With Lena it was different. Two of her greatest charms were her vivacity and the brilliancy of her conversation, and both these characteristics were brought into play during the breakfast-table talk that ensued—talk that naturally enough, in Mrs. Knox's presence, contained no allusion to the subject uppermost in Laurence's mind, if not in that of both. Consequently, the morning meal was prolonged to a somewhat unusual length. The young man could not help thinking that (in his own words) but for the mystery which he had set himself to solve, he would be "making a fool of himself and falling in love."
He was certainly given plenty of opportunities to do so, for Mrs. Knox made a point of retiring, as was her custom, at the conclusion of breakfast, after charging Lena to write a line to the Marchioness of Moorlands asking if she could be of any assistance to that lady or her husband in their present uncomfortable position.
"I'll get the letter written first of all," said Miss Scott to Laurence, after her aunt's departure, "and then you must show me some more of your lovely country. As a letter takes me about three-quarters of an hour to compose, I should recommend you to devote that short period of recreation to having a quiet smoke by yourself! Then, after your play, you can prepare yourself for some good hard work, for I want to be shown the woods, the church, and everything else there is worth seeing in the neighbourhood." And with a smile she bustled away upstairs.
Here was Laurence's opportunity. If he waited until Lena's return she would probably insist upon accompanying him on his visit to Durley Dene. This he did not mean to allow. If, as he deemed very possible, the visit might not be without a dangerous element, Miss Scott must certainly not share that danger. So, without any hesitation, Carrington took his cap, and, leaving the house, made his way by a short cut to the entrance of the Dene. The gate was not locked, so he passed through, walked with a bold step up the dark avenue of swaying firs, and, entering the ruined old porch, pulled the rusty handle of the bell with energy.
A distant clang disturbed the weird silence of the seemingly deserted mansion, but the bell was not answered, though Laurence waited for many minutes, deliberating in his mind the course of action he should take when admitted.
Once again he gripped the bell-pull, and dragged it out of its socket as far as it would go. Once again, too, did the harsh sound re-echo from within. This time the clang had hardly died away before a noise of shuffling footsteps was distinctly audible to Laurence's alert ear. The footsteps approached, the sound betraying the fact that the stone floor of the lobby was uncarpeted. Then there followed the metallic click of a bolt being drawn back, and the door swung open until slightly ajar. Laurence saw that the porter, whoever he was, had carefully fastened it with a chain that allowed an aperture of a few feet only. Simultaneously he saw part of a face that was glaring out at him. Though the interior of the house seemed uncommonly dark, he was able to recognise the features of the person in the doorway as those of the disguised man whom he had encountered on the highroad the previous night!
"Well, what do you want?" was the gruff greeting that proceeded from within.
"I wish to see Major Jones-Farnell," replied Laurence coldly.
"Oh, then he can't see you," came the reply, and the door was about to close again.
"Wait," cried Carrington, placing his foot against it; "I'm your neighbour, the Squire's son, and I am desirous of making the Major's acquaintance."