Now was my opportunity, I thought. It was a preposterous suggestion to make. Allport I had only met for a few uncomfortable hours, and Janet I hadn’t even heard of three days ago, but the darkness hid my embarrassment and I plunged. “I was wondering, Mr. Allport, whether you and Mrs. Player would care to come and spend the week-end with my sister and me at Millingham?”
There was silence, and I felt uncomfortably sure that the darkness alone hid the astonishment they felt. But the words were said, irrevocable.
“That would be very nice, but unfortunately I must report at Scotland Yard to-morrow morning. Janet though is unofficial and there’s no reason——”
“I should love to,” Janet interrupted.
We said our good nights and went up-stairs to bed. Stairs, did I say? There were no stairs. I floated up on air and the banisters were wrought of pure gold.
In the morning I woke to find the curtains blowing into the room, and a refreshing sense of movement and stir in the air that was invigorating after the stagnant heat of the previous days. Gray masses of cloud were chasing across a watery sky. Over the lawn, that looked like some sodden piece of toast, odd shriveled leaves went scurrying. It was a day for action, and dressing as quickly as I could, I went and fetched my car from the inn before the others were down for breakfast.
It had been arranged that Ethel and Allport were to travel together as far as London, and our meal was a hurried one as they wished to catch an early train.
I was on thorns lest Janet should receive some letter, or something unforeseen should occur to prevent her from coming with me, but nothing so disastrous happened, and soon after half past nine, we were saying good-by to the solitary Tundish, who came into Dalehouse Lane to see us off.
The placid, inscrutable Tundish—for that is how I shall think of him always—looked just the same steady Tundish of the previous days and not one whit relieved to find that his troubles had vanished.