The silence that followed this non-committal remark was most discomfiting.  I had a feeling that the moments were critical, and—­they were slipping away.  Should I leap into the tide of explanation?  That way, perhaps, lay safety.  Always the quicksand of Qui s’excuse, s’accuse, made me draw back.  I became extremely nervous....  Feverishly I tried to think of a remark which would be natural and more or less relevant, and would pilot us into a channel of conversation down which we could swim with confidence.  Of all the legion of topics, the clemency of the weather alone occurred to me.  I could have screamed....

The firebrand itself came to my rescue.

Tired of amusing himself, the terrier retrieved an old ball from beneath the hedge and, trotting across the sward, laid it down at my feet.

Gratefully I picked it up and flung it for him to fetch.

It fell into a thick welter of ivy which Time had built into a bulging buttress of greenery against the old grey wall at the end of the walk.

The dog sped after it, his short legs flying....

The spell was broken, and I felt better.

“You mustn’t think he’s a root, though,” I said cheerfully, “because he isn’t.  When did you say your birthday was?”

“I didn’t,” said Adele.  “Still, if you must know, I was born on August the thirtieth.”

“To-day!  Oh, Adele.  And I’ve nothing for you Except....”  I hesitated, and my heart began to beat very fast.  “But I’d be ashamed—­I mean....”  My voice petered out helplessly.  I braced myself for a supreme effort....

An impatient yelp rang out.

“What’s the matter with Nobby?” said Adele in a voice I hardly recognized.

“Fed up, ’cause I’ve lost his ball for him,” said I, and, cowardly glad of a respite, I rose and stepped to the aged riot of ivy, where the terrier was searching for his toy.

I pulled a hole in the arras and peered through.

There was more space than I had expected.  The grey wall bellied away from me.

“What’s that?” said Adele, looking over my shoulder.

“What?” said I.

“There.  To the right.”

It was dark under the ivy, so I thrust in a groping arm.

Almost at once my hand encountered the smooth edge of masonry.

I took out a knife and ripped away some trails, so that we could see better.

There was nothing to show that the pedestal which my efforts revealed had ever supported a statue.  But it was plain that such was the office for which it had been set up.  Presumably it was one of the series which, according to Vandy’s book, had displayed imaginative effigies of the Roman Emperors, and had been done away in 1710.  The inscription upon the cornice upheld this conclusion.

PERTINAX IMPERATOR.

I looked at Adele.

“PER ...  IMP ...” said I.  “Does the cap fit?”

“Yes,” she said simply.  “That’s right.  I remember it perfectly.  The other seemed likely, but I was never quite sure.”  Trembling a little, she turned and looked round.  “And you came out of that break in the hedge with the tomato, and——­Oh!”