"Gone?" cried I. "Then what can he have come for? One
thing I can tell you, it was not to see the house."
"I don't see it could have been anything else," replied
the butler.
"You may depend upon it, it was," said I. "And
whatever it was, he has got it.--By the way, where is
Mr. Carthew at present? I was sorry to find he was from
home."
"He is engaged in travelling, sir," replied the butler
dryly.
"Ah, bravo!" cried I. "I laid a trap for you there,
Mr. Denman. Now I need not ask you; I am sure you did
not tell this prying stranger."
"To be sure not, sir," said the butler.
I went through the form of "shaking him by the 'and"--
like Mr. Norris--not, however, with genuine enthusiasm.
For I had failed ingloriously to get the address for
myself; and I felt a sure conviction that Bellairs had
done better, or he had still been here and still
cultivating Mr. Denman.
I had escaped the grounds and the cattle; I could not
escape the house. A lady with silver hair, a slender
silver voice, and a stream of insignificant information
not to be diverted, led me through the picture-gallery,
the music-room, the great dining-room, the long
drawing-room, the Indian room, the theatre, and every
corner (as I thought) of that interminable mansion.
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