Whitmore, give me change out of a note."

"With pleasure. It's as good as a gift, though, with the cards you
held," said Mr. Whitmore, and I heard the coins jingle in changing
hands, when from the shrubbery, where the gravel sweep narrowed,
there sounded the low hoot of an owl. Being town-bred and unused to
owls, I took it for a human cry in the darkness and shrank closer
against my mock-orange bush.

"Hallo, Whitmore, you've dropped a guinea. Here it is, by the
table-leg. Take twenty-four shillings for it, now that old Rodriguez
is gone?"

Mr. Whitmore thanked the speaker as the coin was restored to him.
"The room's hot, as Mr. Rogers says, and I think I'll step out for a
mouthful of fresh air. Phe--ew!" he drew a long breath as he
appeared at the window.

He strolled carelessly out beneath the verandah and stood for a
moment by one of its pillars. And at that moment the owl's cry
sounded again, but more softly, from the shrubbery on my left.
I knew, then, that it came from no true bird. With a swift glance
back into the room Mr. Whitmore stepped out upon the gravel and
followed the sound, almost brushing the mock-orange bush as he
passed.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE MOCK-ORANGE BUSH.

To my dismay, he halted but five paces from me.

"Is that you, Leicester?" he whispered.

"Sergeant Letcher, if you please," answered a quiet voice close by;
"unless you wish to be called Pickthall."

"Not so loud--the windows are open. How on earth did you come here?
You're not with the van to-night?"

"I came on a horse, and a lame one: one of your tub-carriers.
The captain saw me mount him, down at the cove, and sent me off to
scour the country for evidence. I guessed pretty well in what
direction he'd take me. But you're a careless lot, I will say.
Look at this bit of rope."

"For God's sake don't talk so loud! Rope? What rope?"

"Oh, you needn't be afraid! It's not _your_ sort! Here--if you can't
see, take hold and feel it. Left-handed, you'll notice--French
sling-stuff. And that Belcher woman has no more sense of caution
than to tie up her roses with it! Now see here, my son"--and his
voice became a snarl--"it may do for her to play tricks. All the
country knows her, the magistrates included. But for the likes of
you this dancing on the edge of the law is risky, and I can't afford
it. Understand? Why the devil you haunt the house as you do is more
than I can fathom, unless maybe you're making up