‘Did you say it was a rabbit?’

And the other: ‘Well, there was a bit of fur stuck to the wheel.’

‘You’d better not let the boss see it,’ said the first speaker.

‘Not likely.’ And so saying, the chauffeur, who seemed to be referring to an accident, climbed into the car. As Rollo had said, it was a very comfortable one. Jimmy gave up counting the turns and trying to catch glimpses of the sky over the high hedges, and abandoned himself to drowsiness. He must have dozed, for he did not know whether it was five minutes or fifty before the opening door let in a gust of cool air and warned him that he had arrived.

For a moment he had the hall to himself. It did not seem very large, but to gauge its true extent was difficult, because of the arches and the shadows. Shaded lamps on the tables gave a diffused but very subdued glow; while a few unshaded lights, stuck about in the groining of the vault, consuming their energy in small patches of great brilliancy, dazzled rather than assisted the eye. The fact that the spaces between the vaulting-ribs were white-washed seemed to increase the glare. It was curious and not altogether happy, the contrast between the brilliance above and the murk below. No trophies of the chase adorned the walls; no stags’ heads or antlers, no rifles, javelins, tomahawks, assegais, or krisses. Clearly the Verdews were not a family of sportsmen. In what did Randolph Verdew’s interests lie? Rintoul wondered, and he was walking across to the open grate, in whose large recess a log-fire flickered, when the sound of a footfall startled him. It came close, then died away completely, then still in the same rhythm began again. It was Rollo.

Rollo with his black moustaches, his swaggering gait, his large expansive air, his noisy benevolence. He grasped Jimmy’s hand.

But before he could say more than ‘Damned glad,’ a footman appeared. He came so close to Jimmy and Rollo that the flow of the latter’s eloquence was checked.

‘Mr. Rintoul is in the Pink Room,’ announced the footman.

Rollo put his little finger in his mouth and gently bit it.

‘Oh, but I thought I said——’

‘Yes, sir,’ interrupted the footman. ‘But Mr. Verdew thought he might disturb Mr. Rintoul in the Onyx Room, because sometimes when he lies awake at night he has to move about, as you know, sir. And he thought the Pink Room had a better view. So he gave orders for him to be put there, sir.’

The footman finished on a tranquil note and turned to go. But Rollo flushed faintly and seemed put out.

‘I thought it would have been company for you having my brother next door,’ he said. ‘But he’s arranged otherwise, so it can’t be helped. Shall I take you to the room now, or will you have a drink first? That is, if I can find it,’ he muttered. ‘They have a monstrous habit of sometimes taking the drinks away when Randolph has gone to bed. And by the way, he asked me to make his excuses to you. He was feeling rather tired. My wife’s gone, too. She always turns in early here; she says there’s nothing to do at Verdew. But, my God, there’s a lot that wants doing, as I often tell her. This way.’

Though they found the whisky and soda in the drawing-room, Rollo still seemed a little crestfallen and depressed; but Jimmy’s spirits, which sometimes suffered from the excessive buoyancy of his neighbour’s, began to rise. The chair was comfortable; the room, though glimpses of stone showed alongside the tapestries, was more habitable and less ecclesiastical than the hall. In front of him was an uncurtained window through which he could see, swaying their heads as though bent on some ghostly conference, a cluster of white roses. I’m going to enjoy myself here, he thought.

Whatever the charms of the Onyx Room, whatever virtue resided in the proximity of Mr. Randolph Verdew, one thing was certain: the Pink Room had a splendid view. Leaning out of his window the next morning Jimmy feasted his eyes on it. Directly below him was the moat, clear and apparently deep. Below that again was the steep conical hill on which the castle stood, its side intersected by corkscrew paths and level terraces. Below and beyond, undulating ground led the eye onwards and upwards to where, almost on the horizon, glittered and shone the silver of the estuary. Of the castle were visible only the round wall of Jimmy’s tower, and a wing of the Tudor period, the gables of which rose to the level of his bedroom window. It was half-past eight and he dressed quickly, meaning to make a little tour of the castle precincts before his hosts appeared.

His intention, however, was only partially fulfilled, for on arriving in the hall he found the great door still shut, and fastened with a variety of locks and bolts, of antique design and as hard to open, it seemed, from within as from without. He had better fortune with a smaller door, and found himself on a level oblong stretch of grass, an island of green, bounded by the moat on the east and on the other side by the castle walls. There was a fountain in the middle. The sun shone down through the open end of the quadrangle, making the whole place a cave of light, flushing the warm stone of the Elizabethan wing to orange, and gilding the cold, pale, mediaeval stonework of the rest. Jimmy walked to the moat and tried to find, to right or left, a path leading to other parts of the building. But there was none. He turned round and saw Rollo standing in the doorway.

‘Good-morning,’ called his host. ‘Already thinking out a plan of escape?’

Jimmy coloured slightly. The thought had been present in his mind, though not in the sense that Rollo seemed to mean it.

‘You wouldn’t find it very easy from here,’ remarked Rollo, whose cheerful humour the night seemed to have restored. ‘Because even if you swam the moat you couldn’t get up the bank: it’s too steep and too high.’ Jimmy examined the farther strand and realized that this was true.

‘It would be prettier,’ Rollo continued, ‘and less canal-like, if the water came up to the top; but Randolph prefers it as it used to be. He likes to imagine we’re living in a state of siege.’

‘He doesn’t seem to keep any weapons for our defence,’ commented Jimmy. ‘No arquebuses or bows and arrows; no vats of molten lead.’

‘Oh, he wouldn’t hurt anyone for the world,’ said Rollo. ‘That’s one of his little fads. But it amuses him to look across to the river like one of the first Verdews and feel that no one can get in without his leave.’

‘Or out either, I suppose,’ suggested Jimmy.

‘Well,’ remarked Rollo, ‘some day I’ll show you a way of getting out. But now come along and look at the view from the other side; we have to go through the house to see it.’

They walked across the hall, where the servants were laying the breakfast-table, to a door at the end of a long narrow passage. But it was locked. ‘Hodgson!’ shouted Rollo.

A footman came up.

‘Will you open this door, please?’ said Rollo. Jimmy expected him to be angry, but there was only a muffled irritation in his voice. At his leisure the footman produced the key and let them through.

‘That’s what comes of living in someone else’s house,’ fumed Rollo, once they were out of earshot. ‘These lazy devils want waking up. Randolph’s a damned sight too easy-going.’

‘Shall I see him at breakfast?’ Jimmy inquired.

‘I doubt it.’ Rollo picked up a stone, looked round, for some reason, at the castle, and threw the pebble at a thrush, narrowly missing it. ‘He doesn’t usually appear till lunchtime. He’s interested in all sorts of philanthropical societies. He’s always helping them to prevent something. He hasn’t prevented you, though, you naughty fellow,’ he went on, stooping down and picking up from a stone several fragments of snails’ shells. ‘This seems to be the thrushes’ Tower Hill.’

‘He’s fond of animals, then?’ asked Jimmy.

‘Fond, my boy?’ repeated Rollo. ‘Fond is not the word. But we aren’t vegetarians. Some day I’ll explain all that. Come and have some bacon and eggs.’