Kyte's lowered gaze stole upward toward his employer, sustained his expressionless glare for a second, then shifted. "Very well," he said unlocking the library door; "I thought he might be armed, that's all." "Kyte!" Mr. Kyte turned on the door-sill. "What do you mean by saying that?" "Saying what?" "That you think this fellow Ledwith may be armed?" Kyte stood silent. "I ask you again," repeated Sprowl, "why you infer that this man might have armed himself to visit this house?" Kyte's eyes stole upward, were instantly lowered. Sprowl walked over to him. "You're paid to act, not think; do you understand?" he said in a husky, suppressed voice; but his long fingers were twitching. "I understand," said Kyte. Sprowl's lean head jerked; Kyte went; and the master of the house strode back into the library and resumed his pacing. Boots, spurs, the skirts of his riding coat, even his stock were stained with mud and lather; and there was a spot or two across his sun-tanned cheeks. Presently he walked to the bay-window which commanded part of the west veranda, and looking out through the lace curtains saw Ledwith sitting there, his sunken eyes fixed on the westering sun. The man's clothing hung loosely on his frame, showing bony angles at elbow and knee. Burrs and black swamp-mud stuck to his knickerbockers and golf-stockings; he sat very still save for a constant twitching of the muscles. The necessity for nervous and physical fatigue drove Sprowl back into the library to tramp up and down over the soft old Saraband rugs, up and down, to and fro, and across sometimes, ranging the four walls with the dull, aimless energy of a creature which long caging is rendering mentally unsound. Then the monotony of the exercise began to irritate instead of allaying his restlessness; he went to the bay-window again, saw Ledwith still sitting there, stared at him with a ferocity almost expressionless, and strode out into the great hallway and through the servant-watched doors to the veranda. Ledwith looked up, rose. "How are you, Langly?" he said. Sprowl nodded, staring him insolently in the face. There was a pause, then Ledwith's pallid features twitched into a crooked smile. "I wanted to talk over one or two matters with you before I leave," he said. "When are you leaving?" "To-night." "Where are you going?" "I don't know--to the Acremont Inn for a few days. After that--I don't know." Sprowl, perfectly aware that his footman was listening, walked out across the lawn, and Ledwith went with him. Neither spoke. Shadows of tall trees lay like velvet on the grass; the crests of the woods beyond grew golden, their depths dusky and bluish. Everywhere robins were noisily at supper, tilting for earthworms on the lawns; golden-winged woodpeckers imitated them; in the late sunlight the grackles' necks were rainbow tinted.