“The man merely glanced in Delaney’s direction, and then, turning round, moved on down the lane. But the glimpse, momentary though it had been, was sufficient to enable Delaney to identify the person. It was Davidson; he knew him at once by his mannerisms, and he instinctively felt he had on that tie—that flagrantly vulgar, blood-red tie. In an instant he formed a resolution. He would give his friend a surprise. With this intention in view he dropped his valise, and, stepping noiselessly forward, he followed Davidson. On and on they went, the one keeping fifty or so yards behind the other, till there came a sudden bend in the lane, and then Delaney received a shock. Spread out before him, exactly as he had seen it in his dreams, was the panorama of the white glimmering road with the wide, wild expanse of moorland on one side, and on the other the long line of wall, and—the pool. Nothing could have been more like, and it was intensified by the brilliancy of the moonbeams. Crouching in the heather, Delaney watched Davidson slowly walk up to the edge of the water, fold his arms, and gaze in a reflective manner into the shadowy depths. The moments flew by, and still he gazed. Then there came a brief, distracting interval, during which the moon disappeared behind a bank of black, funereal clouds. When it emerged, the figure of Davidson had vanished, and Delaney occupied the spot where he had stood.
“‘The pool, the greedy, insatiable pool!’ he muttered. ‘Dark, deep and devilish. The three D’s. I might even add a fourth—damnable!’ And turning round with a chuckle, he was preparing to go, when someone vaulted the stone wall to his left and rapidly approached him.
“‘You don’t mean to say you are still pottering about here,’ the stranger, a man about Delaney’s own height and build, panted. ‘I thought you had returned to the inn long ago.’ Then, perceiving his mistake, he said in amazement, ‘Why, it’s someone else! I beg your pardon, sir; I quite thought you were an acquaintance of mine.’
“‘Davidson, by any chance?’ Delaney asked pleasantly.
“‘Yes, Markham Davidson,’ the stranger said in astonishment. ‘Do you know him, too?’
“‘I am his old friend,’ Delaney laughed, ‘and I am on my way to join him at Llanginney. I merely stopped here to look at the pool.’
“‘The pool,’ the stranger ejaculated, eyeing him curiously. ‘It is not the pleasantest place in the world, is it?’
“‘No,’ Delaney replied, ‘but it has its fascination. Where did you leave Davidson?’
“‘At the entrance to this lane half an hour ago,’ the stranger answered, scanning the dark surface of the water anxiously. ‘I wanted to get as far as the brow of the hill over yonder, but, as Davidson complained of feeling tired, I set out alone. He said he would follow me slowly and wait for me somewhere about here. Did you by any chance hear a cry?’