When he came out to go to the room where the meal had been kept waiting all those many hours for his return, he met Janet.
“You coward!” she whispered: “you have not tried.”
“I did my best,” whispered Nic. “But, I say, Jan, can you keep a secret?”
“Yes: what?” she cried excitedly.
“Old Dillon must be as mad as mad. Leather has escaped, and has made for the myall scrub.”
Janet uttered a peculiar sound: it was caused by her pressing her hands to her lips to suppress a cry, as she ran to her own room.
“Poor chap!” said Nic to himself. “I’m glad she likes him too.”