As he spoke they turned the corner of the terrace. A massive figure was advancing towards them. Anthony, who had not yet seen the great Mr. Herman Isaacstein, looked at him with considerable interest.
“Ah, Baron,” said Isaacstein, waving the big black cigar he was smoking, “this is a bad business—a very bad business.”
“My good friend, Mr. Isaacstein, it is indeed,” cried the Baron. “All our noble edifice in ruins is.”
Anthony tactfully left the two gentlemen to their lamentations, and retraced his steps along the terrace.
Suddenly he came to a halt. A thin spiral of smoke was rising into the air apparently from the very centre of the yew hedge.
“It must be hollow in the middle,” reflected Anthony. “I’ve heard of such things before.”
He looked swiftly to right and left of him. Lord Caterham was at the farther end of the terrace with Captain Andrassy. Their backs were towards him. Anthony bent down and wriggled his way through the massive yew.
He had been quite right in his supposition. The yew hedge was really not one, but two, a narrow passage divided them. The entrance to this was about half-way up, on the side of the house. There was no mystery about it, but no one seeing the yew hedge from the front would have guessed at the probability.
Anthony looked down the narrow vista. About half-way down, a man was reclining in a basket chair. A half-smoked cigar rested on the arm of the chair, and the gentleman himself appeared to be asleep.
“H’m!” said Anthony to himself. “Evidently Mr. Hiram Fish prefers sitting in the shade.”