Later in the day the reluctant clergyman and his far from reluctant wife turned in at the drive gates of Denmore Manor. They walked along the thick and somber avenue, at the end of which the trees suddenly ceased altogether and the drive gave a half-turn before sweeping on to the house. There was no one visible except a far-away gardener, of whom so little could be seen that it was quite impossible to judge whether he were a suspicious-looking character or not. The visitors looked round them at the smooth, green lawns and the riot of flowers, and the vicar sighed once more—this time in content.
"I should like to know," observed his wife with asperity, "how many men of military age it took to do this in a week? Why, the place was a wilderness. It had not been looked after for two years, and even in peace-time it took a small army to look after it. However, I suppose you can get things done even in war-time if you're rich enough and unpatriotic enough."
She marched resolutely up the steps, evidently more firmly convinced of the righteousness of her mission than ever, and paused with a hand on the bell.
"All the windows are barred," she commented darkly, as the lattices which Eustace's Eastern taste had brought into being struck her questing eye. "Does that convey nothing to you?"
The vicar, who could not honestly have said that it conveyed anything very sinister to him, merely looked uncomfortable. Mrs. Davies pulled the bell-handle. The door opened with embarrassing suddenness to display two massive negroes, clad in uniforms of startling brightness. Inside the vestibule could be seen the magnificent Mustapha.
"My goodness!" said Mrs. Davies, shrinking back suddenly. "Blacks!! Bobby was right."
The major-domo bowed low and with a gesture invited them to enter; but the lady, who distrusted "blacks" fervently, left her husband to reply.
The vicar beamed vaguely in the direction of the doorway.
"Er—is Mr.—er—that is," he began feebly.