CHAPTER XIV.
A FURTHER MYSTERY.
“Well,” said Hilderman, as we caught them up, “what about lunch? After his journey I daresay Mr. Burnham has an appetite, not to mention his excursion into the realm of detective fiction.”
“We lunched at Mallaig,” I explained, “with Mr. Garnesk before we saw him off.”
“Oh, did you?” he asked, with evident surprise. “I didn’t see you at the hotel.”
“We went to the Marine,” I replied, “to save ourselves a climb up the hill.”
“We had a snack at Mallaig too,” the American continued, “intending to lunch here. Are you sure you couldn’t manage something?”
“It would have to be a very slight something,” Dennis put in. “But I daresay we could manage that.”
“Good!” said Hilderman. “Come along, then, and let’s see what we can do.”
We strolled into the drawing-room through the inevitable verandah, and though Hilderman was the tenant of the furnished house he had contrived to impart a suggestion of his own personality to the room. The furniture was arranged in a delightfully lazy manner that almost made you yawn. The walls were hung with photographic enlargements of some of the most beautiful spots in the neighbourhood. I remembered what Myra had told me as to his being an enthusiastic photographer, so I asked him about them.