And the open-air meeting adjourned.
It was the very evening of the day on which this conversation had been held in Buck Ashley’s store that Dick Willoughby rode forth from the cavern blindfolded and under the guidance of Pierre Luzon. For the first hour progress was slow—round many turnings, down steep declivities, with just here and there a few miles of easier trail. But then there had been a swift canter for another hour over grass land, and now at last the riders were upon a well-made road. Dick divined that this must be the highway leading to La Siesta, but from what point of the compass they had come he had not the remotest conception.
Very soon Pierre Luzon, still riding ahead with the leading rein, came to a halt.
“Here we are. Dismount, please,” he said. “You are free to remove ze bandage.”
Dick looked; they were right below the knoll on which the Darlington home stood. Lights were gleaming from the windows. Dick could even hear the faint tinkle of the piano.
“I hide ze ponies here in zis little grove of trees,” Pierre continued, pointing to a coppice not fifty yards from the main road. “In two hours’ time, at eleven o’clock”—Pierre looked at his watch in the bright moonlight—“monsieur will return. I have your word?”
“My word as a gentleman, Pierre,” exclaimed Dick, extending his hand. “So long then, old fellow. I’ve got to make the best use of my time.”
The piano playing stopped abruptly when Willoughby, unannounced, appeared at the door of the music room.
“Dick!” exclaimed Merle delightedly, leaving the instrument and rushing toward him. If they had been alone Dick felt that right then she would have jumped into his arms. But at the distance of a few paces she halted and clasped her hands.
“How ever did you get here, Mr. Willoughby?” she asked intensely.