“Damn!” he ejaculated below his breath. “Who told you Coventry was back?” he went on in an expressionless voice.
Lady Susan chuckled and tried to restrain the Irish terrier’s manifest intention of leaping on to her lap.
“My dear boy, haven’t you learned yet that nothing takes place in a tiny village like Silverquay without everybody’s knowing all about it—and a little more, too! The comings and goings of an important personage like the owner of Heronsmere certainly wouldn’t be allowed to pass without comment.” Here she quieted the Irishman’s misplaced exuberance with a lump of sugar. “Through the comparatively direct channel of my maid, who had it from Mrs. Thorowgood, the laundress, who had it from the unsullied fount of Maria Coombe herself, I’ve even received the additional information that Mr. Coventry paid a long visit to Oldstone Cottage yesterday.”
“He probably would,” returned Brett. “After being away nearly three weeks he’d naturally want to see his agent.”
“Only,” remarked Lady Susan reflectively, “it appears that he must have gone to see his agent’s sister. Robin was in Ferribridge yesterday. I met him just setting off there, and he said he’d got a long afternoon’s work in front of him.”
Brett preserved a brooding silence.
“I merely told you by way of giving you a friendly warning,” observed his aunt, after a moment.
His blue eyes flashed up and met the mirthful dark ones scanning his sulky face amusedly.
“Thank you,” he said grimly. “I’ll see that your warning is not neglected.”
“Now what in the world did he mean by that?” Lady Susan asked herself, and the question recurred to her again when, an hour or so later, he swung down the drive in the dog-cart at a reckless pace which sent a shiver through her as she watched him turn the corner almost on one wheel.