"Go ahead, dear fellow! I'm tougher than you think. What has become of Nap?"
"That's just the question. You know he went off in the car with Lady
Carfax yesterday morning?"
"I didn't know," murmured Lucas. "That's a detail. Go on."
"Late last night the car had not returned, and the mother began to wonder. Of course if Lady Carfax hadn't been there it wouldn't have mattered much, but as it was we got anxious, and in the end I posted off to the Manor to know if she had arrived. She had not. But while I was there a wire came for the butler from a place called Bramhurst, which is about fifty miles away, to say that the car had broken down and they couldn't return before to-day. Well, that looked to me deuced queer. I'm convinced that Nap is up to some devilry. What on earth induced her to go there with him anyway? The mother was real bothered about it, and so was I. We couldn't rest, either of us. And in the end she ordered the big Daimler and went off to Bramhurst herself. I wanted to go with her, but she wouldn't have me at any price. You know the mother. So I stopped to look after things here. Everyone cleared off this morning, thank the gods. I don't think anyone smelt a rat. I told them the mother had gone to nurse a sick friend, and it seemed to go down all right."
Lucas had listened to the recital with closed eyes and a perfectly expressionless face. He did not speak for a few moments when Bertie ended. At length, "And the mother is not back yet?" he asked.
"No. But I'm not afraid for her. She knows how to hold her own."
"That's so," Lucas conceded; and fell silent again.
He was frowning a little as if in contemplation of some difficulty, but his composure was absolute.
"There may be nothing in it," he said at last.
Bertie grunted. "I knew he was in a wild beast mood before they started.
He nearly rode the black mare to death in the early morning."