Being town-bred and unused to owls, I took it for a human cry in the darkness and shrank closer against my mock-orange bush.
"Hallo, Whitmore, you've dropped a guinea.

Here it is, by the table-leg.

Take twenty-four shillings for it, now that old Rodriguez is gone ?" Mr.Whitmore thanked the speaker as the coin was restored to him.
"The room's hot, as Mr.Rogers says, and I think I'll step out for a mouthful of fresh air.

Phe--ew!" he drew a long breath as he appeared at the window.
He strolled carelessly out beneath the verandah and stood for a moment by one of its pillars.

And at that moment the owl's cry sounded again, but more softly, from the shrubbery on my left.
I knew, then, that it came from no true bird.