“Yes; and we’re off directly after lunch. I say, though, what was that letter about?”
“What letter?” said Wilton, starting nervously.
“Oh, I say; don’t jump as if you thought the bailiffs were coming in. I meant the one brought over from the station half-an-hour ago.”
“I had no letter.”
“Sam said one came. It must have been for old Garstang then.”
“Am I intruding? Business?” said Garstang, suddenly appearing at the door.
“Eh? No; come in. We were only talking about ordinary things. Sit down. Lunch must be nearly due. Want to speak to me?”
All this in a nervous, hurried way.
“Never mind lunch,” said Garstang quietly; “I want you to oblige me, my dear James, by ordering that brown horse round.”
Wilton uttered a sigh of relief, and his face, which had been turning ghastly, slowly resumed its natural tint.