If Singleton was not, certainly the noiseless brown presence at Napier's side could not fail to be aware of the afternoon letters on a table in the hall below. The uppermost in one pile bore the American stamp. That would be addressed Miss Anne Ellis.
An undefined dread which had lurked in the dark of Napier's mind, masking itself as dislike of the man Singleton, betrayed more than a hint of its presence in an anxious speculation as to whether these men, licensed to break all laws of human dealing, ought to be left alone a moment in company with letters and telegrams, and God knew what, down there on the hall table.
"We'll go into Sir William's room and telephone him," Napier suggested.
"He's due here in about a quarter of an hour. Meanwhile, we'd better take these in out of the wet."
Napier could have sworn Singleton was studying the top letter on Miss Ellis's pile. The only ones he touched were Greta's. All the same, Napier had to put pressure on himself to avoid picking up Nan's letters and secreting them in his own pocket. He seriously considered the possibility of going out and heading off her return. He fixed an inimical eye on Grindley--Grindley, wandering about taking his bearings, La Motte still open on his arm. Now he was at the door, looking out--not for Sir William at all, as it seemed to Napier's mounting uneasiness. He was standing there looking out for Miss von Schwarzenberg's "ever loving" friend. Her "confederate," he might be capable of thinking.
Napier struggled with a vivid prevision of Nan coming back to find that ambiguous figure--Grindley--at the door. And when she knew what he stood there for, wouldn't she by every look and motion proclaim her share in the Schwarzenberg's fate?
Napier returned hastily to the man at the table.
"You have," Napier suggested, "some idea, perhaps, when Miss von Schwarzenberg is likely to be here?"
In the instant of Singleton's pause to enter a note in that little book of his, footsteps sounded on the gravel. Steps so quick and light, whose could they be but--Napier stood braced to meet the misery of this "coming back." To see her for the first time after that fleeting rapture among the rocks--to see her like this! He turned his head. Grindley put out a slow hand. "I'll take it," he said to a telegraph boy who stood there.