Part 26 (1/2)
At first she was astounded by Trenholme's message. Then sheer irritation at the cra.s.sness of things, and perhaps some spice of feminine curiosity, led her to give the order which opened the gates of Roxton Park to a man she had never seen.
The two met a few hundred yards down the avenue. Police Constable Farrow, who had been replaced by another constable while he went home for a meal, was on guard in the Quarry Wood again until the night men came on duty, and noticed Miss Manning leaving the house. He descended from his rock and strolled toward the avenue, with no other motive than a desire to stretch his legs; his perplexity was unbounded when he discovered Mortimer Fenley's ward deep in conversation with the artist.
”Well, I'm jiggered!” he said, dodging behind a giant rhododendron.
Whipping out a notebook and consulting his watch, he solemnly noted time and names in a laboriously accurate round hand. Then he nibbled his chin strap and dug both thumbs into his belt. His luck was in that day. He knew something now that was withheld from the Scotland Yard swells. Sylvia Manning and John Trenholme were acquaintances. Nay, more; they must be old friends; under his very eyes they went off together into the park.
Back to his rock went Police Constable Farrow, puzzled but elated. Was he not a repository of secrets? And that funny little detective had betaken himself in the opposite direction! Fate was kind indeed.
He would have been still more surprised had Fate permitted him to be also an eavesdropper, if listeners ever do drop from eaves.
Sylvia was by no means flurried when she came face to face with Trenholme. The female of the species invariably shows her superiority on such occasions. Trenholme knew he was blus.h.i.+ng and rather breathless. Sylvia was cool and distant.
”You are Mr. Trenholme, I suppose?” she said, her blue eyes meeting his brown ones in calm scrutiny.
”Yes,” he said, trying desperately to collect his wits. The well-balanced phrases conned while walking up the avenue had vanished in a hopeless blur at the instant they were needed. His mind was in a whirl.
”I am Miss Manning,” she continued. ”It is hardly possible to receive visitors at the house this afternoon, and as I happened to be coming out when Mrs. Bates telephoned from the lodge, I thought you would have no objection to telling me here why you wish to see me.”
”I have come to apologize for my action this morning,” he said.
”What action?”
”I sketched you without your knowledge, and, of course, without your permission.”
”You sketched me? Where?”
”When you were swimming in the lake.”
”You didn't dare!”
”I did. I'm sorry now, though you inspired the best picture I have ever painted, or shall ever paint.”
For an instant Sylvia forgot her personal troubles in sheer wonderment, and a ghost of a smile brightened her white cheeks. John Trenholme was a person who inspired confidence at sight, and her first definite emotion was one of surprise that he should look so disconsolate.
”I really don't understand,” she said. ”The quality of your picture has no special interest for me. What I fail to grasp is your motive in trespa.s.sing in a private park and watching me, or any lady, bathing.”
”Put that way, my conduct needs correcting with a horsewhip; but happily there are other points of view. That is--I mean----Really, Miss Manning, I am absurdly tongue-tied, but I do beg of you to hear my explanation.”
”Have you one?”
”Yes. It might convince any one but you. You will be a severe judge, and I hardly know how to find words to seek your forgiveness, but I--I was the victim of circ.u.mstances.”
”Please don't regard me as a judge. At present, I am trying to guess what happened.”
Then John squared his shoulders and tackled the greatest difficulty he had grappled with for years.
”The simple truth should at least sound convincing,” he said. ”I came to Roxton three days ago on a commission to sketch the village and its environment. This house and grounds are historical, and I applied for permission to visit them, but was refused. By chance, I heard of a public footpath which crosses the park close to the lake----”
Sylvia nodded. She, too, had heard much of that footpath. Its existence had annoyed Mortimer Fenley as long as she could remember anything. That friendly little nod encouraged Trenholme. His voice came under better control, and he contrived to smile.
”I was told it was a bone of contention,” he said, ”but that didn't trouble me a bit, since the right of way opened the forbidden area. I meant no disturbance or intrusion. I rose early this morning, and would have made my sketches and got away without seeing you if it were not for a delightful pair of wrought iron gates pa.s.sed _en route_.