"I hope you will accept Mrs. Hilyer's invitation," she said, her eyes glowing softly. "It's such a pleasure to meet Americans. I'd love to ride with you one day this week."
"I'll ring you up," I prevaricated, feeling very much like doing it, if the truth be known—she had a way with her, that girl.
"And don't forget that tip on Krugersdorp for the St. Leger," I heard Hilyer insist to Hugh. "I'm not so sure about the Derby. When you run over to see us, I'll let you have a look at a sweet little filly I'm grooming for steeplechase work. You aren't takin' on any hunters, are you? I've—"
"By the way," Hugh interrupted. "I meant to ask you: did any of your people see strangers around here the morning of my uncle's funeral?"
I was amazed at the sudden silence that gripped the room. The Italian, Teodoreschi, already in the doorway after a curt nod of farewell, stopped dead and stared hard at Hugh.
"You see," Hugh continued, "I heard one of your cars was seen on the London Road in back of the park, and if—"
"But, my dear fellow," exclaimed Hilyer, "what's the trouble? There are always strangers passing through Chesby. You've got two trunk highways, remember."
"Quite so," agreed Hugh. "But I'm anxious to know whether any strangers were seen that morning, especially strangers on foot."
"Not that we've heard of," responded Mrs. Hilyer promptly. "All of us were at the funeral. And if the servants had noticed anything queer, I'm sure they would have reported it to me."
"Thanks," said Hugh. "Would it be too much trouble for you to inquire of them, just the same?"