to go independently to an affair of this sort. One may get bored and want
to leave early."

Kelson nodded with a grim appreciation of the man's trick of argument,
and went out to his waiting dog-cart. Henshaw's fly drove up as Gifford
turned back from the door.

"I suppose we shall see you towards midnight," he said lightly as he
passed Gifford, his tone clearly suggesting his utter indifference in
the matter.

"I dare say," Gifford replied, and as he went upstairs he heard an
order given for "Mr. Henshaw's fire in number 9 to be kept up against
his return."

Alone in the oak-panelled sitting-room Gifford settled down to wait for
his clothes. He skimmed through several picture-papers that were lying
about, and then took up a novel. But a restless fit was on him, and he
could not settle down to read. He threw aside the book and began thinking
of the old property which his uncle had muddled away, and recalling the
happy times he had spent there from his schooldays onwards. Memories of
the rambling old house and its park crowded upon him. By force of one
circumstance or another he had not been there for nearly ten years, and a
great impatience to see it again took hold of him. He looked at the
clock. At the best, supposing there were no hitch, his suit-case could
hardly arrive for another hour and a half. Wynford Place was a bare mile
away, perhaps twenty minutes' walk; the night was fine and moonlight, he
was getting horribly bored in that room; he would stroll out and have a
look at the outside of the old place. After all, it was only the exterior
that he could expect to find unaltered; doubtless the Morristons with