They stood and listened. The hoot of a very distant motor-horn came to them distinctly.
"Coming towards us," was the doctor's verdict. "With any luck it'll take you both back to Questerham. It's your best chance of getting to bed tonight. Miss Vivian, you're shivering. Confound it all, it's enough to give you both pneumonia, hanging about on a night like this! What an old fool I've been!"
"It couldn't be helped, could it?" said Grace. "There were no trains running after four o'clock, and we couldn't guess the weather would change so. And it isn't nearly so cold as it has been."
"Have a cigarette?" said the doctor suddenly, lighting his own pipe. "It'll help you to keep warm."
"Smoking in uniform is entirely out of order, but for this once—thank you," said Miss Vivian, with a slight laugh.
The sound of a motor-bicycle became unmistakable, and the doctor advanced cautiously into the middle of the road.
"Ahoy, there! Could you stop half a minute? We've had a spill. Two ladies here."
"Is that Dr. Prince?" came a voice that made Char exclaim: "It's John Trevellyan!"
The motor-bicycle, with its small side-car, drew up beside them.
"Have you had a telephone message?" said John.