Gerald Brooke drew in his breath with a gasp. "Karovsky--and here!"
"He says that he has important business to see you upon.
"He is one of the few men whose faces I hoped never to see again. Where is he?" There was trouble in his eyes, trouble in his voice, as he asked the question.
"When I told him that you were out, he said that, with my permission, he would smoke a cigarette in the grounds while awaiting your return. What a strange, almost sinister-looking man he is! How I wish he had stayed away!"
Her husband did not reply; he looked as if he had not heard what she said.
Next moment Mrs. Brooke started to her feet. "There he is. There is Monsieur Karovsky," she cried.
And there, indeed, he was, standing just outside the open window smoking a cigarette. Perceiving that he was seen, he flung away his cigarette, stepped slowly into the room, removed his hat, and bowed.
[CHAPTER III.]
When George Crofton informed Mrs. Brooke that it was while riding along the road outside the park palings he had seen her husband leaving the house, he stated no more than the truth; but one little point he had not seen fit to mention--that he himself was not alone at the time. When he had recovered from his momentary surprise at seeing his cousin, he had said to his companion--an extremely handsome young person in a riding-habit that fitted her like a glove: "Let us put the pace on a bit, Steph. I've just remembered that there's a call I ought to make while I'm in this neighbourhood."
A few minutes later they pulled up at the Beechley Arms, a country tavern only a few hundred yards distant from the back entrance to the park. Here Mr. Crofton had been well known in days gone by; and by the time he had dismounted and had assisted his companion to alight, the buxom landlady, all smiles and cap-ribbons, had come to the door to greet him.