“But why should she go about like that?” I asked.
“How can I tell? They were supposed to be away in Canada, or somewhere, at the time; they’re nearly always travelling, you know. We came home with them on the Caledonia the first season we met them.”
“They’re mysteries!” declared Wyman bluntly. “The girl is, at any rate.”
“What do you know of her?” inquired Fred eagerly.
But Walter would not satisfy us. He merely said:
“I’ve heard one or two strange rumours—that’s all.”
I was torn by conflicting desires: the desire not to meet his lordship beneath that roof, and the all-impelling desire to be afforded an opportunity of more intimate friendship with that sweet, sad-hearted woman whom I adored.
Fred Fenwicke was just as interested in the strange circumstances as we were, and promised at once to do all in his power to assist us. I knew him to be a man of sterling worth, whose word was his bond, and whose friendship was true and continuous. Equally with Walter Wyman, he was my best friend, and, with the exception of keeping back the fact that I loved Lady Judith, I was perfectly frank with him, telling him the suggestion that had crossed my mind—namely, that it would perhaps be as well if I left Crailloch before his lordship’s arrival.
“Why?” asked the Major at once. “Does he know that you are making this search?”
“I suppose he does,” Wyman replied. “He evidently knows that The Closed Book has been in Allan’s hands, and that he has deciphered it.”