"Toward the park; but Miss Hargreave always goes along the riverside road. She doesn't like strangers about."
"Oh, I see. Well, I'll drop in this afternoon and see your master. They say that riding is good for a torpid liver. Have a cigar?"
The groom proceeded into the stables and the affable stranger took himself off.
A free rein; they could work it to suit themselves. There wasn't the least obstacle in the way. On the face of it, it appeared to be the simplest job they had yet undertaken. To get rid of the riding master in some natural way after he and the girl had started. It was like falling off a log.
"Susan," said Florence, as she came into breakfast after her exhilarating ride, "did you hear pistol shots last night?"
"I heard some noise, but I was so sleepy I didn't try to figure out what it was."
"Yes, Miss Florence. The shots came from the street. A policeman came running up later and said he saw two automobiles on the run. But evidently there wasn't anybody hurt. One has to be careful at night nowadays. There are pretty bad men abroad. Did you enjoy the ride?"
"Very much. But there were some spots of blood on the walk near the corner."
"Blood?" Jones caught the back of a chair to steady himself.
"Yes. So some one was hurt. Oh, let's leave this place!" impulsively. "Let us go back to Miss Farlow's. You could find a place in the village, Jones. But if I stay here much longer in this state of unrest I shall lose faith in everything and everybody. Whoever my father's enemies are, they do not lack persistence. They have made two attempts against my liberty, and sooner or later they will succeed. I keep looking over my shoulder all the time. If I hear a noise I jump."
"Miss Florence, if I thought it wise, you should be packed off to Miss Farlow's this minute. But not an hour of the day or night passes without this house being watched. I seldom see anybody about. I can only sense the presence of a watcher. At Miss Farlow's you would be far more like a prisoner than here. I could not accompany you. I am forbidden to desert this house."
Jones signified neither one way nor the other. He merely gazed stolidly at the rug.
"That blood!" She sprang from her chair, horrified. "It was his! He was here last night and they shot him! Oh!"