FIRE!
About eleven o'clock next morning Warrender and Pratt landed from the motor-boat at the ferry, and, inquiring of the ferryman the way to Mr. Crawshay's house, struck up the hilly road that ran westward from the right bank of the river. Mr. Crawshay, it was true, had invited them to make straight for the house across the fields; but they had decided that it would be more becoming, on this first visit, to observe the customary forms.
The house stood amid well-kept grounds, about as far west of the river as Mr. Pratt's was in the opposite direction.
The apple-cheeked maid-servant who answered their ring announced that her master was out, and would not return till the afternoon. Disappointed, they were leaving when Lilian Crawshay, who had recognised Warrender's voice as she descended the stairs, called to them.
"You wanted to see my father, Mr. Warrender?" she asked, as they turned back.
"Yes; I'm sorry he's out, but we'll call again this afternoon."
"What a pity, when you have so far to go! Can't I give him a message? Won't you come in and see Mother?"
"It's very good of you, but we have some shopping to do in the village, or Armstrong will get no lunch. It will be no trouble to come again. We get up and down very quickly in the motor-boat."
"Well, then come up in time for tea. Father will be home then; he has only gone on some stupid business of quarter-sessions. And bring Mr. Armstrong with you. Mother was greatly interested in the 'Three Musketeers.'"
"Thank you very much."