“I don’t know why you should look at me as though I were a ghost,” he said. “If it comes to that, I might ask you the same question. What are you doing here?”
“Oh! I’m at home,” Wolfenden answered promptly. “I’m down to visit my people; it’s only a mile or two from here to Deringham Hall.”
Harcutt dropped his eyeglass and laughed shortly.
“You are wonderfully filial all of a sudden,” he remarked. “Of course you had no other reason for coming!”
“None at all,” Wolfenden answered firmly. “I came because I was sent for. It was a complete surprise to me to meet Mr. Sabin here—at least it would have been if I had not travelled down with his niece. Their coming was simply a stroke of luck for me.”
Harcutt assumed a more amiable expression.
“I am glad to hear it,” he said. “I thought that you were stealing a march on me, and there really was not any necessity, for our interests do not clash in the least. It was different between you and poor old Densham, but he’s given it up of his own accord and he sailed for India yesterday.”
“Poor old chap!” Wolfenden said softly. “He would not tell you, I suppose, even at the last, what it was that he had heard about—these people?”
“He would not tell me,” Harcutt answered; “but he sent a message to you. He wished me to remind you that you had been friends for fifteen years, and he was not likely to deceive you. He was leaving the country, he said, because he had certain and definite information concerning the girl, which made it absolutely hopeless for either you or he to think of her. His advice to you was to do the same.”
“I do not doubt Densham,” Wolfenden said slowly; “but I doubt his information. It came from a woman who has been Densham’s friend. Then, again, what may seem an insurmountable obstacle to him, may not be so to me. Nothing vague in the shape of warnings will deter me.”