At that moment Mr. Burnett remembered that this time he had seen a chauffeur in the car. He went hospitably out of the room and turned towards the front door. But hardly had he turned in that direction when he heard Mr. Taylor call out—
“Hallo! Where are you going?”
And the next moment he was after the minister and had him by the arm just as they reached the open front door. Mr. Burnett ever afterwards remembered the curious impression produced on him by the note in Mr. Taylor’s voice, and that hurried grip of the arm. Suspicion, alarm, a note of anger, all seemed to be blended.
“I—I was only going to ask your driver to come and have a cup of tea in the kitchen,” stammered the embarrassed minister.
“My dear sir, he doesn’t want any; I’ve asked him already!” said Mr. Taylor. “I assure you honestly I have!”
Mr. Burnett suffered himself to be led back wondering greatly. He had caught a glimpse of the chauffeur, a clean-shaven, well-turned-out man, sitting back in his seat with his cap far over his eyes, and even in that hurried glance at part of his face he had been struck with something curiously familiar about the man; though whether he had seen him before, or, if not, who he reminded him of, he was quite unable to say. And then there was Mr. Taylor’s extraordinary change of manner the very moment he started to see the chauffeur. He could make nothing of it at all, but for some little time afterwards he had a vague sense of disquiet.
Mr. Taylor, on his part, had recovered his cheerfulness as quickly as he had lost it.
“Forgive me, my dear Mr. Burnett,” he said earnestly, yet always with the rich jolly note in his voice. “I must have seemed a perfect maniac. The truth is, between ourselves, I had a terrible suspicion you were going to offer my good James whisky!”
“Oh,” said the minister. “Is he then—er—an abstainer?”
Mr. Taylor laughed pleasantly.
“I wish he were! A wee drappie is his one failing; ha, ha! I never allow my chauffeur to touch a drop while I’m on the road, Mr. Burnett—never, sir!”
Mr. Burnett was slow to suspect ill of anyone, but he was just as slow in getting rid of a suspicion. With all his simplicity, he could not but think that Mr. Taylor jumped extraordinarily quickly to conclusions and got excited on smaller provocation than anyone he had ever met. Over his first cup of tea he sat very silent.
In the meantime the sociable Mary had been suffering from a sense of disappointment. Surely the beautiful liveried figure in the car would require his tea and eggs like his master? For a little she sat awaiting his arrival in the kitchen, with her cap neatly arranged, and an expectant smile. But gradually disappointment deepened. She considered the matter judicially. Clearly, she decided, Mr. Burnett had forgotten the tradition of hospitality associated with that and every other manse. And then she decided that her own duty was plain.
She went out of the back door and round the house. There stood the car, with the resplendent figure leaning back in his seat, his cap still over his eyes, and his face now resting on his hand, so that she could barely see more than the tip of his nose. He heard nothing of her approach till she was fairly at his side, and in her high and penetrating voice cried—
“Will ye not be for a cup of tea and an egg to it, eh?”
The chauffeur started, and Mary started too. She had seen his face for an instant, though he covered it quickly, but apparently quite naturally, with his hand.
“No, thanks,” he said brusquely, and turned away his eyes.
Mary went back to the kitchen divided between annoyance at the rebuff and wonder. The liveried figure might have been the twin-brother of the minister.
III
On the Cliff
Gradually Mr. Burnett recovered his composure. His guest was so genial and friendly and appreciative of the scones and the currant cake that he began to upbraid himself for churlishness in allowing anything like a suspicion of this pleasant gentleman to linger in his mind. There remained a persistent little shadow which he could not quite drive away, but he conscientiously tried his best. As for Mr. Taylor, there never was a jollier and yet a more thoughtful companion. He seemed to think of every mortal thing that the minister could possibly need for his journey.
“Got your passport?” he inquired.
“Yes,” said the minister. “I am carrying it in my breast-pocket. It ought to be safe there.”
“The safest place possible!” said Mr. Taylor cordially. “It’s all in order, I presume, eh?”
Mr. Burnett took the passport out of his pocket and showed it to him. His guest closely examined the minister’s photograph which was attached, went through all the particulars carefully, and pronounced everything in order, as far as an ignorant outsider like himself could judge.
“Of course,” he said, “I’m a business man, Mr. Burnett, and I can tell when a thing looks businesslike, though I know no more about what the authorities require and why they ask for all these particulars than you do. It’s all red tape, I suppose.”
As a further precaution he recommended his host to slip a few letters and a receipted bill or two into his pocketbook, so that he would have a ready means of establishing his identity if any difficulty arose. Mr. Burnett was somewhat surprised, but accepted his guest’s word for it, as a shrewd Lancashire lad, that these little tips were well worth taking.
By this time the evening was falling, and at length Mr. Taylor declared himself ready for the road. He had drunk four cups of tea, and hurried over none of them. For a moment Mr. Burnett half wondered if he had any reason for delaying their start, but immediately
