“Not any, I suppose. It seemed a little odd, considering the time. When I saw whose horses they were I couldn’t imagine why Captain Townsend or his driver had come to this part of the town so late. I never thought of you.... Good-night.” He turned to go, but Covell detained him. “Wait!” he ordered. “Say, look here, Griffin, there are a good many odd things about all this, seems to me. I want to know why you-- Say, where is this place you call a studio?” “A quarter of a mile up the beach. Why?” “Do you usually spend your nights in it?” “No.” “You live in--what is it?--Denboro, don’t you?” “Yes.” “Then you are a long way from home, I should say.... Yes, and with a damned poor excuse, if you want to know.” Bob did not answer. The fellow’s tone and manner were offensive and, disliking him as he did and with his own temper set on a hair trigger just then, he thought it best to leave before the interview became a quarrel. He turned to go, but Covell caught him by the shoulder. “No, you don’t!” he declared. “You don’t get out of it like that. I want to know why you are hanging around here in the middle of the night.” Bob shook the grip from his shoulder. “What is the matter with you, Covell?” he demanded, angrily. “Don’t speak to me like that.” “I speak as I please. Now then, out with it! What are you doing here?” “I told you. For the matter of that, what are you doing here, yourself?... Not that I care what you do, of course.” Covell’s fists clenched. For an instant Bob thought he was going to strike him. He did not, however. Instead he laughed, mockingly. “Oh, no, you don’t care, do you?” he sneered. “You don’t care a little bit. I could see that when we met that night at the Townsends’. Well, I haven’t met you there since, I’ll say that much.” It was Bob who narrowed the space between them. His step brought them face to face. “Covell,” he said, deliberately, “you are drunk, I suppose. That is the only excuse I can think of for you. Well, drunk or sober, you may go to the devil. Do you understand?” “I understand _you_ all right, Griffin. And I understand why you are hanging around, trying to find out what I do and where I go. I can understand that well enough. You cheap sneak!” Bob scarcely heard the epithet. It was the first part of the speech which brought enlightenment to his mind. At last he understood, as he might so easily have understood before if he had had time to think. Involuntarily he glanced over his shoulder at the Campton cottage. “I see!” he exclaimed. “Oh, yes, yes! I see.... Humph!” Covell had noticed the look and its direction. He raised his hand. “By gad!” he cried, his voice rising almost to a shout. “I’ll--” He sprang forward, his fist upraised. Bob, by far the cooler of the two, seized the lifted arm and held it. “Hush!” he whispered. “Hush, you fool! There is some one coming.”