Celia's fingers gripped the arms of the chair she had sunk into. "Then they were unarmed! Charles, it's the Monk! I know it's the Monk! Oh, fool, fool that I was to suggest they should stay here alone this evening."
"Steady!" Charles said. "Don't leap to conclusions, Celia. For all we know they had a perfectly good reason for going out, and they'll walk in any moment. They may even have walked down the road to meet us, as Bowers suggested, and we missed them."
"How could we miss them?"
"Easily. We were all talking, and I for one never scrutinise pedestrians."
"But they'd have stopped us!" Celia pointed out.
"Not necessarily. You must remember that our headlights were on, and the glare would prevent them recognising the car till it was abreast of them. And I was driving pretty fast, too. They may have called to us, and failed to make us hear."
Celia looked at the time. "But, darling, it's a quarter to twelve, and we've been in three-quarters of an hour! They must have got back by now. Why, if they set out at ten they've had time to get as far as the Vicarage and back again by now!"
"No, not quite," Charles said. "Not that I see either of them walking all that distance just to meet us. I'll tell you what: I think I'd better get the car out of the garage again, and run back as far as the Vicarage, just in case they were cracked enough to walk as far as that, and have met with some accident. Sprained ankle, or something of that sort. Then if I don't find them I'll go in to Ackerley's place, and ring up the police-station from there, and bring Ackerley himself along to help me search." He picked up Peter's revolver. "Bowers, you know how to handle this, don't you?"
"Yes, sir," Bowers answered, taking it.
"I want you to stay in this room with Mrs. Malcolm and Mrs. Bosanquet, and on no account to leave them. Quite understand?"