“By Jove! There’s a breakdown, and it’s Sir William Gurdon’s big car in difficulties, I believe.”
Gerard jumped out and went down the drive to the gate, which had been left open.
Looking down the road he saw that Arthur was right: the big, handsome car which had brought the baronet over from his Thames-side villa was blocking the road, and beside it were three persons: Sir William, his chauffeur, and Cecil Jones, whom the baronet had offered to take back to town with him, which he could easily do, as he proposed to spend the night in the city himself.
Gerard went back to Arthur, told him he was right, and jumping into the car again, turned and said—
“Sir William’s got that fellow Jones with him.”
Arthur had not yet started the car, and he said in a low voice—
“I don’t like the look of Jones. He’s such an awful ass! I don’t want to have to take him with us.”
“Oh, I don’t suppose we shall have to do that. We don’t know what’s wrong. Something very trifling, perhaps.”
Still Arthur hesitated. He was in a very ill humor, on account of his losses.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter to him how much money he loses,” he said, in a grumbling tone; “he looks that sort of chap, doesn’t he?”