Bat laughed.
“Whispering,” said he. “Well, if that’s whispering, let me say that the night has some well developed voice. Up here,” he added, “it’s the greatest place for thunder you ever saw. It comes up when you never expect it.”
“Thunder!” said the soft man; and the cold eyes seemed to smile.
Bat nodded.
“Pretty loud, too,” said he. “And as for taking little walks at night—well, that’s hardly the thing to do hereabouts. You see, there’s a lot of tramps about; and they make it a little dangerous. A friend of mine up at the big place you were just talking about,” and Scanlon gestured toward the castle, “is kept on the jump all the time by them. They’re very forward; even undertake a little housebreaking now and then, he says.”
The soft man caressed one hand with the other.
“Ah, well,” he sighed, “everything has its drawbacks. I suppose it’s too much to hope for complete tranquillity. I thank you, sir, for your courtesy. Straight on, did you say? and then across the bridge? Again, thank you. You are very kind.”
And so the soft-looking man moved softly down the road, and Bat stood looking after him from beneath puckered brows.
CHAPTER VIII
TELLS HOW THE NIGHT BREEZE BLEW FROM THE NORTHWEST
AT dinner that evening Scanlon was surprised to find Miss Hohenlo. She wore a faded little smile and nodded girlishly to the trainer.