“Guess I’ll walk up. Want to bring my machine?”
Might as well enjoy some of the luxury of having servants to wait on him, Roger chuckled merrily to himself.
“Certainly, sir. You will find Doctor Ryder with Mister Clark, over beyond the pool, at the first tee of the golf links. Or, would you rather be announced?”
“‘Station O.B.Y’s,’” Roger pretended to be a radio announcer, playing on the phrase, “Oh, be wise,” as he shook his head.
“No, thank you. I’ll go see the doctor without being heralded.”
He walked ahead of the servant, across the lawn.
Before he had passed the girls with gay frocks, joking with their escorts, and the quartet of laughing, splashing swimmers, he saw the man he had supposed to be a prisoner.
Doctor Ryder, his bald head and plump frame easily discernible, was certainly as free as the tall, sallow, thin-cheeked, hatless man in white flannels who was swinging a golf club over a ball.
“Why—Roger!” The doctor, turning, recognized him as he approached, “How’d you locate me so soon?”
Roger, coming up, on guard, hiding his surprise at the unexpected freedom of the man, took on a careless air of wisdom.