Then suddenly she flitted away and went to her room. We three men were left alone.
I think that for the first few moments there was some slight awkwardness, for we were men, and we spoke seldom of the things which touched us most. Arthur, however, broke almost immediately into speech, and relieved the tension.
"And to think that it was I," he exclaimed, "who sent you out plot hunting to the station! Arnold, what a sensible chap you are!"
We all laughed.
"A good many people," Mabane remarked quietly, "would call us three fools. Tell us, Arnold, did you really discover nothing?"
"Absolutely nothing," I declared. "Stop, though. I did find out this. There is some secret about the child's parentage. I have spoken with two people who know it, and one of them warned me that in keeping the child we were interfering in a greater matter than we had any idea of. Of course it might have been a bluff, but I fancy that Lady Delahaye was in earnest."
"You do not think," Mabane asked, "that she was Major Delahaye's daughter?"
"I do not," I answered, with a little shudder. "I am sure that she was not."
"Whoever she is," Arthur declared, "there's one thing jolly certain, and that is she's thoroughbred. She has the most marvellous nerve I ever knew. We got in a tight corner this morning. I took her down to Guildford in a trailer, and I had to jump the pavement to avoid a runaway. She never flinched for a moment. Half the girls I know would have squealed like mad. She only laughed, and asked whether she should get out. She's as thoroughbred as they make them."
"Perhaps," I answered, "but I'm not going to have you risk her life with your beastly motoring, Arthur. Take her out in a car, if you want to. Who's this?"