“Careful, you fool, they’re looking,” he said in a quick whisper, and in a loud voice:  “Very sorry, sir; beg pardon—­I’m sure I didn’t mean anything.”

Walter Dunsmore swung round upon his heel and went quickly back to where Lord Chobham waited; and his face was like that of one who has gazed into the very eyes of death.

“Lord in Heaven,” he muttered, “it’s all over, I’m done.”  And his hand felt for a little metal box he carried in his waistcoat pocket and that held half a dozen small round tablets, each of them a strong man’s death.

But he took his hand away again as he rejoined his cousin, patron, and employer, old Lord Chobham.

“What’s the matter, Walter?” Lord Chobham asked.  “You look pale.”

“The fellow was a bit impudent; he made me angry,” said Walter carelessly.  He fingered the little box in his waistcoat pocket and thought how one tablet on his tongue would always end it all.  “By the way, oughtn’t Rupert to be back soon?” he asked.

“Yes, he ought,” said Lord Chobham severely.  “It’s time he married and settled down—­I shall speak to his father about it.  The boy is always rushing off somewhere or another when he ought to be getting to know the estate and the tenants.”

Walter Dunsmore laughed.

“I think he knows them both fairly well already,” he said.  “Not a tenant on the place but swears by Rupert.  He’s a fine fellow, uncle.”

“Oh, you always stick up for him; you and he were always friends,” answered Lord Chobham in a grumbling tone, but really very pleased.  “I know I’m never allowed to say a word about Rupert.”

“Well, he’s a fine fellow and a good friend,” said Walter, and the two disappeared into the house by a small side-door as Dunn pushed his way through the group of tourists who looked at him with marked and severe disapproval.

“Disgraceful,” one of them said quite loudly, and another added:  “I believe he said something impudent to that gentleman.  I saw him go quite white, and look as if he were in two minds about ordering the fellow right out of the grounds.”  And a third expressed the general opinion that the culprit looked a real ruffian with all that hair on his face.  “Might be a gorilla,” said the third tourist.  “And look what a clumsy sort of walk he has; perhaps he’s been drinking.”

But Dunn was quite indifferent to, and indeed unaware of this popular condemnation as he made his way back to the hotel garage where he had left their car.  He seemed rather well pleased than otherwise as he walked on.

“Quite a stroke of luck for once,” he mused, and he smiled to himself, and stroked the thick growth of his untidy beard.  “It’s been worth while, for he didn’t recognize me in the least, and had quite a shock, but, all the same, I shan’t be sorry to shave and see my own face again.”

He had the car out and ready when Ella and Allen came back.  Allen at once made an excuse to leave them, and went into the hotel bar to get a drink of whisky, and when they were alone, Ella, who was looking very troubled and thoughtful, said to Dunn