Too Late

Edgerton announced himself to be in readiness, and, at the same
time, declared his intention to withdraw at once from our hospitality
and return to his old lodging-house. He had already given instructions
to his servant for the removal of his things.

"What!" I said with a feeling of irony, which did not make itself
apparent in my speech--"you are tired of our hospitality, Edgerton?
We have not treated you well, I am afraid."

"Yes," he muttered faintly, "too well. I have every reason to be
gratified and grateful. No reason to complain."

He forced himself to say something more by way of acknowledgment;
but to this I gave little heed. We drove first to Kingsley's, and
took him up; then, to my office, where I got out, and, entering
the office, wrapped up my pistol-case carefully in a newspaper, so
that the contents might not be conjectured, and bringing it forth,
thrust it into the boot of the carriage.

"What have you got there?" demanded Kingsley. "Something for
digestion," was my reply. "We may be kept late."

"You are wise enough to be a traveller," said Kingsley; and without
further words we drove on. I fancied that when I put the case into
the vehicle, Edgerton looked somewhat suspicious. That he was
uneasy was evident enough. He could not well be otherwise. The
consciousness of guilt was enough to make him so; and then there
was but little present sympathy between himself and Kingsley.

I had already given the driver instructions. He carried us into
the loneliest spot of woods some four miles from M----, and in a
direction very far from the beaten track.