Mr. Raphael carried the large brown portmanteau, which was now—as Richard discovered by handling it—quite empty. On the journey home Teresa drove the car, and her father sat by her side. Richard occupied the rear of the car, giving a hint occasionally as to the management of the machine.
‘I think I have nothing further to do here,’ he said when the party had arrived safely at Queen’s Farm. ‘Both the other cars are in order. I will therefore bid you good-day. Should anything go wrong with this car, you will doubtless let us know.’
He spoke in his most commercial manner, though his feelings were far from commercial.
Raphael Craig bent those dark, deep eyes of his upon the youth.
‘I have been telephoning to your firm this morning,’ said Craig, ‘and have arranged with them that you shall take the Panhard back to town. They are going to take it off my hands—at a price.’
‘With pleasure,’ said Richard.
‘But,’ Mr. Craig continued, ‘I wish to use the Panhard this week-end. Therefore you cannot remove it till Monday.’
‘Very good,’ said Richard, ‘I will present myself on Monday morning.’
‘And in the meantime?’
‘In the meantime I have other business for my firm in the neighbourhood.’