"I don't know that, either," he said, and added, "I shan't go back as the
chauffeur, anyway."

And, indeed, there was little of the chauffeur in his appearance, just
then. He was wearing a light tweed suit and brown brogues, and his clothes
sat upon him with just that touch of familiarity, of negligence, that your
professional servant's mufti can never accomplish.

There was a new air of restlessness about him since he had put me under
cross-examination. He looked round him in the broadening day as if he were
in search of something, or some one, hopefully yet half-despairingly
expected.

"Look here--if you'd sooner I went..." I began.

He had risen to his feet after his last statement and was looking back
towards the Hall, but he faced me again when I spoke.

"Oh, no!" he said with a hint of weariness.

"It isn't likely that..." He broke off and threw himself moodily down on
the grass again before he continued, "It's not that I couldn't trust you.
But you can see for yourself that it's better I shouldn't. When you get
back to the Hall, you might be asked questions and for your own sake it'd
look better if you didn't know the answers."

"Oh, quite," I agreed, and added, "I'll stay and see the sun rise."

"You won't see the sun for some time," he remarked. "There'll be a lot of