But at sight of Sam the colt started back. He was suspicious of all the world but Jake.
Jake looked round, his face grey in the failing light. "Hullo! What is it?"
Sam came forward and gave him the card. "Mrs. Bolton was out, sir, and he asked for you; said he'd wait in the yard, sir."
Jake bent his brows over the card. It bore a name that seemed vaguely familiar to him though in what connection he could not for the moment recall:--Monterey W. Rafford. Jake looked up. "He's no friend of mine. Do you know what he wants?"
"Said he was a friend of Dr. Capper, sir," said Sam.
"Oh, that American chap! I remember now. All right, Sam. I'll see him." Jake gently pushed back the colt's enquiring nose, closed the upper half of the door, and strode off down the stone passage that led to the yard.
The visitor was standing under a lamp, a slim young man with a dark, keen face that broke into a smile at Jake's approach. He moved to meet him, speaking in a voice that betrayed his nationality at the first word.
"I am very pleased to meet you again, sir, though no doubt you have forgotten me."
They shook hands. Jake was looking at him with steady eyes. "No," he said, in his slow way, "I think you are the sort of man that doesn't get forgotten very easily."
Rafford laughed. He had an easy, well-bred laugh. "Capper doesn't believe in me," he said. "He declares I'll never get there. P'raps he's right. It doesn't concern me very much either way. Anyway, I've given up sending sick people to sleep for the present. I'm out on my own this journey. How is your young brother-in-law? Cure complete?"