“Because Mr. Snowdon says I am a bad lot.”
“I am disposed to think that Mr. Snowdon himself is a bad lot.”
Finally they rose and made their way back to the hotel.
In front of it was a rusty-looking chaise drawn by a rawboned horse, whose skin was worn away in several places.
Bernard started in dismay.
“Mr. Snowdon has come after me,” he said quickly.
“What makes you think so?”
“That horse and carriage is one that he always hires. He gets it because he can hire it for half the price of a stable team.”
“But there is no one in the carriage.”
“He is probably in the hotel. I don’t know what to do.”