.
To his amazement79, then, the machine almost ran over a man who was lying prone80 in the long grass before the stables. The man had got a rifle by his side, but he was so cowed by all that he had seen happening around him, that, although he refused to give any reason for his being there, he allowed himself to be marched off a prisoner to the farmhouse. Then Hale returned at once to where the sheet was hanging out.
“Hullo! hullo!” he shouted, “who’s up there? Is that you, Mr. Larose?” and to his unbounded delight Larose put his head out of the window, and, too overcome to speak, waved his hand. Then the end of everything came very quickly, and in a few minutes Lady Ardane and Larose were seated at the table in the farmhouse, and surrounded by friendly and sympathetic faces, partaking of hot coffee and bread and butter.
But the food almost choked Lady Ardane. She wanted to be away by herself and weep oceans and oceans of tears, but she saw that Larose was suffering, too, and for his sake kept herself under control. Her mind was bruised81 and lacerated, and she thought that surely it would never be at peace again, but her heart was whispering a great secret to her, and if she wept, she knew it would not all be for grief.
Naughton Jones was in great form, and time after time congratulated the Downham Market inspector upon the captures that had been made. “A small thing, my services,” he observed magnificently, “and all the credit may be yours. My reputation is well-known and I would wish that no undue82 stress be laid upon the information that I was able to give you.” He raised his hand warningly. “But search every nook and cranny of this place and I shall be very much surprised if you do not obtain most clear and certain evidence of the illicit-drug traffic that I am positive has been carried on from here.” A thought seemed suddenly to strike him. “But there is yet one man unaccounted for, and I would have dearly liked you to have got him.” He turned sharply to Larose. “By-the-bye, have you seen anything of that fellow Prince? Prince is, of course, only his nickname. They call him that because of his dandified appearance.” He spoke carelessly. “He is Clive Huntington’s brother, Rupert.”
Larose looked very astonished.
“Yes,” he replied, lowering his voice and hoping that Lady Ardane should not hear, “I had a little argument with him yesterday in one of the sheds of the stable, where the hay loft83 is.”
Naughton Jones glanced round at the company generally and smiled a slow, grim smile. “And if I know anything of Mr. Larose’s little talks,” he remarked loudly, “I think some of you had better take a stretcher or in preference a hurdle84 round to where the conversation took place.”
To spare the feelings of Lady Ardane no one made any comment, and then, perhaps, the greatest surprise of the morning occurred.
A limousine85 and a big police motor van came roaring to a standstill outside. Senator Harvey and Theodore Rankin sprang from the limousine, a dozen burly men from the police van, and then, the party dividing, some spread themselves round the house and others came rushing up to the front door.
“Great Scot!” exclaimed the Downham Market inspector. “It’s Superintendent86 Roberts, of Norwich, and a posse of his men.”
The new-comers crowded into the kitchen, and the amazement upon the faces of the Senator and Theodore Rankin was laughable to behold87.
With a cry of joy, Helen ran to her step-father, and big tears welled from the latter’s eyes. “So, we’re too late,” he exclaimed, “and the caged birds are free.” He looked round and asked quickly, “But where is Sir Parry?”
Larose laid his finger upon his lips and nodded in the direction of Lady Ardane. “There’s a great deal to tell you, sir, but it can’t be told all at once.”
“But the gang, Inspector Bain?” exclaimed Superintendent Roberts, “Have you got them all?”
“Six of them, sir, in the back room,” replied the inspector, looking across at Larose, “and the seventh, I think, is dead.”
Naughton Jones at once stepped forward. “We regret to have forestalled88 you, Superintendent Roberts,” he said calmly, “but you are just one hour too late. Inspector Bain, ahem!”— he coughed over so slightly —“acting upon information received, has rounded up the whole lot,”— his voice rose in grandiloquent89 tones —“not only the abductors of Lady Ardane and Sir Parry Bardell, but also, I am nearly certain, the heads of the Antwerp–Rotterdam illicit drug traffic gang.” He frowned. “Only one thing is as yet achieved. We are not in possession of the child, and two of the wretches90 here who have been prevailed upon to speak, deny all knowledge of his whereabouts. They admit that he was taken, but aver64 he was removed from their custody91 almost at once, in a manner they have never been able to understand.”
Lady Ardane instantly looked up, smiling through her tears. With all her gratitude92 to Naughton Jones, she did not like it that he had not mentioned Larose. “My child is all right,” she said happily, and glancing round upon everyone. “They only held him for about ten minutes, and then Mr. Larose rescued him and placed him in a place of safety where he has been ever since. Charles has never been a mile away from the Abbey.” Her voice choked a little. “Sir Parry’s housekeeper93 has been looking after him.”
Naughton Jones, although obviously discomfited94, received the blow with great fortitude95 and good humor. “You young dog!” he exclaimed, playfully wagging his finger at Larose. “You are always trying to go one better than me”— he made a wry96 face —“and with all my experience, you sometimes manage to succeed.”
“But how did you come here, father,” asked Lady Ardane. “How did you know where I had been taken?”
“That matter, my dear, as our good friend, Mr. Jones, would say, is very simple. A letter addressed to Mr. Larose and marked very urgent, but which, however, under very dreadful circumstances, had been delayed, arrived last evening at the Abbey and”— he bowed apologetically to the detective —“I ventured to open it. It was from Bernard Daller.” He spoke very solemnly. “He has since passed away, but this letter was written just before his death, and found afterwards among his effects. Very briefly97, he wrote that on the morrow he was setting out upon a solo flight to South America, and he had a premonition that he would never return.”
The Senator steadied his voice here, and then went on. “He wrote that, unhappily, about a year ago he had become mixed up with a criminal gang who were engaged in smuggling98 forbidden drugs into this country. In that association he had met Clive Huntington, and lately it had come to his almost certain knowledge that Huntington had had something to do with your disappearance99.” The Senator had to steady his voice again here. “So, with the great regard that he had for you, he was writing to Mr. Larose, informing him where the headquarters of the gang was situated, believing that here upon Methwold Fens48 you would be found.” He patted his step-daughter’s head affectionately. “You shall see the letter later on, my dear.”
A solemn silence followed, the dreadful tension of which was, however, almost immediately relieved by a humorous happening, when Theodore Rankin was seen to advance with outstretched hand to Naughton Jones.
“I am delighted to meet you, Mr. Jones,” he said heartily100. “It is a pleasure that has been long deferred101.”
But Jones, refusing the proffered102 hand, regarded him with a rude stare. “The pleasure, sir, is all yours,” he remarked in icy tones, “for I do not know who you are.” He eyed him most suspiciously. “For one thing, I am of opinion that Rankin does not happen to be your real name.”
“Certainly not,” replied the smiling and in no way abashed103 American. “I’m Mark Rattle104, of Gunning’s Detective Agency, New York City, and I was specially105 summoned over by the Senator to assist in this case. Only he and Sir Parry knew who I was until Mr. Larose here,” he smiled at the detective, “wanted to search my belongings106, and then we had to take her ladyship into our confidence, because I was in possession of some handcuffs and a few other things that it would not have been wise to allow everyone to see.”
Jones’ face was that of a man prostrated108 by a most stupendous surprise.
“Mark Rattle!” he ejaculated hoarsely109, “the only man that in your great country I acknowledge to be my master! Why, of course, it was your face that I remembered seeing in the newspapers, when you broke up the Bud Reily gang! You killed Bud yourself by gunning him from the hip107!” He reached out and gripped the American’s hand as if he would never let it go. “My dear sir, this is one of the proudest moments of my life.”
A few minutes later two cars had left Black Gallows and were making for Carmel Abbey. Lady Ardane, the Senator and Larose were in the first one, and in the second were Naughton Jones, the American detective and Jones’ two faithful henchmen.
Hardly a word was spoken in the first car during the whole of the fifty odd mile journey, except when, at Swaffham, Larose alighted at the Post Office to send off a wire to Sir Arnold Medway.
Reaching the Abbey, there was a joyful110 reunion between Lady Ardane and her son, and then Sir Arnold bent gravely over her hand and kissed it, without, however, saying a word. Early afternoon tea was served in the lounge, and Polkinghorne was so overcome with emotion that he had to retire and was seen no more.
Then they all went up to their rooms to rest, Larose being now relegated111 to one in another wing, and as far away as possible, he thought, from that of Lady Ardane.
They met again at dinner, an early one, because Sir Arnold was returning to London that night and taking Larose with him. Lady Ardane had made no comment when the detective had announced that he was leaving so soon.
Everyone at the meal was quiet and subdued112, but it was carried through with its usual ceremony, with Polkinghorne, as commanding and important as ever, and the noiseless, soft-footed footmen and the pretty waiting maids. Lady Ardane was seated once more at the head of the table and was again the queenly chatelaine of the Abbey, a little sad, perhaps, but with a gracious smile for all her guests.
Many times, with a pang113, Larose thought how beautiful she looked, and many times, too, with a horrible feeling of trepidation114, how he had dared once to kiss her upon the lips. But she spoke very nicely whenever she addressed him and evidently intended all there to see that she regarded him as one of the most honored of her guests.
After dinner, as they were smoking a farewell cigarette in the lounge, Senator Harvey beckoned115 Larose into the library, and with the door closed behind them, shook him warmly by the hand.
“We cannot be too grateful to you, my boy,” he said, “for, although Naughton Jones actually brought the rescue party, still you, by your arriving the previous night, saved my step daughter from”— he threw out his hands —“well, I really don’t know what. She tells me that madman was actually threatening her just before you came and every moment she was afraid that she was going to swoon away and be unable to defend herself.” He laughed bitterly. “But just fancy us being so sucked in about Sir Parry! Why I actually took him into my confidence and told him who Rattle was so that we could borrow the key of the cloister116 door that night and get Rattle into the grounds.” He shook his head angrily. “He was a real devil, that man!” He took a cheque-book from his pocket and his face broke into an exultant smile. “But now for something much more pleasant to talk about.” He dropped his voice into a stage-whisper. “I don’t mind telling you that during the last week I’ve made a pot of money over wheat, and so, on behalf of Lady Ardane, I am now going to present you with a substantial cheque.”
“Did Lady Ardane suggest it?” asked Larose with a horrible sinking at his heart.
“Certainly not!” came the quick reply. “She has far too much regard for you to dare mention it.” He nodded smilingly. “But you and I are men of the world and so, what about a couple of thousand pounds?”
But Larose refused absolutely, and after much argument, and with great reluctance117, the Senator put back the cheque-book into his pocket.
The parting with Lady Ardane was very brief. “Thank you so much, Mr. Larose,” she said quietly. “You know I can never be grateful enough.” Then with a slightly heightened color, she whispered quickly, “I shall be writing to you in a day or two.”
During the drive London-wards Larose proceeded to tell Sir Arnold much more about Sir Parry than he had hitherto told anyone. “But Lady Ardane must never know,” he concluded, “for it would be a terrible memory to her if she ever learnt everything.”
Sir Arnold smiled. “But if you ask me,” he remarked dryly, “I think there is nothing she does not know, for that Kate Dilling spent an hour with her this afternoon, and from what the Senator has just informed me, I think the woman told her everything. For certain, Mrs. Dilling told her how she had learnt about the proposed kidnapping from Sir Parry’s habit of talking to himself, and in consequence had sent those two warning letters. Then she told her of the attempt to poison you with a dessert spoonful of Barbitone, and how she had substituted bicarbonate of soda118 instead. Finally, she said how, night after night, the wretched man had gone into the Abbey through that cloister door and spied through the ventilators.” He swore softly. “His ending was much too merciful a one.”
A long silence followed and then he asked curiously, “But how did he come to stand before that window and court certain death?”
“I suggested it,” replied Larose. “In fact, I goaded him on to do it.”
“Exactly!” nodded the great surgeon. “The moment I heard about it, I thought it seemed like your work.” He turned and regarded Larose very solemnly. “If both your positions were equal, young man, and I were Lady Ardane’s father, I would do all in my power to make you her husband for that.” He nodded again. “You probably saved her honor, my friend.”
Just a week later Larose received the promised letter from Lady Ardane.
“Dear Mr. Larose,” he read, “you can render me yet another service, if you will. Now, can you get away for a week and perhaps longer, and meet me the day after tomorrow in Norwich, at ten minutes to six in the lounge of the Royal Hotel, just as we met before? If any objection be raised to your coming, please telephone me directly you get this. I have some influence in the Home Office, and think that in any case I can arrange for it. With my kindest regards to you, Sincerely yours, Helen Ardane. P.S. — Don’t book a room at the hotel, for you will be staying at the Abbey.”
“Of course I’ll go,” sighed Larose, “although I’m a fool to do so.” He intoned mockingly. “I publish the banns of marriage between a policeman — and Helen Ardane.” He sighed again. “No, not this side of Jordan.”
The following evening then, at ten minutes to six, he walked into the lounge of the Royal Hotel and saw Lady Ardane seated where she had been seated once before. She rose as he approached and shook hands with a charming smile. She looked very well and showed no signs now of the dreadful times she had been through.
“I’m your hostess to-night,” she said as the dinner gong sounded, “and as it is nearly my birthday and I shall be twenty-eight, we’ll have a bottle of champagne119 as we had before. I’ve booked the same table and we shall be able to talk in peace.”
Larose felt very mystified. She looked as amused as a child who had some great surprise in store.
She was very bright and chatty during the meal and told him of all the little happenings at the Abbey. How Polkinghorne’s kittens were getting on all right, how she had taken young Hollins permanently120 into her service, and how the Senator and all the other visitors had gone away. “So, I am now quite alone with my aunt,” she said, “and the peace and quiet are very soothing”— a shadow flitted across her face —“after all the adventures we went through.”
But she made no mention at all of why she had asked him to meet her, and so Larose, at length dismissing the whole matter from his mind, set himself to enjoy her company, and association with one of the most lovely women, he thought, he had ever seen.
He never wanted to take his eyes off her, and drank in her beauty thirstily. The finely-cut aristocratic profile, the most perfect complexion121, the lovely deep blue eyes, the mouth like a cupid’s bow — he blushed violently here — and the crowning glory of her angel-colored hair! She seemed so happy, too, and as if she had not a single care in all the world.
The coffee upon the table, however, and the waiter moving away, her whole demeanor122 altered in the passing of a second, as his had once done, when, those few short weeks ago, he had started to question her. But she was not stern and uncompromising as he had been, on the contrary she had become all at once nervous, and was now blushing furiously.
Larose saw her embarrassment123 and tried to help her out. “Well, now we are alone,” he said gently, “in what way can I help you?”
She hesitated for a moment as if to choose her words very carefully, and then, having apparently recovered from her nervousness, said quickly, “I have I proposition to put before you, Mr. Larose, and as we are neither of us children, and unless I am very mistaken, have both had the matter in our minds for a little time, we can decide without any delay.” She dropped her business-like tone all at once, and giving him an arch look, asked smilingly, “You like me, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” he replied, with his heart beginning to beat very quickly. “Everybody does.”
“You kissed me upon the lips once,” she went on musingly124. “Didn’t you?”
Larose felt horribly uncomfortable. “But it was a very wrong thing to do,” he said sharply, “and I have regretted it ever since.”
“I haven’t,” she replied calmly, “for it comforted me quite a lot at the time, and you might have given me fifty or a hundred then and I shouldn’t have minded.” She shuddered125. “Oh! I should have gone mad that dreadful night if you hadn’t been there to protect me.” She laughed a little tremulously. “Do you remember how I sat near you in the darkness, with only a blanket between us? And then, how I went to sleep leaning up against you”— she nodded —“but I wasn’t asleep all the time, although you may have thought so.” She heaved a big sigh, and regarding him intently, went on very quietly, “So, as you say you like me, if you were rich as I am and our social lives were just the same, tell me, do you think you would be asking me to marry you?”
Her meaning was so unmistakable that Larose felt his knees knocking together under the table. “A million, times, yes!” he exclaimed hoarsely. “I wouldn’t wait a second!”
She laughed as if it were a good joke. “Then forget you’ve not got all the riches in the world and ask me and see what I’ll say.” She puckered up her brows prettily126. “Didn’t Mr. Jones tell me that you were a very brave man?”
“But I’m a policeman!” gasped Larose.
“And a gentleman,” she bowed, “and one to whom any woman might entrust127 the keeping of her happiness. You are kind, a man of honor, and I have a great respect for you.” She went on quite calmly. “Our differing social positions need have no bearing upon the future of our lives, for, every time, it is the man and the woman who count and never their possessions or the forbears from whom they have sprung.” She raised one beautiful white hand before her. “Listen to what I am going to tell you. I have just found out that I am a very lonely woman and missing quite a lot of the happiness of life. I am growing old, Mr. Larose. The years are slipping by me, and soon, very soon, I shall be without many of the attractions that now are mine. Women of my type lose their beauty long before they are forty. They grow stout128, they become wrinkled and their skin coarsens. My mother is like that.”
“But you will be always beautiful with those eyes of yours,” protested Larose.
She shook her head and went on. “Well, I have just realised that I want something that I am sure every woman, in her heart of hearts, must always want. I want to love as well as be loved, and I long for those moments that I know most other women have, before I am too old for anyone to want to give them to me.” She spoke very sadly. “I’ll be quite frank with you. I was married before I was nineteen to a man of fifty-two and I honored and respected him, and in course of time bore him a child. But I never wanted him to kiss me, and when he held me in his arms, although I was always submissive — I was always cold. I thought I was a woman who could never give back love in return.” She blushed furiously. “Then when you held me in your arms that night, and later, when you kissed me, a different world opened all at once for me, and I began to think that I had all along been imagining myself to be”— she bit her lip to repress her emotion —“so ——”
And all this time Larose, had been realising with a sickening feeling at his heart what this confession129 must be costing her.
The shame of this so frank appeal to him to take her, and the dreadful humbling130 of her pride that she might make a golden bridge for him to pass over! The disclosing of her secret thoughts and the lifting of that veil that most women during all their lives lift never, even for those whom they love most! And the glorious and sublime131 courage of it all.
“Then will you marry me, Helen!” he interrupted quickly, and determined132 at all costs to spare her any further explanations. His voice shook in its emotion. “I’ve loved you, I think, from the first moment that I saw you.”
She dropped her eyes. “Yes, Gilbert,” she replied, with a great shyness now. “I will if you really want me to.”
“When?” he asked, and he could not have added another word, even if his very life had depended upon it.
She flashed him a quick look and then her voice steadied all at once. “Tomorrow, here in the Cathedral, by special license32. I know the bishop133, and he’ll marry us.” Her bosom134 was rising and falling quickly. “I want to get it all settled, before any of my friends know anything about it, and then”— a tear trickled135 down her check —“we’ll make a little world of happiness, all of our own.” She shook her head. “I’m sick to death of the hollow, empty life that I see now I have been leading, and if every social tie is broken, it will be nothing to me.” She averted136 his eyes. “We’ll spend our honeymoon137, if you like, at the Abbey, at my home”— her eyes were like wet violets —“and yours.”
Larose felt like a man in a trance, the ecstasy138 and the happiness of it all for the moment depriving him of all power of speech. His head was in a whirl and he gave no thought to anything except that this peerless woman before him was going to become his wife.
But Lady Ardane was quite herself again, queenly, stately, and very practical. “Come, Gilbert,” she said, rising from her chair, “we’ll go home now and tell my aunt.” She looked supremely139 happy. “To-night, you’ll be my guest, and tomorrow, my husband,” she made a pretty little grimace140 —“and if I know anything about you, my master, too.”
They passed into the lounge, and she then turned and asked. “Should we stay for a cigarette?”
“Certainly!” replied Larose. “No,” he added quickly, and he smiled to himself, “we’ll go off straightaway.”
They went round to the garage and were soon seated in her beautiful limousine, Larose, as a matter of course, taking the wheel. Then without a word, for their hearts were much too full for speech, they drove away in silence.
Presently, when they had gone for about two miles and were well clear of the city, Larose suddenly swerved141 the car into the narrow opening of a little unlighted lane.
“But we keep straight on,” called out Lady Ardane.
“No, we don’t,” replied Larose, with a laugh. “For once, my lady, we’re going to take the wrong turning.”
He ran the car for only about a hundred yards, and then drove it on to the side of the road and brought it to a standstill. He switched off the headlights, leaving only the parking and rear ones on.
Then he turned to his now trembling companion. “I’m just going to make your mind quite easy, you pretty creature,” he said with a thrill of delicious expectation in his tones, “that I’m not marrying a thing of ice,” and with one hand he drew her to him, and with the other he pulled down the blind.
Part of his dream was at all events coming true!
It was a glorious evening in the days of early June, the following year, and Larose met his wife, just inside the Abbey grounds, as he was returning from a walk into the village.
They greeted each other affectionately, and then he said with a frown, “But ought you to have come so far, sweetheart! Remember, you are not to over-fatigue yourself.”
“But I’m not at all tired,” she replied, “and I had to bring you some news.” Her eyes sparkled. “Sir John Tullock has just rung up to say that you have been made a Justice of the Peace.”
“Splendid!” he laughed, “and I’ll be able to let all the offenders off, or pay their fines for them. Our good friend, Jones, always says that I’m half a criminal, myself.”
She put an arm through his and smiled happily. “You’re going to get on, dear, now,” she said, “and one day I’m sure you’ll be Sir Gilbert Larose.” She went on, “But come among these trees for a minute. I want to see if I can revive a memory.” Then when close to the fence and hidden from all sight of the Abbey, she pointed to a big oak tree with gnarled and far-reaching branches. “It was here, Gilbert,” she said with a pretty blush, “that you first held me in your arms. Do you remember?”
Larose nodded solemnly, and kissing her tenderly, lifted her up and looked fondly into her eyes.
“So history repeats itself,” she laughed.
“And I hope it will go on doing so,” he laughed back, as he lowered her gently to the ground, “for I want, at least, a boy and a girl.”
The End
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1
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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5
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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6
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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tallies
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| n.账( tally的名词复数 )；符合；（计数的）签；标签v.计算，清点( tally的第三人称单数 )；加标签（或标记）于；（使）符合；（使）吻合 | |
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14
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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surmises
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的第三人称单数 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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17
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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abducted
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| 劫持，诱拐( abduct的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（肢体等）外展 | |
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coterie
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| n.(有共同兴趣的)小团体，小圈子 | |
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21
illicit
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| adj.非法的，禁止的，不正当的 | |
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offenders
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| n.冒犯者( offender的名词复数 )；犯规者；罪犯；妨害…的人（或事物） | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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investigator
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| n.研究者，调查者，审查者 | |
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abstruse
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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ruse
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| n.诡计，计策；诡计 | |
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28
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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enquiring
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| a.爱打听的，显得好奇的 | |
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31
licensed
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| adj.得到许可的v.许可，颁发执照(license的过去式和过去分词) | |
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license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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33
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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35
puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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emphasise
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| vt.加强...的语气，强调，着重 | |
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38
blustered
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| v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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39
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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40
crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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41
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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43
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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44
recuperate
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| v.恢复 | |
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45
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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46
compensated
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| 补偿，报酬( compensate的过去式和过去分词 )； 给（某人）赔偿（或赔款） | |
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47
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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48
fens
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| n.（尤指英格兰东部的）沼泽地带( fen的名词复数 ) | |
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49
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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50
imprint
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| n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记 | |
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51
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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52
exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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53
stationary
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| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
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54
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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55
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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56
dykes
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| abbr.diagonal wire cutters 斜线切割机n.堤( dyke的名词复数 )；坝；堰；沟 | |
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57
goaded
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| v.刺激( goad的过去式和过去分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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58
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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59
pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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60
consorting
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| v.结伴( consort的现在分词 )；交往；相称；调和 | |
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61
parley
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| n.谈判 | |
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62
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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63
exultingly
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| 兴高采烈地，得意地 | |
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64
aver
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| v.极力声明；断言；确证 | |
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65
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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68
taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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69
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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70
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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71
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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72
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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73
fingerprints
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| n.指纹( fingerprint的名词复数 )v.指纹( fingerprint的第三人称单数 ) | |
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74
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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chary
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| adj.谨慎的，细心的 | |
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77
resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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78
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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79
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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80
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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81
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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82
undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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83
loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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84
hurdle
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| n.跳栏，栏架；障碍，困难；vi.进行跨栏赛 | |
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85
limousine
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| n.豪华轿车 | |
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86
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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87
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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88
forestalled
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| v.先发制人，预先阻止( forestall的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
grandiloquent
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| adj.夸张的 | |
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90
wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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91
custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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92
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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93
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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94
discomfited
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| v.使为难( discomfit的过去式和过去分词)；使狼狈；使挫折；挫败 | |
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95
fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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96
wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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98
smuggling
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| n.走私 | |
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99
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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101
deferred
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| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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102
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103
abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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105
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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106
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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107
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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108
prostrated
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| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
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109
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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110
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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111
relegated
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| v.使降级( relegate的过去式和过去分词 )；使降职；转移；把…归类 | |
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112
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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113
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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114
trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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115
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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117
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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118
soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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119
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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120
permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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121
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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122
demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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123
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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124
musingly
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| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
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125
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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126
prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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127
entrust
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| v.信赖，信托，交托 | |
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129
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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130
humbling
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| adj.令人羞辱的v.使谦恭( humble的现在分词 )；轻松打败（尤指强大的对手）；低声下气 | |
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131
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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132
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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133
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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134
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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135
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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136
averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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137
honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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138
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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139
supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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140
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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141
swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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