Professor Griswold’s hand went to his moustache with a gesture that smote Ardmore, for he knew that it hid that inscrutable smile that had always baffled him.
“I trust,” said Griswold, “that the prisoner, whom we cannot for a moment concede to be the real Appleweight, will not be exposed to scarlet fever, pending a settlement of this matter. It is my understanding that the Bizet ’82 is a fraudulent vintage that has never been nearer France than Paris, Illinois, and if the prisoner in your cellar drinks of it I shall hold you officially responsible for the consequences. And now, I have the honour to bid you both good-morning.”
He and Barbara swung their horses round and retraced their way, leaving Ardmore and Jerry gazing after them.
When the shabby beasts from the stable at Turner Court House had borne Miss Osborne and Griswold out of sight beyond the bungalow, Ardmore turned blankly to Jerry.
“Have I gone blind or anything? Unless I’m crazy that was dear old Grissy, but who is that girl?”
“That is Miss Barbara Osborne, and I hope she has learned such a lesson that she will not be snippy to me any more, if she is the president-general of the Daughters of the Seminole War.”
“But where do you suppose she found Grissy?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure; nor, Mr. Ardmore, do I care.”
“He said he represented the state of South Carolina—do you suppose the governor has really employed him?”
“I do not,” said Jerry emphatically; “for he appears intelligent, and intelligence is something that would never appeal to Governor Osborne. It is quite possible,” mused Jerry aloud, “that Miss Osborne’s father had disappeared like mine, and that she is running his office with Mr. Griswold’s aid. If so, we shall probably have some fun before we get through with this.”