He
had been playing tennis, and had come in to rest and cool.
Host and guest were evidently on the most intimate terms. Leithcourt
addressed him as "Martin," and began to relate a quarrel which his
head-gamekeeper had had that day with one of the small farmers on the
estate regarding the killing of some rabbits. And while they were
talking Muriel suggested that we should stroll down to the tennis-courts
again, an invitation which, much as I regretted leaving the two men, I
was bound to accept.
It seemed as though she wished purposely to take me away from that man's
presence, fearing that by remaining there longer my suspicions might
become confirmed. She was acting in conjunction with the man whom I had
known as Hornby.
There were still a good many people watching the game, for it was
pleasant in those old-world gardens in the sunset hour. The dried-up
moat was now transformed into a garden filled with rhododendrons and
bright azaleas, while the high ancient beech-hedges, the quaint old
sundial with its motto: "Each time ye shadowe turneth ys one daye nearer
unto dethe," and the old stone balustrades gray with lichen, all spoke
mutely of those glorious days when the fierce horsemen of the Lairds of
Rannoch were feared across the Border, and when many a prisoner of the
Black Douglas had pined and died in those narrow stone chambers in the
grim north tower that still stood high above.
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