I found my friend and his father in a summer house upon the lawn. Both appeared unaffectedly glad to see me, and equally sorry to hear that I had come to wish them good-bye. Mr. Baxter was not visible, and it was with no little surprise I learned that he, too, was contemplating a trip to the Metropolis.
"I hope, if ever you visit Bournemouth again, you will come and see us," said the Duke as I rose to leave.
"Thank you," said I, "and I hope if ever your son visits Australia you will permit me to be of some service to him."
"You are very kind. I will bear your offer in mind."
Shaking hands with them both, I wished them good-bye and went out through the gate.
But I was not to escape without an interview with my clerical friend after all. As I left the grounds and turned into the public road I saw a man emerge from a little wicket gate some fifty yards or so further down the hedge. From the way he made his exit, it was obvious he had been waiting for me to leave the house.
It was, certainly enough, my old friend Baxter. As I came up with him he said, with the same sanctimonious grin that usually encircled his mouth playing round it now:
"A nice evening for a stroll, Mr. Hatteras."
"A very nice evening, as you say, Mr. Baxter."
"May I intrude myself upon your privacy for five minutes?"
"With pleasure. What is your business?"
"Of small concern to you, sir, but of immense importance to me. Mr. Hatteras, I have it in my mind that you do not like me."
