“That,” said Ashton-Kirk, “is exactly what I wanted to speak of. Your part in this affair is to be important. Watch! Sleep—as some of the naturalists say the wild things do—with your eyes open. Things are apt to happen inside Schwartzberg.”
“Inside,” said Scanlon. “But what about outside?”
The other smiled.
“Why, as to that,” said he, “suppose you leave the outside to me.”
CHAPTER VII
SHOWS HOW MR. SCANLON MET THE MAN WITH THE SOFT VOICE
IT was late in the afternoon when Bat Scanlon got off the train at Marlowe Furnace and struck down the little road toward the covered bridge.
Upon the west bank he held to the regular road toward Schwartzberg; and he had gone perhaps half the distance when he heard hoof beats behind him; turning, he recognized Grace Knowles, mounted upon a powerful grey horse.
She waved her whip to him, smilingly, and as she came up, drew in her mount.
“It’s a very pleasant afternoon,” said she.
Bat cast his eyes first at one point and then at another. The question, it would appear, was a weighty one and must be carefully considered. The sun touched the hilltops with a dull gold; the sky was filled with sailing ribbons of white; and the breeze was bracing and free.