"Our friend," Dominey announced, "apparently made up his mind to go
quite suddenly. A bed was arranged for him--or rather it is always
there--in a small apartment opening out of the butler's room, on
the ground floor. He said nothing about leaving until he saw Parkins
preparing to go down to the station with the chauffeur. Then he insisted
upon accompanying him, and when he found there was a train to Norwich he
simply bade them both good night. He left no message whatever for either
you or me."

Seaman was thoughtful.

"There is no doubt," he said, "that his departure was indicative of a
certain distrust in us. He came to find out something, and I suppose he
found it out. I envy you your composure, my friend. We live on the brink
of a volcano, and you shoot pheasants."

"We will try a partridge for a change," Dominey observed, swinging round
as a single Frenchman with a dull whiz crossed the hedge behind them
and fell a little distance away, a crumpled heap of feathers. "Neat, I
think?" he added, turning to his companion.

"Marvellous!" Seaman replied, with faint sarcasm. "I envy your nerve."

"I cannot take this matter very seriously," Dominey acknowledged. "The
fellow seemed to me quite harmless."

"My anxieties have also been aroused in another direction," Seaman
confided.

"Any other trouble looming?" Dominey asked.