“I can’t see!” I shouted, really annoyed.
Sir Roderick could not be living underground—that was all nonsense. He was playing a trick upon me, and would think it fine fun.
“I will strike a match,” I added, crossly; but the old man pulled open a door.
The landing just below me was suddenly flooded with light. Stepping down, I turned and followed him into a large conservatory.
What a magical change! The blue clear light from the glass dome showed up each frond of the great tree-ferns, each grand leaf of the palms, each yellow orange and white-waxen blossom of the orange-trees. Huge crimson blooms hung upon the thick festoons of the sub-tropical creeping plants, and there was my friend the Cape jessamine strengthening the warm, intoxicating perfume of the gardenias, daphnes, and, above all, of the orange-blossom.
It was a relief to be out of the scented atmosphere and in an ordinary, square hall, which had a billiard-table in the centre.
My cicerone asked me to wait; but after opening various doors and exploring several rooms, he came to me with a rueful expression.
“They was here half-an-hour ago,” he said; “but they must be out now. Lor! why they’re on the lawn. Come along, sir!”
He must have caught sight of “them” through a window. He opened the hall-door, and I saw a lawn with spreading trees, under one of which Sir Roderick was seated in a basket-chair, smoking. At his feet lay a huge mastiff. By his side sat a lady, bending over a book, her face shaded by a broad-brimmed hat.
My conductor had shut the door, and left me to my fate. I walked across the lawn, thinking to myself that under that hat was the face I had seen in Sir Roderick’s locket.