



Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.






                         THE HUNT BALL MYSTERY

                       BY SIR WILLIAM MAGNAY, Bt.

Author of "A Prince of Lovers," "The Mystery of the Unicorn," etc., etc.

                                 1918




Contents

Chap

      I THE INTRUDER

     II THE STAINED FLOWERS

    III THE STREAK ON THE CUFF

     IV THE MISSING GUEST

      V THE LOCKED ROOM

     VI THE MYSTERY OF CLEMENT HENSHAW

    VII THE INCREDULITY OF GERVASE HENSHAW

   VIII KELSON'S PERPLEXITY

     IX THE CLOAK OF NIGHT

      X AN ALARMING DISCOVERY

     XI GIFFORD'S COMMISSION

    XII HAD HENSHAW A CLUE?

   XIII WHAT GIFFORD SAW IN THE WOOD

    XIV GIFFORD'S PERPLEXITY

     XV ANOTHER DISCOVERY

    XVI AN EXPLANATION

   XVII WHAT A GIRL SAW

  XVIII THE LOST BROOCH

    XIX IN THE CHURCHYARD

     XX AN INVOLUNTARY EAVESDROPPER

    XXI GIFFORD CONTINUES HIS STORY

   XXII HOW GIFFORD ESCAPED

  XXIII EDITH MORRISTON'S STORY

   XXIV HOW THE STORY ENDED

    XXV DEFIANCE

   XXVI ISSUE JOINED

  XXVII GIFFORD'S REWARD




CHAPTER I

THE INTRUDER


"I'm afraid it must have gone on in the van, sir."

"Gone on!" Hugh Gifford exclaimed angrily. "But you had no business to
send the train on till all the luggage was put out."

"The guard told me that all the luggage for Branchester was out," the
porter protested deprecatingly. "You see, sir, the train was nearly
twenty minutes late, and in his hurry to get off he must have overlooked
your suit-case."

"The very thing I wanted most," the owner returned. "I say, Kelson," he
went on, addressing a tall, soldierly man who strolled up, "a nice thing
has happened; the train has gone off with my evening clothes."

Kelson whistled. "Are you sure?"

"Quite." Gifford appealed to the porter, who regretfully confirmed the
statement.

"That's awkward to-night," Kelson commented with a short laugh of
annoyance. "Look here, we'd better interview the station-master, and have
your case wired for to the next stop. I am sorry, old fellow, I kept you
talking instead of letting you look after your rattle-traps, but I was so
glad to see you again after all this long time."

"Thanks, my dear Harry, you've nothing to blame yourself about. It was my
own fault being so casual. The nuisance is that if I don't get the
suit-case back in time I shan't be able to go with you to-night."

"No," his friend responded; "that would be a blow. And it's going to
be a ripping dance. Dick Morriston, who hunts the hounds, is doing the
thing top-hole. Now let's see what the worthy and obliging Prior can
do for us."

The station-master was prepared to do everything in his power, but
that did not extend to altering the times of the trains or shortening
the mileage they had to travel. He wired for the suit-case to be put
out at Medford, the next stop, some forty miles on, and sent back by
the next up-train. "But that," he explained, "is a slow one and is
not due here till 9.47. However, I'll send it on directly it arrives,
and you should get it by ten o'clock or a few minutes after. You are
staying at the _Lion_?"

"Yes."

"Not more than ten or twelve minutes' drive. I'll do my best and there
shall be no delay."

The two men thanked him and walked out to the station yard, where a
porter waited with the rest of Gifford's luggage.

"There is a gentleman here going to the _Lion_" he said with a rather
embarrassed air; "I told him your fly was engaged, sir; but he said
perhaps you would let him share it with you."

Kelson looked black. "I like the way some people have of taking things
for granted. Cheek, I call it. He had better wait or walk."

"The gentleman said he was in a hurry, sir," the porter observed
apologetically.

"No reason why he should squash us up in the fly," Kelson returned. "I'll
have a word with the gentleman. Where is he?"

"I think he is in the fly, sir."

"The devil he is! We'll have him out, Hugh. Infernally cool." And he
strode off towards the waiting fly.

"Better see what sort of chap he is before you go for him, Harry,"
Gifford said deprecatingly as he followed. He knew his masterful friend's
quick temper, and anticipated a row.

"If you don't mind, this is my fly, sir," Kelson was saying as Gifford
reached him.

"The porter told me it was the _Golden Lion_ conveyance," a strong,
deeply modulated voice replied from the fly.

"And I think he told you it was engaged," Kelson rejoined bluffly.

"I did not quite understand that," the