With a short, derisive laugh, James Rutlidge
turned and walked away.
* * * * *
Aaron King and Conrad Lagrange were returning from town. As they neared
their home, they saw one of the Taine automobiles in front of the house.
"Company," said the artist with a smile--thinking of his letter to the
millionaire.
"It's Rutlidge," said the novelist--noting the absence of the chauffeur.
They were turning in at the entrance, when Czar--who had dashed ahead as
if to investigate--halted, suddenly, with a low growl of disapproval.
"Huh!" ejaculated Conrad Lagrange, with his twisted grin. "It's Senior
'Sensual' all right. Look at Czar; he knows the beast is around. Go fetch
him, Czar."
With an angry bark, the dog disappeared around the corner of the porch.
The two men, following, were met by Rutlidge who had made his way back
through the grove and the rose garden from the house next door. The dog,
with muttering growls, was sniffing suspiciously at his heels.
"Czar," said his master, suggestively. With a meaning glance, the dog
reluctantly ceased his embarrassing attentions and went to see if
everything was all right about the premises.
In answer to their greeting and the quite natural question if he had been
waiting long, Rutlidge answered with a laugh.
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