Jones nodded.
Gerard glanced at the car, and Jones stepped back.
“There’s someone you know inside,” he said with a dry smile.
He was gently, mildly triumphant, satisfied with having brought off a coup which would redound greatly to his credit.
Gerard guessed whom he should see as he stepped up to the side of the car. And, just as he had expected, he saw Miss Davison inside, leaning back in one corner, with her eyes closed, and a look of weariness that was almost pain upon her handsome, pale face.
But it was the sight of the man seated beside her which caused Gerard to utter an exclamation, and to look in stupefaction from Rachel to him and from him to Cecil Jones.
For, sitting in the car beside Miss Davison, wrapped in a fur-lined motor-coat and with a cap drawn well down over his eyes, was the distinguished-looking man with the white mustache whom Gerard had been accustomed to look upon as her evil genius.
“Let me introduce Mr. Buckland, Colonel,” said Cecil Jones, as he came up to the side of the car and leaned upon the door.
But at the name Miss Davison sat up, and leaning towards the man by her side, whispered loud enough for Gerard to hear—
“Oh, uncle, I may tell him now, may I not?”