mahogany of more spacious days, though we had it to ourselves, we both seemed disinclined to resume the topic. Delavoye had got up some choice remnant of his father's cellar, grotesquely out of keeping with our homely meal, but avowedly in my honour, and it seemed a time to talk about matters on which we were agreed. I was afraid I knew the kind of idea he had described as "shrewd"; what I dreaded was some fresh application of his ingenious doctrine as to the local quick and dead, and a heated argument in our extravagant cups. And yet I did want to know what was in my companion's mind about the Royles; for my own was no longer free from presentiments for which there was some ground in the facts of the case. But I was not going to start the subject; and Delavoye steadily avoided it until we strolled out afterward (with humble pipes on top of that Madeira!). Then his arm slipped through mine, and it was with one accord that we drifted up the road toward the house with the drawn blinds.
All these days, on my constant perambulations, it had stared me in the face with its shut windows, its dirty step, its idle chimneys. Every morning those odious blinds had greeted me like red eyelids hiding dreadful eyes. And once I had remembered that the very letter-box was set like teeth against the outer world. But this summer evening, as the house came between us and a noble moon, all was so changed and chastened that I thought no evil until Uvo spoke.
"I can't help feeling that there's something wrong!" he exclaimed below his breath.
"If Coysh is not mistaken," I whispered back, "there's something very wrong indeed."
He looked at me as though I had missed the point, and I awaited an impatient intimation of the fact. But there had been something strange about Uvo Delavoye all the evening; he had singularly little to say for himself, and now he was saying it in so low a voice that I insensibly lowered mine, though we had the whole road almost to ourselves.
"You said you found old Royle quite alone the other night?"
"Absolutely - so he said."
"You've no reason to doubt it, have you?"
"No reason - none. Still, it did seem odd that he should hang on to the end - the master of the house - without a soul to do anything for him."
"I quite agree with you," said Delavoye emphatically. "It's very odd. It means something. I believe I know what, too!"
But he did not appear disposed to tell me, and I was not going to press him on the point. Nor did I share his confidence in his own powers of divination. What could he know of the case, that was unknown to me - unless he had some outside source of information all the time?
That, however, I did not believe; at any rate he seemed bent upon acquiring more. He pushed the gate open, and was on the doorstep before I could say a word. I had to follow in order to remind him that his proceedings might be misunderstood if they were seen.
"Not a bit of it!" he had the nerve to say as he bent over the tarnished letter-box. "You're with me, Gillon, and isn't it your job to keep an eye on these houses?"
"Yes, but - - "
"What's the matter with this letter-box? It won't open."
"That's so that letters can't be shot into the empty hall. He nailed it up on purpose before he went. I found him at it."
"And didn't it strike you as an extraordinary thing to do?" Uvo was standing upright now. "Of course it did, or you'd have mentioned it to Coysh and me the other day."
It was no use denying the fact.
"What's happening to their letters?" he went on, as though I could know.
"I expect they're being re-directed."
"To the wife?"
"I suppose so."
And my voice sank with my heart, and I felt ashamed, and repeated myself aggressively.
"Exactly!" There was no supposing about Uvo. "The wife at some mysterious address in the country - poor soul!"
"Where are you going now?"
He had dived under the front windows, muttering to himself as much as to me. I caught him up at the high side gate into the back garden.
"Lend me a
All these days, on my constant perambulations, it had stared me in the face with its shut windows, its dirty step, its idle chimneys. Every morning those odious blinds had greeted me like red eyelids hiding dreadful eyes. And once I had remembered that the very letter-box was set like teeth against the outer world. But this summer evening, as the house came between us and a noble moon, all was so changed and chastened that I thought no evil until Uvo spoke.
"I can't help feeling that there's something wrong!" he exclaimed below his breath.
"If Coysh is not mistaken," I whispered back, "there's something very wrong indeed."
He looked at me as though I had missed the point, and I awaited an impatient intimation of the fact. But there had been something strange about Uvo Delavoye all the evening; he had singularly little to say for himself, and now he was saying it in so low a voice that I insensibly lowered mine, though we had the whole road almost to ourselves.
"You said you found old Royle quite alone the other night?"
"Absolutely - so he said."
"You've no reason to doubt it, have you?"
"No reason - none. Still, it did seem odd that he should hang on to the end - the master of the house - without a soul to do anything for him."
"I quite agree with you," said Delavoye emphatically. "It's very odd. It means something. I believe I know what, too!"
But he did not appear disposed to tell me, and I was not going to press him on the point. Nor did I share his confidence in his own powers of divination. What could he know of the case, that was unknown to me - unless he had some outside source of information all the time?
That, however, I did not believe; at any rate he seemed bent upon acquiring more. He pushed the gate open, and was on the doorstep before I could say a word. I had to follow in order to remind him that his proceedings might be misunderstood if they were seen.
"Not a bit of it!" he had the nerve to say as he bent over the tarnished letter-box. "You're with me, Gillon, and isn't it your job to keep an eye on these houses?"
"Yes, but - - "
"What's the matter with this letter-box? It won't open."
"That's so that letters can't be shot into the empty hall. He nailed it up on purpose before he went. I found him at it."
"And didn't it strike you as an extraordinary thing to do?" Uvo was standing upright now. "Of course it did, or you'd have mentioned it to Coysh and me the other day."
It was no use denying the fact.
"What's happening to their letters?" he went on, as though I could know.
"I expect they're being re-directed."
"To the wife?"
"I suppose so."
And my voice sank with my heart, and I felt ashamed, and repeated myself aggressively.
"Exactly!" There was no supposing about Uvo. "The wife at some mysterious address in the country - poor soul!"
"Where are you going now?"
He had dived under the front windows, muttering to himself as much as to me. I caught him up at the high side gate into the back garden.
"Lend me a
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