"I dare not tell you what I hope, Petrie," he replied—"nor what I fear."
CHAPTER XXIX
DUSK was falling when we made our way in the direction of Maple Cottage. Nayland Smith appeared to be keenly interested in the character of the district. A high and ancient wall bordered the road along which we walked for a considerable distance. Later it gave place to a rickety fence.
My friend peered through a gap in the latter.
"There is quite an extensive estate here," he said, "not yet cut up by the builder. It is well wooded on one side, and there appears to be a pool lower down."
The road was a quiet one, and we plainly heard the tread—quite unmistakable—of an approaching policeman. Smith continued to peer through the hole in the fence, until the officer drew up level with us. Then:
"Does this piece of ground extend down to the village, constable?" he inquired.
Quite willing for a chat, the man stopped, and stood with his thumbs thrust in his belt.
"Yes, sir. They tell me three new roads will be made through it between here and the hill."