"He doesn't want to be seen, either," he mused.
Relying on his simple but effective disguise, the colonel made bold to walk within hearing distance of the man and woman, the latter having come to a stiff halt when she saw the man advancing to meet her.
"We can't talk here," said the dispatcher of the note. "Will you walk a little way with me?"
His tones had the cutting coldness of steel, and there was a sort of restrained cruelty in his every action.
"I suppose it would not be wise to be seen talking to you here," was the woman's low reply. "And, believe me, I have no desire to be seen with you again, ever. It was only your promise in the note that brought me here. Are you prepared to keep it if I walk a way with you?"
"I am! This is no more pleasant for me than for you, but it must be done. Come!"
He did not offer to touch her, nor did he turn his head more than half way in speaking to her. He seemed to be controlling himself by an effort, and she seemed to shrink away. Again she looked back, down the fast-darkening street, as though to make sure there was a way of escape—some one near on whom she could rely.
"Don't worry. I'll be there when you have your little talk," whispered the colonel to himself.
"Suppose we walk up on The Heights," suggested the man. "We will not be disturbed, and—"
"Up there?" she gasped.