Hugh glanced at me very doubtfully.
“Nobody,” I reiterated.
“Really,” he rejoined. “But the garden?”
“Is deserted.”
“Hardly,” he exclaimed, pointing with his hand. “Look!”
“Yes,” said Kate, as if in agreement.
And she grew duskily pale.
I looked over the privet hedge, seeing only the rank and frost-bitten grass, the wild bushes and narrow mossy paths. Then I stared at my two companions in silence. Their eyes appeared to follow the onward movement of some object invisible to me.
“The old man makes himself at home,” Hugh said. “He has gone into the summer-house now.”
“Yes,” Kate said again.