“Gawd! sir,” he cried, “mind out. ’Ave yer seen it?”
“Seen what, Jem?” asked Drummond.
“That there brute. ’E’s escaped; and if ’e meets a stranger——” He left the sentence unfinished, and stood listening. From somewhere behind the house came a deep-throated, snarling roar; then the clang of a padlock shooting home in metal, followed by a series of heavy thuds as if some big animal was hurling itself against the bars of a cage.
“They’ve got it,” muttered Jem, mopping his brow.
“You seem to have a nice little crowd of pets about the house,” remarked Drummond, putting a hand on the man’s arm as he was about to move off. “What was that docile creature we’ve just heard calling to its young?”
The ex-pugilist looked at him sullenly.
“Never you mind, sir; it ain’t no business of yours. An’ if I was you, I wouldn’t make it your business to find out.”
A moment later he had disappeared into the bushes, and Drummond was left alone. Assuredly a cheerful household, he reflected; just the spot for a rest-cure. Then he saw a figure on the lawn of the next house which banished everything else from his mind; and opening the gate, he walked eagerly towards Phyllis Benton.
IV
“I heard you were down here,” she said gravely, holding out her hand to him. “I’ve been sick with anxiety ever since father told me he’d seen you.”