“They say he discovered the missing link or something of that kind.”
“They made a big fuss over the cable reports of his discovery in our London papers,” was Ranville's comment. “What sort of a chap is he?”
Carter lighted a cigarette and laughed as he answered.
“Well, to start with, Warren is not at all the usual college professor. He has all kinds of money, and his teaching at Harvard is simply a hobby. Most of his time he spends in exploration in various parts of the world. He has been everywhere. But this place happens to be his old home, and he has a big summer estate here. Just now he is writing his book upon whatever it was he found in China.”
“They tell me that he has a rather touchy disposition,” was my retort.
“Well,” drawled Carter, “I doubt if Warren knows what the word ‘fear’ means. And all his life he has had his own way. He doesn't like many people, saying that they bore him because they know nothing. He can overlook anything but ignorance and stupidity. But it's my idea that when you meet him to-night, you will like him.”
With that he gave a glance at his watch and, rising, said that it was time to dress for dinner. Showing me to my room, he told me we would not have to wear our evening clothes, and asked that I be ready in thirty minutes. As he left the room, I went to the windows and glanced without. At my feet lay the lake, and for a moment I watched the sun as it played upon the distant hills. Then my eyes fell upon the Airedale, asleep under a tree by the water's edge.
When I went downstairs after my bath, I had to wait a few moments for Carter and his friend. Going out into the yard, I placed the car in the garage, and though the dog protested a little, left him with the machine. Starting to stroll rather aimlessly around the grounds, which covered several acres, I was hailed in the end by Carter, who wanted to know where I had been hiding.
As we left the yard, he informed us that we would walk to Warren's, which he said was only a little more than a mile away. We went down the wide street—a street with large summer homes. Homes, set in the midst of great lawns, which were hidden from our sight by the tall hedges which enclosed the grounds. Not only did the street speak of wealth, but also of age, for most of the homes were the large colonial homes of a remote day. Far in the distance I could see the white steeples of the churches which peered above the tall elms.
A few moments later we followed a winding road which ran along the bank of the lake. Here the lawns had given place to extensive summer estates, and the houses were set far back from the road. The road ended before a stone wall—a wall at least ten feet high, which Carter told us surrounded Warren's estate. We passed through the iron gate to go up a driveway. A driveway lined on each side by a high box hedge, and which ended some yards away at a rambling white house. At the door of the house we waited for some one to answer the bell.