The thin flaxen eyebrows went up very high, until they were lost to sight beneath the hat brim.
“Did they—ah—deal with the local tradesmen?”
“No,” replied Sidney, “I think not. They received all their stores by train from London.”
“And you have never seen any of the monks?”
“No, never.”
The fair-haired gentleman gave a little upward jerk of the head and smiled quietly for his own satisfaction.
He did not speak again until the cavalcade reached Porton Abbey. The old place looked very peaceful in the morning light, standing grimly in the midst of that soft lush grass which only grows over old habitations.
One side of the long, low building was in good repair, while the other half had been allowed to crumble away. The narrow Norman windows had been framed with unpainted wood and cheap glass. The broad doorway had been partly filled in with unseasoned deal, and an inexpensive door had been fitted up.
The bell-knob was of brass, new and glaring in the morning sun. The gentleman from London, having alighted, took gently hold of this and rang. A faint tinkle rewarded him. It was the peculiar sound of a bell ringing in an empty house. After a moment's pause he wrenched the bell nearly out of its socket, and a long peal was the result. At last this ceased, and there was no sound in the house. The fair man looked back over his shoulder at Captain Pharland.
“Gone!” he said tersely.