As for his master, it seemed that the ruin of the expensive hunter and four hours' violent and capricious exercise in his reeking saddle had merely whetted his appetite for more violence; and he had been tramping for an hour up and down the length of the library in his big sprawling house when Mr. Kyte, his confidential secretary, came in without knocking.
Sprowl hearing his step swung on him savagely, but Kyte coolly closed the door behind him and turned the key.
"Ledwith is here," he said.
"Ledwith," repeated Sprowl, mechanically.
"Yes, he's on the veranda. They said you were not at home. He said he'd wait. I thought you ought to know. He acts queerly."
Langly's protruding eyes became utterly expressionless.
"All right," he said in dismissal.
Kyte still lingered:
"Is there anything I can say or do?"
"If there was I'd tell you, wouldn't I?"