Just for a week or two," Strange replied. "I'm on my holiday."
"Er - won't you come into the house?" Peter suggested. "And have a cocktail or something?"
"Thanks, but I think I must be getting along. If Miss Fortescue will really be so kind as to show me the short cut to the village…'
"Yes, rather," Margaret said. "Perhaps you'll look us up some other time. Come on."
They set off together, leaving the two others to watch them out of sight.
"Well, there you are," said Charles. "Apparently she's got off again. And would you explain to me how a man making for a perfectly well-known right-of-way fetches up under our drawing-room windows?"
Peter was frowning. "He doesn't - if he is looking for the right-of-way. Common sense must tell him that it can't run this side of the house. To tell you the truth, Chas, I don't like your black-browed friend. Just what was he doing, snooping around here?"
"He wasn't exactly communicative, so I can't say. Might have wanted to take a look at the Priory, of course. Lots of people can't keep off a ruin."
"He didn't look to me that sort," Peter said, still frowning.
Charles yawned. "Probably a mere ass without any bump of locality."