“But Dicky—how will we get away?”
“I know, it’s like being in a trap,” said Mr Fanshawe, “but we’ll do it. It’s the fifteen miles to the station that will be the bother. The express from Carlow to Dublin goes through Tullagh station at four in the morning, it doesn’t stop (I’ve been looking up the trains), but I’ll write to the manager of the Great Midland of Ireland and have it stopped, or have a special. This is Tuesday, on Friday morning at four o’clock we’ll be in the train—leave everything to me. Old James, the butler, is a fool and not to be trusted, but Patsy——”
“It’s funny,” said Miss Lestrange, “I was just that moment thinking of Patsy, and that he might help.”
“Patsy is a jewel!” said Mr Fanshawe.
Violet looked at the watch on her wrist.
“It’s after twelve,” she said. “Let’s go back—I’m half afraid—I don’t know what he’ll say, but luncheon is at half-past one, and we must be a good way off. Where are we?”
“I don’t know,” said Mr Fanshawe, looking round; “we must have run in a circle or something, for I’m all mixed up. There’s a lot of woods over there—they may be the woods around Glen Druid; and there’s a lot of woods over there—they may be the woods round Glen Druid—bother!”
“Which is north and which is south?”
“Not having a compass, I can’t tell.”
“Can’t you tell by the sun or the wind—or anything?”