The stranger seemed to be looking at her when he answered, but his eyes were upon Arthur Grenvil.
"Anthony Trent," he said urbanely.
"How do you do," Grenvil said without betraying any emotion. "Had any luck?"
"Not yet," Anthony Trent said still looking hard at him. Things were happening rather more quickly than he liked. Too many discoveries were disconcerting. First this girl was of course Lady Daphne Grenvil. And she had not any other motive in view in abstracting the confession than of helping her renegade brother. Anthony Trent felt himself absurdly pleased to know that. He had thought of her constantly and pitied her because he assumed her to be under the domination of a handsome heartless scamp like the Honourable Arthur.
It was Grenvil's attitude which puzzled the American. The name had apparently aroused no suspicion. It proved the man was more dangerous than he supposed if he were able to master his emotions with such ease. As they stood there chatting about flies and the size of the salmon Anthony Trent had time to study Grenvil's appearance. Assuredly he differed from the mental picture he had formed of him.
To begin with there seemed nothing vicious about him. He was a very handsome man with small regular features, finely formed nose and engaging blue eyes. Anthony Trent thought of the confession he had seen and remembered the talk in the dug-out. He called to mind the hints that the Alderbrook butler had let drop and the lack of enthusiasm the agent Nicholls had shown in speaking of him. From all accounts Arthur Spencer Jerningham Grenvil should be a very highly polished scoundrel but coarsened somewhat from his experiences in the ranks for so many years.
And here he was with a sister he plainly adored, looking with a sort of shy good nature at the stranger.
"It's so jolly to meet another keen fisherman," he said amiably, "I know the Camel so well that I can show you the best pools if you'd care about it."
"That would be very kind of you," Anthony Trent returned. He did not know what to make of the man he had first known as Private Smith. There might be a mistake and yet, if there had been, why should Lady Daphne have risked disgrace in breaking open a safe for his sake. And the voice, the unmistakable voice, was that of the man to whom he had confided all his dangerous, deadly secrets. "I haven't fished the river for almost seven years," the younger man went on.
"My brother has been in the army for more than five years," the girl said, "and he hadn't much chance then. He was badly wounded and we are making him well again."