There he halted, and, seating himself upon a big stone at the wayside, smoked in patience, and waited. I advanced as near as I could without risk of detection, and watched.
He struck a match in order to look at his watch. Then he rose and listened intently. The night was dark and silent, with heavy clouds hanging about the mountains, threatening rain.
I suppose he had waited fully another quarter of an hour, when suddenly, far away over the brow of the hill in the direction of Brescia, I saw a peculiar light in the sky. At first I was puzzled, but as it gradually grew larger and whiter I knew that it came from the head-lights of an approaching motor-car. Next moment the hum of the engine fell on my ears, and suddenly the whole roadway became illuminated, so suddenly, indeed, that I had only just time to crouch down in order to avoid detection.
Pennington shouted to the driver, and he instantly pulled up. Then two men in thick overcoats descended, and welcomed him warmly in English.
“Come along, old man!” I heard one of them cry. “Come inside. We must be off again, for we haven’t a moment to spare. How’s the girl?”
Then they entered the car, which was quickly turned, and a few moments later disappeared swiftly along the road it had come.
I stood, full of wonder, watching the white light fade away.
Who were Pennington’s friends, that he should meet them in so secret a manner?
“How’s the girl?” Had that man referred to Sylvia? There was mystery somewhere. I felt certain of it.
Down the hill I retraced my steps, on through the little town, now wrapped in slumber, and back to the Grand Hotel, where nearly every one had already retired to bed. In a corner of the big lounge, however, Pennington’s daughter was seated alone, reading a Tauchnitz novel.