Punctual to his time Mr Hampton came down the road from the station, with the Globe in his hand, the Pall Mall under his arm, and the Evening Standard in his pocket.
As he came in sight of the house, he was aware of the tall, gaunt figure of Mrs Hampton standing at the drawing-room window, forming a kit-cat picture in a frame, which, as he drew nearer, and the high brick wall interposed, gradually became a half length, then a quarter, then a head, the lace of a cap, and nothing at all.
The old lady was at the top of the steps, sour-looking and frowning, as he neared the entrance, but full of interest in him and sympathy.
“You look tired, dear,” she said.
“Eh? No. Pretty comfortable. How’s Gertrude?”
“In trouble.”
“Eh? What about?”
“George Harrington went out last night on the sly, and hasn’t come back.”
The old lawyer uttered a grunt.
“Not been near you?”