“Why isn’t Sergeant Farrelly back?” asked Miss Blow.
“I don’t know, miss.”
“It’s after four,” said Miss Blow.
“Well, now,” said Moriarty, “that’s a queer thing, so it is.”
“He started, I am told, at about half-past twelve.”
“It might have been that,” said Moriarty, “or it might have been more. I didn’t take notice on account of being engaged in mending your tyre at the time.”
“It’s eight miles to Rosivera. Allow three-quarters of an hour to get there——”
“It could be,” said Moriarty, “that he was punctured on the way. It’s a bad road.”
“Allowing for all possible accidents, even supposing he walked the whole way there and back, they should be here by this time.”
“They should. You’re right, there, miss. They should.”