eight
o'clock
All these facts neatly docketed in Master Busy 's orderly brain , disturbed him not a little . He had not yet made up his mind as to the nature of the mystery which was surrounding the Court and its inmates , but vaguely he thought of abductions and elopements , which the presence of the richest heiress in the South of England in the house of the poorest squire in the whole country , more than foreshadowed . This lonely , somewhat eerie corner of the park appeared to be the center around which all the mysterious happenings revolved , and Master Hymn-of-Praise had found his way hither on this fine July afternoon , because he had distinct hopes of finding out something definite , certain facts which he then could place before Squire Boatfield who was major-general of the district , and who would then , doubtless , commend him for his ability and shrewdness in forestalling what might prove to be a terrible crime . The days were getting shorter now ; it was little more than eight o'clock and already the shades of evening were drawing closely in : the last rays of the setting sun had long disappeared in a glowing haze of gold , and the fantastic branches of the old elms , intertwined with the parasitic ivy looked grim and threatening , silhouetted against the lurid after glow . Master Busy liked neither the solitude , nor yet the silence of the woods ; he had just caught sight of a bat circling over the dilapidated roof of the pavilion , and he hated bats . Though he belonged to a community which denied the angels and ignored the saints , he had a firm belief in the existence of a tangible devil , and somehow he could not dissociate his ideas of hell and of evil spirits from those which related to the mysterious flutterings of bats . Moreover he thought that his duties in connection with the science of secret investigation , had been sufficiently fulfilled for the day , and he prepared to wend his way back to the house , when the sound of voices , once more aroused his somnolent attention .