having declared that whiskers and love are as oil and water, the public have adopted that view.
After the 'pictures' we returned to the hotel, where we dined and, shortly after nine, left in the car for Holly Farm.
The night was again bright, clear and starlit, and the run home was very pleasant, even though the prohibition of headlights necessitated the greatest caution and a reduction of speed.
Roseye said little during the journey back. I saw she was unduly thoughtful. No doubt she was reflecting upon that incident on the road. While Tringham and his wife had sat with us and we were gossiping, she had been quite her old self again, but I had noticed that as soon as they had left she had lapsed into that strange attitude of nervous, even terrified apprehension.
She seemed to be possessed of some presage of coming evil. And yet she refused—blankly refused—to tell me the truth, and so place me upon my guard against any plot or pitfall which the enemy might prepare for us.
We ran on. Noting her silence, I pushed forward with all haste until at length we swung round from the lane into the farmyard, the gates of which old Theed had left open for us.
The old fellow ran up to us from out of one of the sheds wherein he had been seated awaiting us.
'Mr. Munro!' he cried eagerly. 'May I see you at once, sir. I want to tell you something. There's some mystery here, sir.'
