The sentry had watched these proceedings open-mouthed, more mystified than alarmed. “Luk here,” he said, “I want t’ know whut this means.”
“Anything you choose to think it means,” I laughed, beginning to walk a little more rapidly. He glanced up at the windows of the “Grande Suite,” which were again dark, and began to follow us slowly. “What you gut in that grip?” he asked.
“You don’t think we’re carrying off Mr. Harman?”
“I reckon HE’S in his room all right,” said the youth grimly; “unless he’s FLEW out. But I want t’ know what you think y’re doin’?”
“Just now,” I replied, “I’m opening this door.”
This was a fact he could not question. We emerged at the foot of a lane behind the inn; it was long and narrow, bordered by stone walls, and at the other end debouched upon a road which passed the rear of the Baudry cottage.
Miss Elliott took my arm, and we entered the lane.
Mr. Percy paused undecidedly. “I want t’ know whut you think y’re doin’?” he repeated angrily, calling after us.
“It’s very simple,” I called in turn. “Can’t I do an errand for a friend? Can’t I even carry his travelling-bag for him, without going into explanations to everybody I happen to meet? And,” I added, permitting some anxiety to be marked in my voice, “I think you may as well go back. We’re not going far enough to need a guard.”
Mr. Percy allowed an oath to escape him, and we heard him muttering to himself. Then his foot-steps sounded behind us.