“Mutters in his sleep, does he?” said Lionel. “Have you any idea, Dobbs, what it is that he talks about?”
“I’ve tried my best to ascertain, sir, but without much success. I have listened and listened for hours, and very cold work it is, sir; but there’s never more than a word now and a word then that one can make out. Nothing connected—nothing worth recollecting.”
“Does Mr. St. George still walk in his sleep?”
“He does, sir, but not very often—not more than two or three times a month.”
“Keep your eyes open, Dobbs, and the very next time your master walks in his sleep come to me at once—never mind what hour it may be—and tell me.”
“I won’t fail to do so, sir.”
“In these sleep-walking rambles does Mr. St. George always confine himself to the house, or does he ever venture out into the park or grounds?”
“He generally goes out of doors, sir, at such times. Three times out of four he goes as far as the Wizard’s Fountain, in the Sycamore Walk, stops there for a minute or two, and then walks back home. I have watched him several times.”
“The Wizard’s Fountain, in the Sycamore Walk! What should take him there?”
“Then you know the place, sir?”