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up their quarters at the inn in Gatehouse. To Albert fell the task of collecting

information. There was no difficulty about it.

Astley Priors was the property of a Dr. Adams. The doctor no longer practiced,

had retired, the landlord believed, but he took a few private patients--here the

good fellow tapped his forehead knowingly--"balmy ones! You understand!" The

doctor was a popular figure in the village, subscribed freely to all the local sports-

-"a very pleasant, affable gentleman." Been there long? Oh, a matter of ten years

or so--might be longer. Scientific gentleman, he was. Professors and people often

came down from town to see him. Anyway, it was a gay house, always visitors.

In the face of all this volubility, Tommy felt doubts. Was it possible that this

genial, well-known figure could be in reality a dangerous criminal? His life

seemed so open and aboveboard. No hint of sinister doings. Suppose it was all a

gigantic mistake? Tommy felt a cold chill at the thought.

Then he remembered the private patients--"balmy ones." He inquired carefully if

there was a young lady amongst them, describing Tuppence. But nothing much

seemed to be known about the patients--they were seldom seen outside the

grounds. A guarded description of Annette also failed to provoke recognition.

Astley Priors was a pleasant red-brick edifice, surrounded by well-wooded

grounds which effectually shielded the house from observation from the road.

On the first evening Tommy, accompanied by Albert, explored the grounds. Owing

to Albert's insistence they dragged themselves along painfully on their stomachs,

thereby producing a great deal more noise than if they had stood upright. In any

case, these precautions were totally unnecessary. The grounds, like those of any

other private house after nightfall, seemed untenanted. Tommy had imagined a

possible fierce watchdog. Albert's fancy ran to a puma, or a tame cobra. But they

reached a shrubbery near the house quite unmolested.

The blinds of the dining-room window were up. There was a large company

assembled round the table. The port was passing from hand to hand. It seemed a

normal, pleasant company. Through the open window scraps of conversation

floated out disjointedly on the night air. It was a heated discussion on county

cricket!

Again Tommy felt that cold chill of uncertainty. It seemed impossible to believe

that these people were other than they seemed. Had he been fooled once more?

The fair-bearded, spectacled gentleman who sat at the head of the table looked

singularly honest and normal.

208

The Secret Adversary