Thereupon we set out, and at every step I found a new delight in some wayward curl, in a gesture, in the sweet voice of my companion. Her merry laugh was music, but in wistful mood I think she was even more alluring.
The menace, if menace there were, which overhung Cray’s Folly, ceased to exist—for me, at least, and I blessed the lucky chance which had led to my presence there.
We were presently rejoined by Colonel Menendez and Paul Harley, and I gathered that my surmise that it had been their voices which I had heard proceeding from the top of the tower to have been only partly accurate.
“I know you will excuse me, Mr. Harley,” said the Colonel, “for detailing the duty to Pedro, but my wind is not good enough for the stairs.”
He used idiomatic English at times with that facility which some foreigners acquire, but always smiled in a self-satisfied way when he had employed a slang term.
“I quite understand, Colonel,” replied Harley. “The view from the top was very fine.”
“And now, gentlemen,” continued the Colonel, “if Miss Beverley will excuse us, we will retire to the library and discuss business.”
“As you wish,” said Harley; “but I have an idea that it is your custom to rest in the afternoon.”
Colonel Menendez shrugged his shoulders. “It used to be,” he admitted, “but I have too much to think about in these days.”
“I can see that you have much to tell me,” admitted Harley; “and therefore I am entirely at your service.”