He flicked his horse’s neck and was off with the words.

Bunny, striding after, watched him ride swiftly up the slope till the fir-trees of the avenue hid him from view.

“Queer fish!” he murmured to himself.  “Very queer fish!”

He entered the Castle a little later by the great stone hall and found it lighted from end to end as if in preparation for a reception.  He had known the place for years, but it always struck him afresh with its magnificence.  It looked like a palace of kings.  There were some beautiful pieces of statuary both in marble and bronze, and upon each of these a shaded light shone.

At the end of the hall a wide oak staircase that branched mid-way led to an oak gallery that ran round three sides of the hall, and where it divided a high door stood open, showing a lighted room beyond.  Bunny left his coat with the silent-stepping butler and went straight up the shallow stairs.

He entered the stately apartment at the top expecting to find it empty.  It was the drawing-room—­a vast and lofty chamber with satin-covered walls, superbly furnished with old French furniture in royal blue velvet and gilt.  There was a further room beyond, but Bunny did not pursue his way thither, for a man in evening-dress turned suddenly from one of the great southward-facing windows and moved to meet him.

He was a gaunt man with a trim beard and the eyes of the sea-farer, and he walked with a slight roll as if accustomed to pitching decks.

“Sir Bernard Brian?” he said.

Bunny held out his hand.  “You’re Captain Larpent, of course.  I wonder we’ve never met before.  I’ve heard of you often enough.  Sorry you had such bad luck with The Night Moth."

“Oh, damnable luck!” said the sailor gloomily.

“Still you came out of it alive,” said Bunny consolingly.  “And your daughter too.  Things might have been worse.”

Larpent grunted.  “Think so?”

“She does anyway,” said Bunny, with a grin.

Larpent grunted again.  “Shipboard is not the place for a girl,” he remarked.

“Toby seems more at home on horseback than anywhere else,” said Bunny.

Larpent gave him a keen look.  “Oh, she still goes by that name, does she?” he said.

“What do you call her?” said Bunny.

Larpent snapped his fingers curtly.

“Does she come for that?” asked Bunny.

“Usually,” said Larpent.

“Then she’s more docile than I thought she was,” commented Bunny.

Larpent said nothing.  He propped himself against the high mantelpiece and stared morosely out before him to the pine-clad slopes of the park.

“How you must hate being ashore!” said Bunny.

“Why do you say that?” Larpent scarcely removed his moody gaze.

“You look as if you did.”  There was a hint of chaff in Bunny’s voice.  He surveyed the gaunt man with humorous interest, seated on one of the gilt chairs with his hands clasped round his knee.  “I suppose Saltash will buy another yacht, won’t he?”