By this time the sun was sinking in a smear of red across
a delicately tinted sky. Its dying rays held some glittering
object high up on the side of the house.
At first Desmond thought it was a window, but presently the light
went out, kindled again and once more vanished. It was too small
for a window, Desmond decided, and then, turning the matter over
in his mind, as observant people are accustomed to do even with
trifles, he suddenly realized that the light he had seen was the
reflection of the sun on a telescope or glasses.
They were now within a few hundred yards of the house. The road
had made a right angle turn to the left, but the diminutive guide
had quitted it and struck out along a very muddy cart track.
Shading his eyes, Desmond gazed at the house and presently got a
glimpse of a figure at a window surveying the road through a pair
of field glasses. Even as he looked, the figure bobbed down and
did not reappear.
"They want to be sure I'm alone," thought Desmond, and
congratulated himself on having had the strength of mind to break
his orders.
The cart-track led up to a little bridge over a ditch. By the
bridge stood a tall pole, on the top of which was a blue and gold
painted sign-board inscribed, "The Dyke Inn by J. Rass.
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