He held up a warning hand. Hume stepped warily behind him, and both men looked through a portion of the hedge where briars were supplanted by hazel bushes.
Capella was standing panting near a stile. A girl, dressed in muslin, and wearing a large straw hat, was approaching.
“Great Heavens! It is Helen!” exclaimed Hume.
Brett grasped his shoulder.
“Restrain yourself,” he whispered earnestly. “Luckily, Capella has not heard you. I regret the necessity which makes us eavesdroppers, but it is a fortunate accident, all the same. Not a word! Remember what is at stake.”
They could not see the Italian’s face. His back was heaving from the violence of his exertion. Miss Layton was walking rapidly towards the stile. Obviously she had perceived the waiting man, and she was not pleased.
Her pretty face, flushed and sunburnt, wore the strained aspect of a woman annoyed, but trying to be civil.
It was she who took the initiative.
“Good day, Mr. Capella,” she said pleasantly. “Why on earth did you run so fast?”
“Because I wished to be here before you, Miss Layton,” replied the man, his voice tremulous with excitement.