"I am beginning to wonder," I said, "whether we did wisely to bring you."

"And why?"

"This thinking you are speaking of. It is bad!"

"You are foolish! Why should I not want to think?"

"If you begin to think you will begin to doubt," I answered, "and if you begin to doubt you will begin to understand. The person who once understands, you know, is never again really happy."

Isobel came and stood in front of me.

"Arnold!" she said.

"Well?"

"I wish you wouldn't talk to me always as though I were a baby," she said thoughtfully.

I took her hand and made her sit down by my side.

"Come," I protested, "that is not at all fair. I can a.s.sure you that I was taking you most seriously. The people who get most out of life are the people who avoid the a.n.a.lytical att.i.tude, who enjoy but who do not seek to understand, who worship form and external beauty without the desire to penetrate below to understand the inner meaning of what they find so beautiful."

"That," she said, "sounds a little difficult. But I do not see how people can enjoy meaningless things."

"The source of all beauty is disillusioning."

"Seriously," Mabane interrupted, "if this conversation develops I am going indoors. Does Arnold want to penetrate into the hidden meaning of that cricket's chirp--or is he going to give us the chemical formula for the smell of the honeysuckle?"

Isobel laughed.

"He is rather trying to-night, isn't he?" she declared. "Listen! Is that someone going by?"

The footsteps of a man were clearly audible pa.s.sing along the dusty little strip of road which fronted our cottage. Leaning forward I saw a tall, dark figure pa.s.s slowly by. From his height and upright carriage I thought that it must be the village policeman, and I called out good-night. My greeting met with no response. I shrugged my shoulders.

"Some of these village people are not particularly civil!" I remarked.

Mabane rose to his feet and strolled to the hedge.

"Those were not the footsteps of a villager," he remarked. "Listen!"

We stood quite still. The footsteps had ceased, although there was no other habitation for more than half a mile along the road. We could see nothing, but I noticed that Mabane was leaning a little forward and gazing with a curious intentness at the open common on the other side of the road. He stood up presently and knocked the ashes from his pipe.

"What do you say to a drink, Arnold?" he suggested.

"Come along!" I answered. "There's some whisky and soda on the sideboard."

Isobel laughed at us. She would have lingered where she was, but Allan pa.s.sed his arm through hers.

"Sentiment must not make you lazy, Isobel," he declared. "I decline to mix my own whisky and soda. Arnold," he whispered, drawing me back as she stepped past us through the wide-open window, "I wonder if it has occurred to you that if any of our friends who are so anxious to obtain possession of Isobel were to attempt a coup down here, we should be rather in a mess. We're a mile from the village, and Lord knows how many from a police-station, and there isn't a door in the cottage a man couldn't break open with his fist."

"What made you think of it--just now?" I asked.

"Three men pa.s.sed by, following that last fellow--on the edge of the common. I've got eyes like a cat in the dark, you know, and I could see that they were trying to get by unnoticed. Of course, there may be nothing in it, but--thanks, Isobel! By Jove, that's good!"

I slipped upstairs to my room, and on my return handed Allan something which he thrust quietly into his pocket. Then we went out again into the garden. I drew Mabane on one side for a moment.

"I don't think there's anything in it, Allan," I whispered. "It would be too clumsy for any of our friends--and too risky."

"It needn't be either," Allan answered, "but I daresay you're right."

Then we hastened once more to the front gate, summoned there by Isobel's cry.

"Listen!" she exclaimed, holding up her hand.

We stood by her side. From somewhere out of the night there came to our ears the faint distant throbbing of an engine. Neither Allan nor I realized what it was, but Isobel, who had stepped out on to the road, knew at once.

"Look!" she cried suddenly.

We followed her outstretched finger. Far away on the top of a distant hill, but moving towards us all the time with marvellous swiftness, we saw a small but brilliant light.

"A motor bicycle!" she cried. "I believe it is Arthur. It sounds just like his machine."

Arthur it was, white with dust and breathless. His first greeting was for Isobel, who welcomed him with both hands outstretched and a delight which she made no effort to conceal, overwhelming him with questions, frankly joyful at his coming. Mabane and I stood silent in the background, and we avoided each other's eyes. It was at that moment, perhaps, that I for the first time realized the tragedy into which we were slowly drifting. Isobel had forgotten us. She was wholly absorbed in her joy at Arthur's unexpected appearance. The thing which in my quieter moments had begun already vaguely to trouble me--a thing of slow and painful growth--a.s.sumed for the first time a certain definiteness. I looked a little way into the future, and it seemed to me that there were evil times coming.

Arthur approached us presently with outstretched hand. His manner was half apologetic, half triumphant. He seemed to be saying to himself that Isobel's reception of him must surely have opened our eyes.

"Your coming, I suppose, Arthur," Mabane said quietly, "signifies----"

"That I accept your terms for the present," Arthur answered, in a low tone. "I had to see you. There are strangers continually watching our diggings, and making inquiries about Isobel. There are things happening which I cannot understand at all."

I glanced towards Isobel.

"We will talk about it after she has gone to bed," I said. "Come in and have some supper now."

He drew me a little on one side.

"You remember the chap who was with the Archd.u.c.h.ess at the Mordaunt Rooms?"

"Yes!"

"He was at the hotel in Guildford when I stopped for tea, with two other men. They're in a great Daimter car, and they're coming this way. I heard them ask about the roads."

"How far were they behind you?" I asked.

"They must be close up," he answered. "Listen!"

"Another motor!" Isobel cried suddenly. "Can you not hear it?"

There was no mistaking the sound, the deep, low throbbing of a powerful engine as yet some distance away. I was conscious of a curious sense of uneasiness.