A few minutes later, a telegram was put into his hand from the friend left on the coast, in charge of his newest aeroplane.
"Arrange Channel flight, if possible, day after to-morrow."
"Not I," said the Boy, crumpling the message into his pocket. "The day after to-morrow is the seventh day."
He was dining with friends, but an unaccountable restlessness seized him during the evening. He made his excuses, and returned to the Bull Hotel soon after nine o'clock. The hall-porter at once handed him a note, left by special messenger, ten minutes earlier. It was marked "urgent." The handwriting was Christobel's.
The Boy flung away his cigarette, tore the note open, and turned to a light. It was very short and clear.
"Boy dear,—I must see you at once. You will find me in the garden.
"Christobel."
When the Boy had turned the corner and disappeared, Miss Charteris passed through the little postern gate, and moved slowly up the lawn. Ah, how different to her sad return from that gate an hour before!