I
    At the receipt of custom behind the bar sat Miss Benjafield,stately as ever, relaxing her massive mind over a penny novelette.

　　'Who was the man who just left, Miss Benjafield?' I asked.

　　She marked the place with a shapely thumb and looked up.

　　'The man? Oh, _him_! He's--why, weren't you in here, Mr Burns,one evening in January when--'

　　'That American?'

　　'That's him. What he's doing here I don't know. He disappearedquite a while back, and I haven't seen him since. _Nor_ want.

　　Tonight up he turns again like a bad ha'penny. I'd like to knowwhat he's after. No good, if you ask _me_.'

　　Miss Benjafield's prejudices did not easily dissolve. She pridedherself, as she frequently observed, on knowing her own mind.

　　'Is he staying here?'

　　'Not at the "Feathers". We're particular who we have here.'

　　I thanked her for the implied compliment, ordered beer for thegood of the house, and, lighting a pipe, sat down to meditate onthis new development.

　　The vultures were gathered together with a vengeance. Sam within,Buck without, it was quite like old times, with the differencethat now, I, too, was on the wrong side of the school door.

　　It was not hard to account for Buck's reappearance. He would, ofcourse, have made it his business to get early information of MrFord's movements. It would be easy for him to discover that themillionaire had been called away to the north and that the Nuggetwas still an inmate of Sanstead House. And here he was preparingfor the grand attack.

　　I had been premature in removing Buck's name from the list ofactive combatants. Broken legs mend. I ought to have rememberedthat.

　　His presence on the scene made, I perceived, a vast difference tomy plan of campaign. It was at this point that my purchase of theBrowning pistol lost its absurdity and appeared in the light of anacute strategic move. With Sam the only menace, I had beenprepared to play a purely waiting game, watching proceedings fromafar, ready to give my help if necessary. To check Buck, morestrenuous methods were called for.

　　My mind was made up. With Buck, that stout disciple of the frontalattack, in the field, there was only one place for me. I must getinto Sanstead House and stay there on guard.

　　Did he intend to make an offensive movement tonight? That was thequestion which occupied my mind. From the point of view of anopponent, there was this merit about Mr MacGinnis, that he wasnot subtle. He could be counted on with fair certainty to dothe direct thing. Sooner or later he would make another of hisvigorous frontal attacks upon the stronghold. The only point to bedecided was whether he would make it that night. Would professionalzeal cause him to omit his beauty sleep?

　　I did not relish the idea of spending the night patrolling thegrounds, but it was imperative that the house be protected. Thenit occurred to me that the man for the vigil was Smooth Sam. Ifthe arrival of Mr MacGinnis had complicated matters in one way, ithad simplified them in another, for there was no more need for thesecrecy which had been, till now, the basis of my plan of action.