Shall we go outside now?"
Lenton Croft was a large, desultory sort of house, nowhere more than three
floors high, and mostly only two. It had been added to bit by bit, till it
zigzagged about its site, as Sir James Norris expressed it, "like a game
of dominoes." Hewitt scrutinized its external features carefully as they
strolled around, and stopped some little while before the windows of the
two bed-rooms he had just seen from the inside. Presently they approached
the stables and coach-house, where a groom was washing the wheels of the
dog-cart.
"Do you mind my smoking?" Hewitt asked Sir James. "Perhaps you will take a
cigar yourself--they are not so bad, I think. I will ask your man for a
light."
Sir James felt for his own match-box, but Hewitt had gone, and was
lighting his cigar with a match from a box handed him by the groom. A
smart little terrier was trotting about by the coach-house, and Hewitt
stooped to rub its head. Then he made some observation about the dog,
which enlisted the groom's interest, and was soon absorbed in a chat with
the man.
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