Quite astonished by his tone, I followed him toward the library, turning at the door to give a pithy glance at the boy, whose hair now looked like a forest of query-notes. When I entered the library, Aire had thrown himself down in one of the big leather arm-chairs in a posture of complete relaxation, and was breathing heavily. Again it was some time before he spoke.
“He’s gone, God knows where. He left me an hour ago while we were walking among the strawberry trees. Went snap off, like breaking a stick, while I was in the middle of a sentence.”
“Why, Doctor,” I exclaimed, with a snort of assumed cheerfulness, “surely you’re making too much of this.”
He sprang up, paced the breadth of the room, ugly wrinkles on his brow. “I hope I am. I hope I am. But I’ve bitched the thing so. And this afternoon he seemed in perfect possession of himself. I’ve been so damned optimistic that now the reverse— He seemed perfectly normal late this afternoon, you understand; in fact the two of us were planning—no matter. I must go out again.”
“I’ll come along with you.”
“No, thanks. I’ll have to manage him alone. It will be ‘Horse and Hattock in the Devil’s name,’ and I fancy I’m the only one who can play up to him.”
“But you’ll be in danger.”
He gave a short laugh. “I think not. I’m more afraid of the things that can’t hurt.” He looked out to the lawn. “Thank God for a clear night, and moonlight. You know, the trees seem to have faces in their trunks; they seem to be grinning and mowing in the wind. That’s the sort of drivel this thing’s brought me to. Well, I’m off.”
He made toward the door, but paused with his hand on it. “Don’t say a word of this to anyone, Bannerlee. I’ll need a free hand if I’m to bring it off. Cheerio.”
He plunged into the night. I saw him cross the silver carpet of the lawn and disappear between the gigantic jaws of the gate-house towers.