It could not account, however, for his presence here--or could it? An idea, half whimsical, half stunning, seized me. I had heard of plausible rogues imposing themselves on quiet neighbourhoods, insinuating themselves into the leading society, and then, their plans having matured, disappearing with the plate and family jewels of Lord this or Sir thingummy that. Was it possible that Mr Dalston was such an impostor? His quiet arrival in the district; his renting of that remote uncanny farm; his strange silent wife--or accomplice; finally the vision of him here, stealing up through the woods--for what? All these things smote me with a double edge of suspicion. Possibly he was even now on his way to examine the house with a view to its burglarious entry. Whatever the extravagant thought was worth, it decided me. In another instant I was down and on his heels. The wind and the flying sleet, no less than my long experience of the way, served me well. He had no suspicion, I felt sure, of the shadow creeping in his wake, slipping from tree to tree, taking advantage of every shriller whine of the squall to decrease the distance between itself and its quarry. He went up unhesitating towards the “Baby’s Garden,” though often having to battle his way with his head down; and having reached there, came to a halt, leaning against a tree. And in the same moment I had slipped undetected into my eyrie of espial in the withered ash. He was then so close to me that I could hear him panting from his hard ascent. But even with our arrival the squall had passed, and the little close pleasance was full of nothing but cold dripping sounds. That was my Luck again. It had muffled me in wind and rain while I needed privacy, and withdrawn them only when I needed nothing but clear hearing and clear vision. Now I had leisure to wonder how, if secret watching were his business, this Mr Dalston made no nearer approach to the house, which, indeed, stood nowhere within the range of this part of the garden. But he showed no intention of moving farther, and, for all the wet crust of snow under his feet, established himself serenely where he stood, flicking his boot with his cane, and breathing softly into the air a little sentimental ditty about moons and lagoons. And then, all of a sudden, the figure of a woman had appeared on the opposite side of the garden, and, after a moment’s hesitation, was coming hurrying towards him. Now, at that, I was not, at the first, so shocked as amused, because, it seemed, I had been stalking for a burglary what appeared to be just a vulgar tryst. But what was my astonishment upon discovering, on its nearer approach, that the figure was that of Lady Skene. The man did not move at all until she was close upon him; and then he only detached himself a step or two from his support, and laughed gently as he gave his boot a harder switch. “Well answered, Georgie!” he said in his soft voice.