“I quite agree,” I answered, looking wonderingly around. “Of course, the directions are complicated, purposely no doubt; and today it seems quite useless to attempt to follow them. We must arouse no suspicion of our intentions.”
“We shall require assistance when we really do investigate,” my companion remarked.
“Then we’ll take Fred into our confidence. He would thoroughly enter into the spirit of the thing—that I know.”
We walked back to where the others were still seated on the grass, in the shadow of the high grey wall, with its grim “hanging knob,” and a chorus of jeers at my studious nature greeted me.
“Going to write a book, I suppose, Allan?” cried Sammy Waldron, his mouth full of sandwich. “Put me in it, old fellow. I’m good-looking enough to be a hero, aren’t I?”
Bertie Sale opened a bottle of soda clumsily, and squirted it in a lady’s face, and Mrs Payling, to whom Walter turned his attention, was discovered actually talking frocks with Connie, and was allowed to continue, for both men and women admired her for being so well turned-out on every occasion. Godfrey Handsworth had been heard to remark that it was a pity that she was not twenty years younger; but, as it was, she was still very handsome, with a figure that many a younger woman envied.
Fred Fenwicke and Connie looked after everyone’s comfort. On such occasions they never took servants. Everyone helped himself and looked after a lady, and, as such al fresco luncheons were weekly in the shooting season, this kind of entertainment had been brought to a fine art.
The men smoked and idled, some of them lying stretched upon the grass, while others escorted the ladies around the ruins, the chief excitement being the loss of Connie’s Aberdeen “Jack,” a one-eyed dog of Satanic expression and cunning, the terror of Campbell, the sturdy, good-humoured gamekeeper of Crailloch.
I sat on the grass, smoking, chatting, and drinking whisky and soda with Fred,—Walter, Sammy, and Mr Batten, while the others wandered about the island. The afternoon was absolutely perfect, with as blue a sky as ever seen in Italy, and across the wide sweep of river, towards Greenlaw, rose the long, low heathery hills.
From where we idled Mr Batten pointed out to us the peaks Bengairn and Cairntosh and the highlands of Balmaghie, and related several archaeological facts that, in view of our forthcoming explorations, were of intense interest to us.