"My friend Smeeton--Lady Stanchester," exclaimed the Earl, introducing
them.
Their gaze met, and I saw that in a moment her heart became gripped by a
nameless terror, her countenance blanched, and she halted rigid, as
utterly dumbfounded as I had been; while the mysterious guest bowed,
expressing his pleasure at making her acquaintance, and thus allowing
her a chance to recover her self-possession.
I saw that he had darted a meaning look at her--a glance which she
apparently understood, for next second she held her breath, stifling
down her apprehension, and then managed to stammer out the usual
expression of gratification at meeting any of her husband's friends.
"We have only a moment ago, Lady Stanchester, been recalling memories of
our days on the Zambesi. We were both, I think, a little more reckless
then than we are now," he said laughing.
"You're right, Smeeton," declared the Earl. "Playing the fool as I did,
I narrowly escaped with my life half-a-dozen times over. But I've
profited by your advice and experience."
"George is quite a steady-going old fogey nowadays, you must know, Mr
Smeeton," exclaimed her ladyship. "He's a member of all sorts of
committees for this and for that, and sits on the bench of magistrates
with the row of fat butchers and bakers."
"And is pretty hard on poachers, I suppose?" he laughed. "In the eyes
of county magistrates the snaring of a hare is, I've heard, regarded as
one of the worst crimes in the calendar."
"Of course. Because it is generally the only crime that personally
concerns the bench," remarked his lordship, while his wife had crossed
to the fireplace and stood slightly behind her husband, in order, I
noticed, to conceal the agitation now consuming her. Why had the man
come there in the guise of her husband's friend? That they had shot
together in Africa was certain, for she had heard of this man's prowess
as a big-game hunter, but it was a revelation to her, as to me, that
Smeeton and Richard Keene were one and the same person.
Old Slater returned with the "pegs" and the men drank them while her
ladyship busied herself pretending to try and find a book in the large
bookcase behind me. She chatted to them all the time, but managed to
keep her face concealed.
At last the dressing-bell sounded, and the Earl accompanied his guest to
his room, exclaiming with a laugh--
"I'd better show you the way, old chap, or you'll be wandering about
like one of the lost tribes." Then, the instant the door had closed and
their footsteps retreated, the Countess turned quickly to me, her face
white and drawn, her eyes terrified, whispering--
"What does this mean, Mr Woodhouse? What can it mean?"
"Well, it seems as though the fellow had some object in coming to stay
here as a guest," I said. "What that object is you yourself know best."
"Of course he has a motive," she cried in despair. "But what am I to
do? Why didn't you warn me that you had recognised him?"