But our host took little interest in this sparkling beauty, and had no thought of showing off the scenery of his property.  His mind was otherwise intent, and, for that matter, so were our own.

“Those bleak moors and hills stretch unbroken for hours,” he said, with a sweep of the hand; “and over there, some four miles,” pointing in another direction, “lies S——­ Bay, a long, swampy inlet of the sea, haunted by myriads of seabirds.  On the other side of the house are the plantations and pine-woods.  I thought we would get the dogs and go first to the Twelve Acre Wood I told you about last night.  It’s quite near.”

We found the dogs in the stable, and I recalled the deep baying of the night when a fine bloodhound and two great Danes leaped out to greet us.  Singular companions for guns, I thought to myself, as we struck out across the fields and the great creatures bounded and ran beside us, nose to ground.

The conversation was scanty.  John Silence’s grave face did not encourage talk.  He wore the expression I knew well—­that look of earnest solicitude which meant that his whole being was deeply absorbed and preoccupied.  Frightened, I had never seen him, but anxious often—­it always moved me to witness it—­and he was anxious now.

“On the way back you shall see the laundry building,” Colonel Wragge observed shortly, for he, too, found little to say.  “We shall attract less attention then.”

Yet not all the crisp beauty of the morning seemed able to dispel the feelings of uneasy dread that gathered increasingly about our minds as we went.

In a very few minutes a clump of pine trees concealed the house from view, and we found ourselves on the outskirts of a densely grown plantation of conifers.  Colonel Wragge stopped abruptly, and, producing a map from his pocket, explained once more very briefly its position with regard to the house.  He showed how it ran up almost to the walls of the laundry building—­though at the moment beyond our actual view—­and pointed to the windows of his sister’s bedroom where the fires had been.  The room, now empty, looked straight on to the wood.  Then, glancing nervously about him, and calling the dogs to heel, he proposed that we should enter the plantation and make as thorough examination of it as we thought worth while.  The dogs, he added, might perhaps be persuaded to accompany us a little way—­and he pointed to where they cowered at his feet—­but he doubted it.  “Neither voice nor whip will get them very far, I’m afraid,” he said.  “I know by experience.”

“If you have no objection,” replied Dr. Silence, with decision, and speaking almost for the first time, “we will make our examination alone—­Mr. Hubbard and myself.  It will be best so.”

His tone was absolutely final, and the Colonel acquiesced so politely that even a less intuitive man than myself must have seen that he was genuinely relieved.

“You doubtless have good reasons,” he said.