Just about noon the car swung into the gates of Shapley, and soon they were indoors. Benton threw off his coat, and in an abrupt manner said to the servant:
“I want to see Mrs. Bond at once.”
Then, turning to Louise, he exclaimed:
“I want to see Molly privately. I have some urgent business to discuss with her before your profiteer friends arrive.”
“All right,” replied the girl cheerily. “I’ll leave you alone,” and she ascended the broad oak staircase, the steps of which were worn thin by the tramp of many generations.
A few moments later Charles Benton stood in the morning-room, where Mrs. Bond still sat before the welcome log fire.
“Back again, Charles!” she exclaimed, rising to greet him. “Well, how goes it?”
“Not too well,” was his reply as he closed the door. “I only got back last night. Five days ago I saw The Sparrow at the Palace Hotel in Madrid. He’s doing all he can in young Henfrey’s interests, but he is not too hopeful.”
“Why?”
“I can’t make out,” said the man, apparently much perturbed. “He wired me to go to Madrid, and I went. But it seems that I’ve been on a fool’s errand.”