But there came no call for her, or no ringing of any bell; merely sounds of movement in the hall below, heard through the thrumming of the waiting car. And then the front door opened and shut again and she ventured to the window. It was a little open and she could hear her master speak to the chauffeur as he got in. He was now wearing, she noticed, a heavy overcoat. A moment more and he was off again, down the drive, and out through the gates. When she remembered to look again for her sympathetic friend, he was quietly driving his walking stick once more into a flower bed. About ten minutes afterwards the front door bell rang and there stood Mr. Carrington again. His eye seemed strangely bright, she thought, but his manner was calm and soothing as ever. "I noticed Mr. Rattar return," he said, "and I thought I would like to make sure that it was all right, before I left. I trust, Mary, that you have got into no trouble on my account." She thought it was very kind of him to enquire. "The master was only just in and out again," she assured him. "He came to get his overcoat, I noticed," he remarked. Mr. Carrington's powers of observation struck her as very surprising for such an easy-going gentleman. "Yes, sir, that was all." "Well, I'm very glad it was all right," he smiled and began to turn away. "By the way," he asked, turning back, "did he tell you where he is going to now?" "He didn't see me, sir." "You didn't happen to overhear him giving any directions to the chauffeur, did you? I noticed you at an open window." For the first time Mary's sympathetic friend began to make her feel a trifle uncomfortable. His eyes seemed to be everywhere. "I thought I heard him say 'Keldale House,'" she confessed. "Really!" he exclaimed and seemed to muse for a moment. In fact, he appeared to be still musing as he walked away. Mary began to wonder very seriously whether Mr. Carrington was going to prove merely a fresh addition to the disquieting mysteries of that house. XXXVII BISSET'S ADVICE The short November afternoon was fading into a gusty evening, as Ned Cromarty drew near his fortalice. He carried a gun as usual, and as usual walked with seven league strides. Where the drive passed through the scrap of stunted plantation it was already dusk and the tortured boughs had begun their night of sighs and tossings. Beyond them, pale daylight lingered and the old house stood up still clear against a broken sky and a grey waste with flitting whitecaps all the way to the horizon. He had almost reached the front door when he heard the sound of wheels behind him. Pausing there, he spied a pony and a governess' car, with two people distinct enough to bring a sudden light into his eye. The pony trotted briskly towards the door, and he took a stride to meet them. "Miss Farmond!" he said. A low voice answered, and though he could not catch the words, the tone was enough for him. And then another voice said: "Aye, sir, I've brought her over."