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An unfamiliar and sleepy voice answered him from her house. "Will you put me on to Mrs. Croyle?" he requested, and the reply came back: "Mrs. Croyle went away with her maid last night." "Last night?" cried Hillyard incredulously. "But I did not leave the house myself until well after six, and she had then no plans for leaving." Further details, however, were given to him. Mrs.
A mile away the felucca picked them up. Hillyard rolled himself up in a rug in the bows of the boat. He looked up to the stars tramping the sky above his head. "And gentlemen in England now a-bed." Drowsily he muttered the immemorial line, and turning on his side slept as only the tired men who know they have done their work can sleep. He was roused in broad daylight.
"But I don't," he protested. "That's the last thing to say about her." "I never said it," declared Martin Hillyard. "I should have lost my faith in you, if you had," rejoined Millicent Splay, even now hardly mollified. But she could not avoid the subject. Here was a new-comer to Rackham Park. She could not bear that he should carry away a wrong impression of her darling.
The door was opened, and a heavy, elderly man, wearing glasses on his nose, stood in the entrance with the light of an unshaded lamp behind him. "Ramon, it is the chief," said Baeza. Ramon Castello crossed the room and closed an inner door. Then he invited Hillyard to enter. The room was bare but for a few pieces of necessary furniture, but all was scrupulously clean.
"The week after the eights. We rowed down to Kennington Island in a racing pair, had supper there " "Yes, yes," Stella Croyle interrupted. Oh, how dense men could be to be sure! What in the world did it matter, how or when the secret was told? "I beg your pardon," said Hillyard. "But really it does matter a little.
You won't find me like that again," she cried, and she helped Hillyard on with his coat. She went to the door to see him out, but stopped as she grasped the handle. All Hillyard's talk about himself had passed in at one ear and out at the other. But every word which he had spoken about Harry Luttrell was written on her heart. And one phrase had kindled a tiny spark of hope.
For the shikari suddenly swerved from the head of the file towards the stranger and stopped. The two men talked together and meanwhile Hillyard and the rest of his party halted. Hillyard lit his pipe. "Who is it, Hamet?" he cried, and the shikari turned with his companion and came back.
"That one?" said Hardiman, and all the raillery faded from his face. "That is Mrs. Croyle. You will meet her to-night at my supper party." He hesitated as to what further he should say. "You might do worse than be a friend to her. She is not, I am afraid, very happy." Hillyard was surprised at the sudden gentleness of his companion's voice, and looked quickly towards him.
He had fixed his date at a venture. "Yes," said Hillyard, rising from his chair. "I agree with you, Señor Ramon. Tabor is a liar. What troubled me was that I had no clue as to why he should lie. You have given me it, and with all my heart I thank you." He shook the stevedore's hand and stood for a moment talking and joking with him upon other subjects.
He ticked them off upon his fingers. "First, hydrofluoric acid when brought into contact with certain forms of explosive will create a fire. Second, hydrofluoric acid will bite its way through glass. The thicker the glass, the longer the time required to set the acid free. Do you follow?" "Yes," said Hillyard. "Good!
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