“Phipps!” said Mrs. Milton. “Is he hurrying? Does he look—” She rose in her eagerness, biting her trembling lip, and went towards the window.
“No news,” said Phipps, entering.
“Ah!” said Widgery.
“None?” said Dangle.
“Well,” said Phipps. “One fellow had got hold of a queer story of a man in bicycling clothes, who was asking the same question about this time yesterday.”
“What question?” said Mrs. Milton, in the shadow of the window. She spoke in a low voice, almost a whisper.
“Why—Have you seen a young lady in a grey bicycling costume?”
Dangle caught at his lower lip. “What’s that?” he said. “Yesterday! A man asking after her then! What can that mean?”
“Heaven knows,” said Phipps, sitting down wearily. “You’d better infer.”
“What kind of man?” said Dangle.