We walked across the turf, through a little iron gate, which my father unlocked, and entered the shrubbery walk.
Once I looked round through an opening in the laurel leaves. The stranger was leaning wearily against the railings round the lodge, waiting for admittance.
CHAPTER LII.
WHERE IS MR. MARX?
Not until we had reached the Castle and were in the library did my father speak to me. Then his words were grave enough.
“We have done Mr. Marx an injury, Philip,” he said slowly.
“How?” I asked.
“Listen, and you will know.”
He went to the telephone and signalled. The answer came at once.
“Someone has been asking for me at the gate,” he said. “Who is it?”
“A stranger, sir, to see you.”