“Dear Derry [he wrote].—I wasn’t taking any chances; so I’ve brought that little parcel myself. Time I saw London, anyhow, and here I am. A man in our consulate tells me these boys with medals and crossbars are O. K., and one of them is making the next train. I didn’t come myself, because I don’t know how you are fixed; but I’ll stand around till I hear from you. London is some size. I think I’ll like it when I learn the language.
“Yours,
“Mac.”
Power’s first impulse, warmly supported by Dacre, was to telegraph and bid the wanderer come straight to Devonshire, But he decided unwillingly to wait until he had won or lost the coming battle. He telegraphed, of course, and told MacGonigal to enjoy life till they met, which would be in the course of three days, at the uttermost. Then he retired, and spent many hours in writing, refusing Howard’s help, and taking a meal in his own room. It was long after midnight when his task was ended; but he appeared at the breakfast-table in the best of health and spirits.
Dacre, aware of something unusual and disturbing in his friend’s attitude of late, was glad to see this pleasant change, and talked of a long-deferred drive into the heart of Dartmoor.
“Tomorrow,” agreed Power cheerfully. “I am calling at Valescure Castle this morning, and the best hours of the day will be lost before I am at liberty.”
Dacre had the invaluable faculty of passing lightly over the gravest concerns of life. He had noticed the abrupt termination of Power’s friendship with Nancy, and guessed its cause; but he made no effort now to dissuade the other from a visit which was so pregnant of evil.
When the meal was ended Power summoned his secretary to a short conclave. Then he entered a carriage, and was driven to the castle by the roundabout road. He could have walked there in less time; but his reason for appearing in state became evident when he alighted at the main entrance, and a footman hurried to the door.
“Mr. Marten in?” he inquired.
“Yes, sir.”
“Is he in the library?”