"When did he leave?"
"The end of last week, sir," said the man, with a jaunty air.
"That, I think, is not so," said Meynell, sternly. "I shall not trouble you to take my card."
The youth's expression changed. He stood silent and sheepish, while
Meynell considered a moment, on the steps.
Suddenly a sound of voices from a distance became audible through the grudgingly opened door. It appeared to come from the back of the house. The man looked behind him, his mouth twitching with repressed laughter. Meynell ran down the steps and turned to the left, where a door led through a curtain-wall to the garden. Meanwhile the house door was hastily banged behind him.
* * * * *
"Uncle Richard!"
Behind the house Meynell came upon the persons he sought. In an overgrown formal garden, full of sun, he perceived an old stone bench, under an overhanging yew. Upon it sat Hester, bareheaded, the golden masses of her hair shining against the blackness of the tree. Roddy mounted guard beside her, his nose upon her lap; and on a garden chair in front of her lounged Philip Meryon, smoking and chatting. At sight of Meynell they both sprang to their feet. Roddy first growled, and then, as soon as he recognized Meynell, wagged his tail. Philip, with a swaying step, advanced toward the newcomer, cigar in hand.
"How do you do, Richard! It is not often you honour me with a visit."
For a moment Meynell looked from one to the other in silence.