From the entrance to Mrs. Fenimore’s round to
the by-road which was the direct approach to Redgrave’s
bungalow would be a walk of some ten minutes.
Hugh had his reasons for not taking this direction.
Having dismissed his cab, he entered by the lodge-gate,
and walked up the drive, moving quickly, and with
a lighter step than was natural to him. When
he came within view of the house, he turned aside,
and made his way over the grass, in the deep shadow
of leafy lime-trees, until the illumined windows were
again hidden from him. He had seen no one, and
heard no sound. A path which skirted the gardens
would bring him in a few minutes to Redgrave’s
abode; this he found and followed.
The bungalow was built in a corner of the park where
previously had stood a gardener’s cottage; round
about it grew a few old trees, and on two sides spread
a shrubbery, sheltering the newly-made lawn and flower-beds.
Here it was very dark; Hugh advanced cautiously, stopping
now and then to listen. He reached a point where
the front of the house became visible. A light
shone at the door, but there was no movement, and
Hugh could hear only his own hard breathing.
He kept behind the laurels, and made a half-circuit
of the house. On passing to the farther side,
he would come within view of those windows which opened
so conveniently, as Mrs. Maskell had said —
the windows of Redgrave’s sitting-room, drawing-room,
study, or whatever he called it. To this end
it was necessary to quit the cover of the shrubs and
cross a lawn. As he stepped on to the mown grass,
his ear caught a sound, the sound of talking in a
subdued tone; it came, he thought, from that side
of the building which he could not yet see. A
few quick silent steps, and this conjecture became
a certainty: someone was talking within a few
yards of him, just round the obstructing corner, and
he felt sure the voice was Redgrave’s.
It paused; another voice made reply, but in so low
a murmur that its accents were not to be recognised.
That it was the voice of a woman the listener had
no doubt. Spurred by a choking anguish, he moved
forward. He saw two figures standing in a dim
light from the window-door — a man and
a woman; the man bareheaded, his companion in outdoor
clothing. At the same moment he himself was perceived.
He heard a hurried ‘Go in!’ and at once
the woman disappeared.
Face to face with Redgrave, he looked at the window;
but the curtain which dulled the light from within
concealed everything.
‘Who was that?’
‘Why — Carnaby? What the deuce
——?’
‘Who was that?’
‘Who? — what do you mean?’
Carnaby took a step; Redgrave laid an arresting hand
upon him. There needed but this touch. In
frenzied wrath, yet with the precision of trained
muscle, Hugh struck out; and Redgrave went down before
him — thudding upon the door of the veranda
like one who falls dead.
CHAPTER 13
Copyrights
The Whirlpool from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
