CHAPTER XV
Greta smiled at him.
"What has happened?" another would have demanded, on sight of Napier's face; not Miss Greta. She paused on the step of the motor, calmly giving the chauffeur directions about going back for the others. "Nice to see you home again." She held out her hand to Napier.
He led the way into the hall.
"You look rather disturbed," she commented drily.
Disturbed, indeed! Who wouldn't at finding such a business shifted on his shoulders? "We expected Sir William before this,"—Napier's hesitation was only outward. Inwardly he was cursing with extreme fluency. "The train service is horribly disorganized."
"Everything is disorganized," responded Miss Greta, drawing off her glove. She caught sight of her telegram. The heavy, white fingers paused in the act of opening it. A change, quick, subtle, came over her face. "Some one has been tampering with this!" She spoke in a sudden, harsh voice, Napier had never heard before. He was conscious that guilt was printed large on his countenance.
"Yes, it's been tampered with." He in his turn spoke loud enough for the words to reach Singleton.
"Hush!" said Miss Greta, to his astonishment. "Come—" she led the way across the hall, toward the drawing-room.