of the hostlers. Under cover, he discerned two other
carriages, and there seemed to be at least half a dozen horses. The
men who, in the half gloom of the loose-boxes, were busy grooming these
animals made a curious whistling noise as they worked. Everybody in the
yard touched a forelock to him as he passed.

From this quaint, old-world enclosure he wandered at his leisure,
through an open gate in the wall at the back, into the gardens behind
the house. There was not much in the way of flowers to look at, but
he moved about quite unconscious of any deprivation. A cluster of
greenhouses, massed against the southern side of the mansion, attracted
his listless fancy, and he walked toward what appeared to be an entrance
to them. The door was locked, but he found another further on which
opened to his hand. The air was very hot and moist inside, and the place
was so filled with broad-leaved, umbrageous tropical plants that he had
to stoop to make his way through to the end. The next house had a more
tolerable atmosphere, and contained some blossoms to which he gave
momentary attention. In the third house, through the glass-door, he
could see a man--evidently a gardener--lifting some pots to a shelf
overhead.

The thought occurred to him that by entering into conversation with this
man, he might indirectly obtain a hint as to the usual breakfast-hour at
Hadlow. It was now nearly ten o'clock, and he was getting very hungry.
Would they not ring a bell, or sound a gong, or something? he wondered.
Perhaps there had been some such summons, and he had not heard it. It
might be the intelligent thing for him to return to the house, at all
events, and sit in the hall where the servants could see him, in case
the meal was in progress.

Looking idly through the glass at the gardener, meanwhile, it suddenly
dawned upon him that the face and figure were familiar. He stared more
intently at the man, casting about in his memory for a clue to his
identity. It came to him that the person he had in mind was a fellow
named Gafferson, who had kept an impoverished and down-at-the-heels
sort of hotel and general store on the road from Belize to Boon Town, in
British Honduras. Yes, it undoubtedly was Gafferson. What on earth was
he doing here? Thorpe gave but brief consideration to this problem.
It was of more immediate importance to recall the circumstances of his
contact with the man. He had made Gafferson's poor shanty of an hotel
his headqu