"You are rather a dear," he said. "I would not do anything to hurt
Rosamund for the world."

"If you can't get rid of your old tricks altogether and must flirt," she
remarked, "well, I'm always somewhere about. Rosamund wouldn't mind me,
because there are a few grey hairs in my sandy ones.--And here comes
your man across the park--looks as though he had a message for you. So
long as nothing has happened to your cook, I feel that I could face ill
tidings with composure."

Dominey found himself watching with fixed eyes the approach of his
rather sad-faced manservant through the snow. Parkins was not dressed
for such an enterprise, nor did he seem in any way to relish it. His was
the stern march of duty, and, curiously enough, Dominey felt from the
moment he caught sight of him that he was in some respects a messenger
of Fate. Yet the message which he delivered, when at last he reached his
master's side, was in no way alarming.

"A person of the name of Miller has arrived here, sir," he announced,
"from Norwich. He is, I understand, a foreigner of some sort, who
has recently landed in this country. I found it a little difficult to
understand him, but her Highness's maid conversed with him in German,
and I understand that he either is or brings you a message from a
certain Doctor Schmidt, with whom you were acquainted in Africa."

The warning whistle blew at that moment, and Dominey swung round and
stood at attention. His behaviour was perfectly normal. He let a hen
pheasant pass over his head, and brought down a cock from very nearly
the limit distance. He reloaded before he turned to Parkins.