His first small success to break that tedious tale of reverses . . .
"At last," he announced, "the faithful Pagan!"
"Where?" Morphew goggled blindly at the gloom that clothed the grounds. "I don't see him . . ."
"If your sight by night is no better than that," Lanyard observed, "I feel sure, for the first time, it wasn't you who played Lone Wolf while my back was turned."
Morphew swung himself sharply—and cursed himself sotto-voce for the constructive self-betrayal.
"What put that silly fool idea into your head?"
"Don't be angry, monsieur—it was not said seriously."
A shadow picked out with the white wedge of a shirt-bosom sped lightly across the gravel and up the steps. Morphew's cluck brought it fawning to his side.
"His master's voice," Lanyard chuckled.
"See here!" Pagan bristled belligerently under the lee of his patron, "d'you know you're damned impertinent?"