The next moment he stopped short, gazing sharply down the avenue at the broad, bent back of the keeper, who, with head down, was striding away toward the gate.
“What’s he been here for?—to see me?”
Rolph entered the house, walked noisily into his study—a gun-room, for the study of fowling-pieces and fishing rods, with a museum-like collection of prize cups and belts dotted about, in company with trophies of the chase, heads, horns and skins. Here he rang the bell, which was very promptly answered by the butler, Captain Rolph being a follower of the celebrated Count Shucksen, and using so much military drill-sergeant powder with his orders that they went home at once.
“Hayle been to see me, Smith?” he asked, sharply.
“No, sir. Came to bring up your guns after my mistress had been down to the keeper’s lodge this morning.”
“Brought up my guns,” said Rolph, wonderingly. “What for?”
The man looked at him rather curiously in silence.
“Well, idiot, why don’t you speak?”
“Not my business, sir. In trouble, I suppose. Benjamin Hayle and me has never been friends, and so he said nothing, on’y one word as he went out.”
“And what was that?”