Slowing down, he turned into the drive, and as he did so he took out a handkerchief and passed it over his moist forehead. He must compose himself before encountering any of his fellow members.
He carefully smoothed his ruffled hair with slim, brown fingers, and reached over for his cap.
The seat was empty. The cap had disappeared.
The discovery was like a physical blow, and for an instant his heart stood still.
Where had he lost it?
The spot where he had run down the child was the only feasible one. The cap must have fallen out when he put on the emergency, and probably lay in plain sight, a clue for the first passerby to pick up.
For a moment he had a wild idea of going back for it, but he thrust this from him instantly. It was impossible.
Then the clubhouse came in sight. He must pull himself together at once; he would get something to steady his nerves before he met any one.
Instead of continuing on to the front of the clubhouse, where a crowd was congregated on the wide veranda, he turned sharply to the right and drove his car into one of the open sheds back of the kitchen. Then he dived through a side door into the buffet.
“Whisky, Joe,” he said nervously to the attendant.