CHAPTER II.

THE BEGINNING OF A MYSTERY

 

Here indeed was an adventure, less romantic than tragical. I was locked up in the back room of a village shop in company with the corpse of a dead woman, and some thief had gone off with my motor car. Undoubtedly the person who had stolen the Rippler, was the one who had locked the door. Indeed it would seem that the person had laid a trap, for in the first instance the door had been locked; in the second, it had been open; and in the third, it had been locked again. But the individual who had gone off with the car--as presumably was the case--had not lured me into the trap, since the moan of the now dead woman had led me on to exploring the back premises. But the unknown might have counted upon that. If such was the case, why, then--here in the darkness fumbling for the handle of the locked door a terrible thought flashed into my mind, a vague elusive thought, which I could not put into words. With a sudden terror knocking at my heart, I shook the door and cried for help.

"Hi! what's that?" asked a rough, uncultured voice in the shop; "what's wrong wi' ye, Mrs. Caldershaw?"

"Open the door!" I shook the flimsy boards again. "Open the door!"

There was a grunt of astonishment, and I heard the key turn in the lock. A moment later and the door opened, when at once I flung out past a burly man, who was blocking the way. He gripped me before I could pass him, and I heard hard breathing in the darkness. "Not so fast," said the man harshly. "What are you doing here in Mrs. Caldershaw's shop? and----"

"Don't stop me; don't, confound you!" I interrupted, and wrenching myself away I ran to the door of the shop, crying out explanations. "Someone's gone off with my motor car. There's a dead woman in there, and----"

This time it was the man who interrupted and with something more than words. As I dashed into the deserted road, looking up and down in the darkness for my Rippler, my liberator plunged after me and gripped me again. Before I could say a word or make a movement, he had borne me to the ground by sheer strength of muscle, and holding me down hard and fast, bellowed at the pitch of his voice an ominous word. "Murder! murder! murder!" shouted the man with surprising volume of tone.

Again the fear knocked at my heart, for now the elusive thought had been put into concrete form by this yokel, 

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