Abruptly Will Chadwick put out a hand and grasped the speaker’s.
“Come along to the house,” he said, “and make your offering to Peggy.”
When they were within full view of the house Mr Musgrave became suddenly aware of two significant facts; these, in their order, being the presence of Peggy walking on the terrace companioned by Diogenes, and the disturbing knowledge that the sight of her pacing leisurely among the shadows beyond the lighted windows filled him with a strange, almost overwhelming shyness, an emotion at once so unaccountable and so impossible to subdue that, had it not been for the restraining influence of Mr Chadwick’s presence at his elbow, he would in all probability have beaten a retreat.
Arrived below the terrace he halted, and Peggy, having advanced to meet them as they approached, leaned down over the low stone parapet and gave him her hand.
“You!” she said softly.
This greeting struck Mr Chadwick as peculiar. He was conscious of an immense curiosity to hear Mr Musgrave’s response; he was also conscious of feeling de trop. Plainly he and Diogenes had no place in this conspiracy. They had both been hoodwinked.
“You must not blame me,” Mr Musgrave said. “It is Diogenes who has given us away. I fear the secret is out.”
“You don’t flatter my intelligence,” Mr Chadwick interposed, “by suggesting there was any secret to come out. If it hadn’t been for implicating my niece I would have run you in for dog-stealing. A fine figure you’d cut in court, Musgrave.”
Peggy laughed quietly.
“Don’t take any notice of uncle, Mr Musgrave,” she said. “He is really obliged to you. So am I,” she added, and the grey eyes, looking straight into John Musgrave’s, were very kind. “Come up here and talk to me,” she said.