"How very nice!" said she; "that will do beautifully, then. You must get a gig or a dog-cart, or something light, from some place in Torquay. I shall have very little luggage, and have it all ready at a little side-gate of the park, which you can see--over there," again bringing the umbrella into requisition. "That gate is invisible from the house; it's perfectly quiet and unfrequented, and I have a key of it. That once closed behind me I'm thoroughly safe." "And there's no chance of our being met, and you being recognized?" "Not the very smallest. The people staying in the house will all be at luncheon; the gardeners and stable-people, should we come across any, will all be in that state of comatose repletion which succeeds the after-dinner tobacco. Besides, very few of them know me by sight; and the road which I have pointed out skirts the Redmoor, and is very little frequented." "That'll do! that will be first-rate! Now, let me see if all's understood. A dog-cart to be ready to-morrow at yon gate of the park, at two o'clock sharp. There you'll be and your luggage--eh? By the by, how's that to get there?" "I told you it would be very little; and there's a boy devoted to my service, who will carry it." "All right,--I only wanted to know. Two o'clock to-morrow, then." He put out his hand, and as she lightly touched it with the tips of her fingers, offered to seize hers and convey it to his lips; but she slid it through his clumsy fist, and had pulled the poke-bonnet over her face, resumed the bent walk and the clumsy umbrella, and was making her way back across the park almost before he had missed her. "And if ever a man did a good day's work, I've done one this blessed morning," said Mr. Effingham, as he strolled quietly back through the avenue. "They may talk about great genius, if they please. Great genius means getting hold of a good idea at the right minute, and strikin' while the iron's hot. That's great genius! and they was two great ideas which I've worked just now! That pretendin' to know nothin' of the Bart., and gammonin' her that old Lyons sent me after her, was first-rate! I thought old Lyons's name would bring her round. They're all afraid of him, it seems. Now when we've got some distance on the road, I'll tell her the truth, or, at least, as much as I choose, and just sound her about the bill. D'Ossay, my boy, you've done a good day's work, and can afford to go into Torquay and dine like a swell to-night!" CHAPTER XX. CHECKMATE.