“I will go and make some enquiries,” Dominey decided, after a moment's puzzled consideration.
“If you please,” Seaman acquiesced. “The affair disconcerts me because I do not understand it. When there is a thing which I do not understand, I am uncomfortable.”
Dominey vanished into the nether regions, spent half an hour with Rosamund, and saw nothing of his disturbed guest again until they were walking to the first wood. They had a moment together after Dominey had pointed out the stands.
“Well?” Seaman enquired.
“Our friend,” Dominey announced, “apparently made up his mind to go quite suddenly. A bed was arranged for him—or rather it is always there—in a small apartment opening out of the butler's room, on the ground floor. He said nothing about leaving until he saw Parkins preparing to go down to the station with the chauffeur. Then he insisted upon accompanying him, and when he found there was a train to Norwich he simply bade them both good night. He left no message whatever for either you or me.”
Seaman was thoughtful.
“There is no doubt,” he said, “that his departure was indicative of a certain distrust in us. He came to find out something, and I suppose he found it out. I envy you your composure, my friend. We live on the brink of a volcano, and you shoot pheasants.”
“We will try a partridge for a change,” Dominey observed, swinging round as a single Frenchman with a dull whiz crossed the hedge behind them and fell a little distance away, a crumpled heap of feathers. “Neat, I think?” he added, turning to his companion.
“Marvellous!” Seaman replied, with faint sarcasm. “I envy your nerve.”
“I cannot take this matter very seriously,” Dominey acknowledged. “The fellow seemed to me quite harmless.”