Romer himself marched away gloomily to his study; and Dangelis, snatching up his coat and hat, made off across the south garden.
It did not take the American long to reach the low hedge which separated Mr. Quincunx’s garden from the lane. The recluse was awaiting him, and joined him at once at the gate, giving him no invitation to enter, and taking for granted that their conversation was to be a pedestrian one.
Mr. Quincunx experienced a curious reluctance to allow any of his friends to cross his threshold. The only one completely privileged in this matter was young Luke Andersen, whose gay urbanity was so insidious that it would have overcome the resistance of a Trappist monk.
“Well, where are you proposing to take me tonight?” enquired Dangelis, when they had advanced in silence some distance up the hill.
“To a place that will interest you, if your damned artistic tastes haven’t quite spoiled your pleasure in little things!”
“Not to the Seven Ashes again?” protested the American. “I know this lane leads up there.”
“You wait a little. We shall turn off presently,” muttered his companion. “The truth is I am taking you on a sort of scouting expedition tonight.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“Well—if you must know, you shall know! I saw Miss Traffio yesterday and she asked me to keep an eye on Auber Lake tonight.”