She nodded slowly. "At nine o'clock."
Then she hurried to her room to think. She must leave this place at once, that was certain. She could hardly bear to wait another day. And as Betty Thompson was the only person to whom she could give this money, the only person she could trust—yes, that was it, as she could not go to Betty, Betty must come to her, Betty must come back from Brighton, she must come back immediately. And straightway Hester sat down and wrote the following letter:
"MY DEAR MISS THOMPSON:
"Please start for Bainbridge Manor as soon as you get this letter, which will be to-morrow morning. Take the first train and don't let anything stop you from coming. And don't tell anyone why you are coming. Say you must get some clothes or make up any excuse. I am only a poor girl, but take my word that there will be big trouble if you don't come and nobody else will do. I never gave you the right reason why I came here, but you will be glad to hear this secret and it will do a lot of good if you come at once. I'm absolutely on the level now, but I don't know if I can hold out another day, and then it will be too late.
"Respectfully yours,
"HESTER STORM."
Having addressed this urgent summons to the Grand Hotel in Brighton, where the Baxters were stopping, Hester carefully stamped the envelope and gave it personally to the postman when he passed. Then, with a long sigh, she came down to her supper, confident that relief would be there within twenty-four hours. Alas, how many things may happen within twenty-four hours!
At nine o'clock the girl went to the garage to keep her appointment with Anton. She longed to stay away, but dared not, feeling that he was capable of some desperate act if she trifled with him further. Besides, she had managed this man before and now she trusted to her wits to manage him again.
When Hester entered the garage she found the chauffeur bending over a table absorbed in something that seemed to require close attention. As he heard her step he rose and came forward with a sort of mock politeness that frightened her more than his usual rough aggressiveness.
"Ah, Miss Storm! It's good of you to keep your little date with me—for a change. If you'll make yourself comfortable, Miss Storm, I'll tell you a few things that may interest you."
Keenly watchful, the girl sat down. On the table before Anton were a pair of shears, a paste pot and a sheet of paper on which he had, apparently, been pasting words and letters cut from a newspaper. She noticed also a bottle of whiskey and a thick glass.