l. I
had offended Frank Jervaise beyond all hope of reconciliation. He would
never forgive me for that exposure of his cowardice. And if I had not had
a single friend at the house before, I could, after the new report of my
treachery had been spread by Frank, expect nothing but the bitterness of
open enemies. No doubt they would essay a kind of frigid politeness, their
social standards would enforce some show of outward courtesy to a guest.
But I simply could not face the atmosphere of the Hall again. And here I
was without my luggage, without even a hat, and with no idea where I could
find refuge. The only idea I had was that of walking fifteen miles to
Hurley Junction on the chance of getting a train back to town.

It was an uncommonly queer situation for a perfectly innocent man,
week-ending at a country house. I should have been ashamed to face the
critics if I had made so improbable a situation the crux of a play. But
the improbability of life constantly outruns the mechanical inventions of
the playwright and the novelist. Where life, with all its extravagances,
fails, is in its refusal to provide the apt and timely coincidence that
shall solve the problem of the hero. As I walked on slowly towards
Jervaise Clump, I had little hope of finding the peculiarly appropriate
vehicle that would convey me to Hurley Junction; and I did not relish the
thought of that fifteen mile walk, without a hat.

I kept to the road, skirting the pudding basin hill, and came presently to
the fence of the Park and to what was evidently a side gate--not an
imposing wrought-iron erection between stone pillars such as that which
announced the front entrance, but just a rather high-class six-barred
gate.

I hesitated a minute or two, with the feelings of one who leaves the
safety of the home enclosure for the unknown perils of the wild, and then
with a sigh of resignation walked boldly out on to the high road.

I had no notion in which direction Hurley Junction lay, but luck was with
me, so far. There was a fourth road, opposite the Park gate, and a
sign-post stood at the junction of what may once have been the main
cross-roads--before some old Jervaise land-robber pushed the park out on
this side until he was stopped by the King's highway.

On the sign-post I read the indication that Hurley Junction was distant
14-1/2 miles, and that my direction was towards the north; but I felt a
marked disinclination to begin my walk.

It was very h