Maurice Brandon, a look of supreme boredom on his handsome face, had
just sauntered down to the river bank. A belt of daffodils nodded to him
from the shrubbery on the farther shore. He stood and stared at them
absently while he idly smoked a cigarette.

Finally, after a long and quite unprofitable inspection, he turned aside
to investigate a boathouse under the willows on Mrs. Lockyard's side of
the stream. He found the door unlocked, and discovered within a somewhat
dilapidated punt. This, after considerable exertion, he managed to drag
forth and finally to run into the water. The craft seemed seaworthy, and
he proceeded to forage for a punt-pole.

Fully equipped at length, he stepped on board and poled himself out from
the shore. Arrived at the farther bank, he calmly disembarked and tied
up under the willows. He paused a few seconds to light another
cigarette, then turned from the river and sauntered up the path between
the high box hedges.

The garden was deserted, and he pursued his way unmolested till he came
within sight of the house. Here for the first time he stopped to take
deliberate stock of his surroundings. Standing in the shelter of a giant
rhododendron, he saw two figures emerge and walk along the narrow
gravelled terrace before the house. As he watched, they reached the
farther end and turned. He recognized them both. They were Caryl and his
host Abingdon.

For a few moments they stood talking, then went away together round an
angle of the house.