"A man could do worse than put in three or four weeks here," he said. "Look at that spread of green."
He pointed to an expanse of waving grasses, starred with the vari-coloured blossoms of wild flowers.
"I was never a lover of nature," said van Heerden, carelessly.
Milsom grunted.
"You have never been in prison," he said cryptically. "Is it time to give your lady another dose?"
"Not for two hours," said van Heerden. "I will play you at piquet."
The cards were shuffled and the hands dealt when there was a scamper of feet in the hall, the door burst open and a man ran in. He was wearing a soiled white smock and his face was distorted with terror.
"M'sieur, m'sieur," he cried, "that imbecile Bridgers!"
"What's wrong?" Van Heerden sprang to his feet.
"I think he is mad. He is dancing about the grounds, singing, and he has with him the preparation!"