The inn servant brought a tray, bearing a small
decanter of brandy and a glass. But the baronet did not heed her
entrance, nor did he touch the refreshment for which he had asked.
Not once did he stir till the sudden crackling of his companion's
newspaper startled him, and he lifted his head with an impatient
gesture and an exclamation of surprise.
"You are nervous to-night, Sir Reginald Eversleigh," said the man,
whose voice was still hidden by the newspaper.
The sound of the voice in which those common-place words were spoken
was, at this moment, of all sounds the most hateful to Reginald
Eversleigh.
"You here!" he exclaimed. "But I ought to have known that."
The newspaper was lowered for the first time; and Reginald Eversleigh
found himself face to face with Victor Carrington.
"You ought, indeed, considering I told you you should find me, or hear
from me here, at the 'Wheatsheaf,' in case you wished to do so, or I
wished you should do so either. And I presume you have come by
accident, not intentionally. I had no idea of seeing you, especially at
an hour when I should have thought you would have been enjoying the
hospitality of your kinsman, the rector of Hallgrove."
"Victor Carrington!" cried Reginald, "are you the fiend himself in
human shape? Surely no other creature could delight in crime."
"I do not delight in crime, Reginald Eversleigh; and it is only a man
with your narrow intellect who could give utterance to such an
absurdity.
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