“I would like to see inside your head, and find out what there is there,” said Sinclair. “You’ve something concealed.”
Collins laughed. “That’s just what I was thinking. What are you after? Well, we will each keep his own counsel.”
Chapter XV.
The Crisis
Beyond Wilton-on-Sea, there is a bare hill standing gaunt above the surrounding country.
On the seaward side the cliff is sheer, and to the West a sudden drop into a quarry pit makes for danger. On the East a very steep path leads to a semi-ruined church, surrounded by a church yard, and some little distance away is a tower where once stood an ancient castle.
The church forms a landmark for miles.
From a distance it appears to be an imposing edifice. On near approach there is a tiny chancel which still retains a roof, and a nave with no roof. It is all very small, like the chapel of a stronghold in days gone by. At the base of the hill is a public-house of mean appearance, and also some straggling houses.
It was here that Sinclair and Collins had taken up their residence. For three days they had been glued to the spot. A fretful distrust of each other was growing up, which they tried their best to hide.
There had been no talk of going to Sir James’ house. Collins would sit in the little sitting room upstairs, reading, with one eye on the window. Sinclair was more restless; he wandered outside, prowling round the base of the hill but never going up.
He appeared to be drinking more than was good for him, and evidently suffering from the strain of waiting. Each was sure that the other was keeping something to himself, but whatever it was it had drawn them to this spot. Evening was coming on after a grey autumn afternoon, and a thin drizzle was falling. It was a time when a wise man hugs his fire, and is glad to draw the curtains and light a cheery lamp.