It was the voice of the man. As she heard it every muscle in Dorothy's body seemed to be attacked by a sort of tetanus. Whatever doubt she might have had about the face, as to whether or not it was an optical delusion, she had none whatever about the voice. She had heard it too recently--under circumstances of too much import--not to be sure of its identity when she heard it again. In it was a tone which had not been in it when she heard it in that sitting-room in "The Bolton Arms"; none the less was she sure that it was the same voice.
She could not have answered the question if she had tried; she did not try. She sat silent, rigid, waiting for the voice to come again. Presently it came.
"You must forgive me if I startled you, but that flash of lightning revealed you so clearly that I was asking myself if you could have been sent by Providence to help me in a difficulty I am in. I am trying to make out which is the garden of Mr Vernon's house. The directions I received were most explicit; but, in this light, for a stranger, even the most explicit directions are hard to follow. Can you tell me if I have nearly hit it?"
As she listened, Dorothy began to realise that the speaker was in a boat which was within a foot or two of where she was sitting. The boat showed an inclination to move with the stream; he backed it with a gentle movement of his scull. His face was turned towards her; but she only saw it very vaguely. He seemed to be waiting for her to reply; when she continued silent he spoke again.
"Do I make myself clear? It is Mr Vernon's house I am looking for--the Weir House, I believe it is called."
With an effort she managed to speak, her voice sounding strange even to herself.
"Why--why do you want Mr Vernon's house?"
There was a sound which might have been a chuckle; as if the man was tickled, either by the girl's caution or by her curiosity.
"Well, if you must know, I want to pay a call."
"You!"