could
not bear to show the letter. There was nothing in it which Nevill might
not see, nothing which Victoria might not have wished him to see.
Nevertheless it was now _his_ letter, and he could not have it read by
any one.

He knocked at the door, but Nevill did not answer. Then Stephen guessed
that his friend must be in the garden. One of the under-gardeners,
working near the house, had seen the master, and told the guest where to
go. Monsieur Caird was giving medicine to the white peacock, who was not
well, and in the stable-yard Nevill was found, in the act of pouring
something down the peacock's throat with a spoon.

When he heard what Stephen had to say, he looked very grave.

"I wish Miss Ray hadn't stopped at that hotel," he said.

"Why?" Stephen asked sharply. "You don't think the people there----"

"I don't know what to think. But I have a sort of idea the brutes knew
something last night and wouldn't tell."

"They'll have to tell!" exclaimed Stephen.

Nevill did not answer.

"I shall go down at once," Stephen went on.

"Of course I'll go with you," said his friend.

They had forgotten about breakfast. Stopping only to get their hats,
they started for the town.

XIV

"Don't begin by accusing the landlord of anything," Nevill advised, at
the hotel door. "He's got too much Arab blood in him to stand that.
You'd only make him tell you lies. We must seem to know things, and ask
questions as if we expected him to confirm our knowledge. That may
confuse him if he wants to lie. He won't be sure what ground to take."

The Arab porter was not in his place, but the proprietor sat in his den
behind the window. He was drinking a cup of thick, syrupy coffee, and
soaking a rusk in it. Stephen thought this a disgusting sight, and could
hardly bear to let his eyes rest on the thick rolls of fat that bulged
over the man's low collar, all the way round his neck like a yellow
ruff. Not trusting himself to speak just then, Stephen let Caird begin
the conversation.

The landlord bowed over his coffee and some letters he was reading, but
did not trouble to do more than half rise from his chair and sink back
again, solidly. These fine gentlemen would never be clients of his,
would never be instrumental in sending any one to him. Why should he put
himself out?

"We've had a letter from Miss Ray this morning," Nevill announced, after
a perfunctory exchange of "good days" in French.

The two young men both