“You go on, you fellows,” he said. “I’ll be out in a minute. I’ll drive, Leonard. Don’t think you’re quite up to it.”
de Cartienne nudged my arm and we went off together and made our way up the street to the inn, under the covered archway of which the trap was drawn up. In a few minutes Cecil joined us.
“Hope I haven’t kept you waiting,” he said, as he lighted a cigarette and clambered up to the box-seat. “No, you come in front, Morton. That’s right. Very odd about that photograph, isn’t it? It’s gone and no mistake. We’ve been having another look round.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed de Cartienne impatiently. “What a fuss about a trifle! A girl has no memory at all! I expect she moved it herself. Bet you it turns up by the morning.”
“I think not,” Cecil replied quietly, as he gathered up the reins. “Now then, hold on behind!”
We rattled off down the street and out into the open country again at a pace which precluded any conversation. The low hedges and stunted trees by the roadside seemed to fly past us, and a sudden turn, which almost jerked me from my seat, brought us in sight of a wide semi-circle of twinkling lights, which seemed to stretch right across the horizon.
“What are they?” I asked, pointing forward.
“Those? Oh, fishing-smacks!” answered Cecil.
“Is that the sea, then?” I asked eagerly.
He burst out laughing.