His eyes changed their character as he spoke. They no longer looked gentle and pathetic; rays of light, cruel as hell itself, seemed to leap from their depths.
“Impossible,” he said; “not to be discussed. The place is absolutely convenient—above suspicion, and therefore invaluable. So no more. Your request is unequivocally refused.”
“I must bow to the inevitable,” said Rowton, slightly bending his head.
“Your marriage came at a most inconvenient time,” proceeded Piper; “but now that you are married and have elected to live at Rowton Heights, we all see our way to doing magnificent business. In your position as one of the wealthiest and most influential men of your county, you can give us information which will be more than useful. I will speak to you a while on that point. Meanwhile it is my wish that Scrivener should go and live at Pitstow. There is a village there, is there not?”
“A small town,” said Scrivener; “a healthy, bracing place. I need change of air.”
The other men laughed. Rowton remained pale and silent.
“It would be particularly disagreeable to me to have Scrivener in the neighbourhood,” he said after a pause.
“He may be useful,” said Piper. “He is to take lodgings at Pitstow next week. Now that affair is settled for the present. How soon can you start for Spain?”
“When must I go?”