A minute later the two men stood confronting each other.
The moon had set, and in the darkness a brisk, chill wind was busy among the tree-tops. Near by an owl hooted dismally, and receiving answer from the distance, hooted again in eerie ululation.
"Well?" queried Drummond, with difficulty disguising a thrill of surprise.
"I have kept my appointment," answered Morton, "earlier than I thought; earlier, probably, than you expected me."
"Well?"
"I am the bearer of a message—a note from Mrs. Effingham."
"Follow me."
Drummond threw away his cigar and led the way across the sodden grass to the open casement window, within which burned the light. It was a charming room, decorated with trophies of the chase. From floor to ceiling the walls were draped with fish-seines festooned upon antlers. Groups of arms from every quarter of the globe, glistened upon the various panels, while ancient and modern panoplies scintillated in every nook and corner. Beside a table shrouded in dull gray velvet, and littered with books, papers, and smoking-materials, Drummond paused and turned to face the shadow that followed him.
No word was exchanged, while in breathless silence he accepted and read to its close the letter which Morton had brought. Without comment he laid it upon the table, then bent his keen, stern glance upon the messenger.
"This letter is but a part of our compact," he said, each distinctly uttered word cutting the silence like a knife.