Following the narrow cart track through these woods, her fine eyes busy in every direction with the scuttling rabbits, she emerged in full view of the quaint old L-shaped house. It was a perfect picture of rural England. There was not another house in sight. Redwithy Farm seemed to be shut off from the rest of the world by the hilly surroundings of the Chilterns. The land rose up on every side but one, and that was the direction in which the ribbon-like drive wound its way eastwards between the railed-in pastures of rich grassland. The building was two-storied for the most part, but here and there dormer attic windows peeped out under the eaves of the beautifully cut thatched roof. Then, behind the house itself lay the old farm buildings, all in excellent repair, and in another direction were the heavy ancient red walls surrounding the various fruit gardens and glass ranges.
Vita loved the place, and never more appreciated it than when gazing at it from this view-point. Just now there was the added charm of the ripening autumn tints lending warmth to the scene and adding to it that snug suggestion of shelter from the coming inclemencies of winter.
But in the midst of her happy contemplation she became startled. The wonderful peace of it all was abruptly broken. Round the corner of the straight-limbed woods, to the east, a motor vehicle made its appearance. It came on swiftly down the drive. At first Vita took it to be the car of some caller from the neighborhood, but, in a moment, the familiar outline of a taxi-cab impressed itself upon her.
This realization was the startling part of the apparition, and, without hesitation, she pressed her horse on towards the house.
Vita's hasty return to the house was inspired by an intangible dread. There was no such thing as a taxi-cab in Wednesford. Therefore her visitor must have come from farther afield. There was only one place in her mind associated with taxi-cabs--London. If the cab came from London, then----
Her undefined fears received ample confirmation on reaching the house. Herr von Salzinger was awaiting her in the drawing-room. And at once she realized, without having admitted it to herself, that this was the very thing she had dreaded. How could she have admitted it? It had seemed impossible. Her retreat was known to no one but her father. How then had this man discovered it--and so promptly?