He looked at me as though I had missed the point, and I awaited an impatient intimation of the fact. But there had been something strange about Uvo Delavoye all the evening; he had singularly little to say for himself, and now he was saying it in so low a voice that I insensibly lowered mine, though we had the whole road almost to ourselves.
"You said you found old Royle quite alone the other night?"
"Absolutely—so he said."
"You've no reason to doubt it, have you?"
"No reason—none. Still, it did seem odd that he should hang on to the end—the master of the house—without a soul to do anything for him."
"I quite agree with you," said Delavoye emphatically. "It's very odd. It means something. I believe I know what, too!"
But he did not appear disposed to tell me, and I was not going to press him on the point. Nor did I share his confidence in his own powers of divination. What could he know of the case, that was unknown to me—unless he had some outside source of information all the time?
That, however, I did not believe; at any rate he seemed bent upon acquiring more. He pushed the gate open, and was on the doorstep before I could say a word. I had to follow in order to remind him that his proceedings might be misunderstood if they were seen.
"Not a bit of it!" he had the nerve to say as he bent over the tarnished letter-box. "You're with me, Gillon, and isn't it your job to keep an eye on these houses?"
"Yes, but——"