She had supposed that Amberley would wait for her in the car, but he came up to the cottage with her and told her to go and pack her trunk while he tidied things downstairs. She blinked at him; in this domestic role he seemed like a stranger.
Since she had left the cottage at a moment's notice there was a good deal to be done; she was upstairs for nearly half an hour, and when she came down she found that Amberley had been as good as his word. There was very little for her to do either in the living room or the kitchen. He had even cleared the larder by the simple expedient of casting all the perishable foodstuffs in it over the hedge into the field beyond, where a party of white ducks was rapidly disposing of them.
Shirley put the chain up on the back door, shot the bolts home and turned the key in the lock. Mr. Amberley went upstairs to fetch her trunk and bore it out to the car. Shirley took a last look round and came out, locking the front door behind her. She joined Amberley in the car. He started the engine and began to back down the lane to the main road. Suddenly he stopped and said: "Damn!"
"What is it?" she asked.
He began to feel in his pockets. "I believe I've left my pouch in the cottage. Yes, I must have."
She prepared to get out. "Where did you leave it?"
"Not quite sure. No, don't you bother; I'll get it. It's probably in the kitchen. I lit a pipe there. Let me have the key, will you? I won't be a minute."
She opened her bag and gave him the front-door key.
He went off with it up the garden path and let himself into the house.
He walked quickly through into the kitchen and to the back door. He slid the bolt back softly, took the chain off and put the key, which Shirley had left in the door, into his pocket. Then he went back to the car.