LITMIR.BIZ

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I do not understand, I am uncomfortable.”

      Dominey vanished into the nether regions, spent half an hour with Rosamund, and saw nothing of his disturbed guest again until they were walking to the first wood. They had a moment together after Dominey had pointed out the stands.

      “Well?” Seaman enquired.

      “Our friend,” Dominey announced, “apparently made up his mind to go quite suddenly. A bed was arranged for him—or rather it is always there—in a small apartment opening out of the butler’s room, on the ground floor. He said nothing about leaving until he saw Parkins preparing to go down to the station with the chauffeur. Then he insisted upon accompanying him, and when he found there was a train to Norwich he simply bade them both good night. He left no message whatever for either you or me.”

      Seaman was thoughtful.

      “There is no doubt,” he said, “that his departure was indicative of a certain distrust in us. He came to find out something, and I suppose he found it out. I envy you your composure, my friend. We live on the brink of a volcano, and you shoot pheasants.”

      “We will try a partridge for a change,” Dominey observed, swinging round as a single Frenchman with a dull whiz crossed the hedge behind them and fell a little distance away, a crumpled heap of feathers. “Neat, I think?” he added, turning to his companion.

      “Marvellous!” Seaman replied, with faint sarcasm. “I envy your nerve.”

      “I cannot take this matter very seriously,” Dominey acknowledged. “The fellow seemed to me quite harmless.”

      “My anxieties have also been aroused in another direction,” Seaman confided.

      “Any other trouble looming?” Dominey asked.

      “You will find yourself minus another guest when you return this afternoon.”

      “The Princess?”

      “The Princess,” Seaman assented. “I did my best with her last night, but I found her in a most peculiar frame of mind. We are to be relieved of any anxiety concerning her for some time, however. She has decided to take a sea voyage.”

      “Where to?”

      “Africa!”

      Dominey paused in the act of inserting a cartridge into his gun. He turned slowly around and looked into his companion’s expressionless face.

      “Why the mischief is she going out there?” he asked.

      “I can no more tell you that,” Seaman replied, “than why Johann Wolff was sent over here to spy upon our perfect work. I am most unhappy, my friend. The things which I understand, however threatening they are, I do not fear. Things which I do not understand oppress me.”

      Dominey laughed quietly.

      “Come,” he said, “there is nothing here which seriously threatens our position. The Princess is angry, but she is not likely to give us away. This man Wolff could make no adverse report about either of us. We are doing our job and doing it well. Let our clear consciences console us.”

      “That is well,” Seaman replied, “but I feel uneasy. I must not stay here longer. Too intimate an association between you and me is unwise.”

      “Well, I think I can be trusted,” Dominey observed, “even if I am to be left alone.”

      “In every respect except as regards the Princess,” Seaman admitted, “your deportment has been most discreet.”

      “Except as regards the Princess,” Dominey repeated irritably. “Really, my friend, I cannot understand your point of view in this matter. You could not expect me to mix up a secret honeymoon with my present commitments!”

      “There might surely have been some middle way?” Seaman persisted. “You show so much tact in other matters.”

      “You do not know the Princess,” Dominey muttered.

      Rosamund joined them for luncheon, bringing news of Stephanie’s sudden departure, with notes and messages for everybody. Caroline made a little grimace at her host.

      “You’re in trouble!” she whispered in his ear. “All the same, I approve. I like Stephanie, but she is an exceedingly dangerous person.”

      “I wonder whether she is,” Dominey mused.

      “I think men have generally found her so,” Caroline replied. “She had one wonderful love affair, which ended, as you know, in her husband being killed in a duel and her lover being banished from the country. Still, she’s not quite the sort of woman to be content with a banished lover. I fancied I noticed distinct signs of her being willing to replace him whilst she has been down here!”

      “I feel as though a blight had settled upon my house party,” Dominey remarked with bland irrelevancy. “First Eddy, then Mr. Ludwig Miller, and now Stephanie.”

      “And who on earth was Mr. Ludwig Miller, after all?” Caroline enquired.

      “He was a fat, flaxen-haired German who brought me messages from old friends in Africa. He had no luggage but a walking stick, and he seems to have upset the male part of my domestics last night by accepting a bed and then disappearing!”

      “With the plate?”

      “Not a thing missing. Parkins spent an agonised half hour, counting everything. Mr. Ludwig appears to be one of those unsolved mysteries which go to make up an imperfect world.”

      “Well, we’ve had a jolly time,” Caroline said reminiscently. “To-morrow Henry and I are off, and I suppose the others. I must say on the whole I am delighted with our visit.”

      “You are very gracious,” Dominey murmured.

      “I came, perhaps, expecting to see a little more of you,” she went on deliberately, “but there is a very great compensation for my disappointment. I think your wife, Everard, is worth taking trouble about. She is perfectly sweet, and her manners are most attractive.”

      “I am very glad you think that,” he said warmly.

      She looked away from him.

      “Everard,” she sighed, “I believe you are in love with your wife.”

      There was a strange, almost a terrible mixture of expressions in his face as he answered,—a certain fear, a certain fondness, a certain almost desperate resignation. Even his voice, as a rule so slow and measured, shook with an emotion which amazed his companion.

      “I believe I am,” he muttered. “I am afraid of my feelings for her. It may bring even another tragedy down upon us.”

      “Don’t talk rubbish!” Caroline exclaimed. “What tragedy could come between you now? You’ve recovered your balance. You are a strong, steadfast person, just fitted to be the protector of anything so sweet and charming as Rosamund. Tragedy, indeed! Why don’t you take her down to the South of France, Everard, and have your honeymoon all over again?”

      “I can’t do that just yet.”

      She studied him curiously. There were times when he seemed wholly incomprehensible to her.

      “Are you still worried about that Unthank affair?” she asked.

      He hesitated for a moment.

      “There is still an aftermath to our troubles,” he told her, “one cloud which leans over us. I shall clear it up in time,—but other things may happen first.”

      “You take yourself very seriously, Everard,” she observed, looking at him with a puzzled expression. “One would think that there was a side of your life, and a very important one, which you kept entirely to yourself. Why do you have that funny little man Seaman always round with you? You’re not being blackmailed or anything, are you?”

      “On the contrary,” he told her, “Seaman was the first founder of my fortunes.”

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