"It is a coincidence, nothing more," replied Chaytor, with an uneasy shifting of his body. "Look here--I am not going to stand this, you know."
"You are not going to stand what?"
"This infernal badgering--this attempt to make me uncomfortable. Haven't I enough to worry me as it is? What do I care about your dreams and your three strangers?"
"I want to make you comfortable--and happy; yes, very, very happy. And you will be if you do not quarrel with me."
"And if I do quarrel with you?"
Gilbert Bidaud toyed musingly with a charm on Chaytor's watch chain. "Be advised. Keep friends with me, the best of friends. Old as I am, it is not safe to quarrel with me."
"Oh, tush!" cried Chaytor, vainly endeavouring to conceal his discomposure. "Have you done with your post-woman and her three strangers?"
"Not quite. I made further inquiries about them and learnt all there was to learn. They came to the village, they inquired for the Villa Bidaud, they walked all round the walls, they lingered at the gate, they looked up at the house, which, as you know, is not to be seen from any part of the road, they talked together, they lingered still longer, and then--they went away."
"The King of France went up the hill," quoted Chaytor. "Shall I tell you what I make of all this?"
"Do."