The Mystery of the Downs

The Mystery of the Downs
by Watson & Rees

Authors of "The Hampstead Mystery," Etc.
New York: John Lane Company
London: John Lane, The Bodley Head
Toronto: S.B. Gundy
MCMXVIII
Copyright, 1918, by John Lane Company
Press of J. J. Little & Ives Company New York, U.S.A.

THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS
CHAPTER I
The storm had descended swiftly, sweeping in suddenly from the sea,
driving across the downs to the hills at high speed, blotting out the faint
rays of a crescent moon and hiding the country-side beneath a pall of
blackness, which was forked at intervals by flashes of lightning.
The darkness was so impenetrable, and the fury of the storm so fierce,
that Harry Marsland pulled his hat well over his eyes and bent over his
horse's neck to shield his face from the driving rain, trusting to the
animal's sagacity and sure-footedness to take him safely down the cliff
road in the darkness, where a slip might plunge them into the breakers
which he could hear roaring at the foot of the cliffs.

Hardly had Marsland done so when his horse swerved violently right
across the road--fortunately to the side opposite the edge of the
cliffs--slipped and almost fell, but recovered itself and then stood still,
snorting and trembling with fear.
He patted and spoke to the horse, wondering what had frightened it. He
had seen or heard nothing, but the darkness of the night and the roar of
the gale would have prevented him, even if his face had not been
almost buried in his horse's neck. However, the rain, beating with sharp
persistence on his face and through his clothes, reminded him that he
was some miles from shelter on a lonely country road, with only a
vague idea of his whereabouts. So, with a few more soothing words, he
urged his horse onward again. The animal responded willingly enough,
but as soon as it moved Marsland discovered to his dismay that it was
lame in the off hind leg. The rider was quick to realize that it must have
sprained itself in swerving.
He slipped out of his saddle and endeavoured to feel the extent of the
horse's injury, but the animal had not entirely recovered from its fright,
and snorted as his master touched it. Marsland desisted, and gently
pulled at the bridle.
The horse struggled onwards a few paces, but it was badly lamed, and
could not be ridden. It thrust a timid muzzle against its master's breast,
as though seeking refuge from its fears and the fury of the storm.
Marsland patted its head caressingly, and, facing the unpleasant fact
that he was on an unknown lonely road with a lame horse in the worst
storm he had ever seen, drew the bridle over his arm and started to walk
forward.
He found it difficult to make progress in the teeth of the gale, but he
realized that it would be useless to retrace his steps with the wind at his
back, for only the bleak bare downs he had ridden over that afternoon
lay behind, and the only house he had seen was a shepherd's cottage on
the hill-side where he had stopped to inquire his way before the storm
came on. There was nothing to be done but face the gale and go
forward, following the cliff road which skirted the downs, or to seek
shelter for himself and his horse at the way-side house until the fury of

the storm had abated. Prudence and consideration for his horse dictated
the latter course, but in the blackness of the night--which hung before
him like a cloud--he was unable to discern a twinkle of light denoting
human habitation.
The storm seemed to gather fresh force, rushing in from the sea with
such fury that Marsland was compelled to stand still and seek shelter
beside his horse. As he stood thus, waiting for it to abate, a vivid flash
of lightning ran across the western sky, revealing lividly the storm
clouds flying through the heavens, the mountainous yellow-crested sea,
and the desolate, rain-beaten downs; but it revealed, also, a farm-house
standing in the valley below, a little way back from the road which
wound down towards it from where Marsland stood.
The lightning died away, the scene it had illumined disappeared, and a
clap of thunder followed. Marsland heaved a sigh of relief. He judged
that the house was less than a half a mile down the hill, a large, gaunt,
three-storied stone building, with steeply sloping roof, standing back
from the road, with a barn beside it. Doubtless it was the home of a
sheep-farmer of the downs, who would at any rate afford shelter to
himself and his horse till the violence of the storm had passed.
The