“What are they doing, then?” demanded Spargo impatiently.
“Well,” answered Breton. “They’re going through a quantity of papers. The two old gentlemen look very ill and very miserable. Myerst is evidently laying down the law to them in some fashion or other. I’ve formed a notion, Spargo.”
“What notion?”
“Myerst is in possession of whatever secret they have, and he’s followed them down here to blackmail them. That’s my notion.”
Spargo thought awhile, pacing up and down the river bank.
“I daresay you’re right,” he said. “Now, what’s to be done?”
Breton, too, considered matters.
“I wish,” he said at last, “I wish we could get in there and overhear what’s going on. But that’s impossible—I know that cottage. The only thing we can do is this—we must catch Myerst unawares. He’s here for no good. Look here!”
And reaching round to his hip-pocket Breton drew out a Browning revolver and wagged it in his hand with a smile.
“That’s a useful thing to have, Spargo,” he remarked. “I slipped it into my pocket the other day, wondering why on earth I did it. Now it’ll come in handy. For anything we know Myerst may be armed.”