“You bore me with those schoolboy ideas of yours, Flash,” he yawned. “Who cares about Rajah Mitra? We’re here and we can have a good time if you’ll act fairly appreciative, instead of being so blamed suspicious.”
“There’s something about our friend Rascomb I don’t like.”
“Oh, you make me tired!” Doyle said in exasperation. “Go soak your head in the lake!”
Flash turned angrily and walked down a cindered path which led into the woods. It was useless to argue with Doyle. He had been unwise even to mention his thoughts. Yet it was possible that his misgivings were without foundation.
Gravel crunched behind him. Whirling around he faced Herbert Rascomb.
“Hope I didn’t startle you,” his host said pleasantly.
They fell into step. Feeling certain that the man had joined him for a purpose, Flash waited for Rascomb to introduce the topic of conversation.
For a time his host talked casually of work he was having done on his place. He pointed out various kinds of trees, displaying a genuine knowledge and interest in nature. Finally he remarked:
“Yesterday at the polo game you spoke of an acquaintance of mine, the late Albert Povy. You knew the man?”
“Only by reputation. I have been told he was a spy who plotted against our government.”