"Young Lord Ashiel promised to meet us here at half-past six," Gimblet told him. "We expect to put our hands on some important documents, and I was anxious you should be present."
"Quite unnecessary. Absolutely ridiculous. Still, here I am. May as well come along."
The General went on talking to Lady Ruth, but after a few minutes the inspector from Crianan sent in to ask if he could speak to him, and they retired together to Lady Ruth's little private sitting-room, where they remained closeted for some time. While the old soldier was listening to what the policeman had to tell him, Gimblet began to show signs of restlessness. He went to the door and looked about him. The weather was clearing, the clouds breaking and scudding fast before a wind which had arisen in the North; a tinge of blue showed here and there in the interstices between them, while a veil of mist that trailed after them shone faintly orange in the rays of the hidden sun.
Gimblet went back and sat down in the drawing-room with the Scotsman in his hand. He put it down after a few minutes, however, and began fidgeting about the room. Then he went and conferred with the second of the two policemen, and as he was talking to him the General and the inspector reappeared.
"I think," said Gimblet, coming towards them, "that we will not wait any longer for Lord Ashiel."
General Tenby, staring at him with rather a strange expression, nevertheless silently assented, and the four men started on their walk to the green way.
As they went up the glen a ray of sunshine emerged from between the flying clouds, and fell upon the statue at the end of the enclosed glade. Away to the right their eyes could follow the track of a distant shower; and as they went a rainbow curved across the sky, stretching from hill to hill like some great monumental arch set up for the celestial armies to march under on their return from the conquest of the earth.
"That statue," Gimblet remarked to the General, who walked beside him, "is a specimen of the worst modern Italian sculpture. The figure of Pandora is modelled like a sack of potatoes; the composition is weak and unsatisfactory; and the pediment on which the whole group is poised large enough to support three others of the same size."
The General grunted.
"I always understood that the late Lord Ashiel knew what he was about," he said stiffly. "He told me himself that it cost him a great deal of money."