What was Jellison doing here, anyway? What object had he in appearing at nine o’clock at night, alone, at a probably deserted farmhouse? Such conduct was extraordinary, to say the least.
“You—er—say you have rented the place for a few days?” Jellison inquired at that moment.
Dick nodded.
“Yes. We have taken it for the remainder of the week.”
“Shooting, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
There was silence for a moment. Jellison appeared to be thinking intently.
“I came down for a few days’ rest,” he volunteered. “The late flurry in the Street has pretty well worn me out, and I knew how peaceful and quiet this place was. I had no idea I should find any one here.”
He hesitated and looked questioningly at Dick.
“I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to tolerate me for to-night,” he went on slowly. “There’s no place nearer than Cobmore’s where I could stay.”