“You haven’t time to look for him,” Lance answered, and good-humoredly pushed Dick into the hall. “Get off at once! A fellow I know will give me a lift home.”
Dick ran down the drive and a few moments later his motorcycle was humming up the road. He sped through a dark firwood, where the cool air was filled with resinous scent, and out across a hillside down which the stocked sheaves stood in silvery rows, but he noticed nothing except that the white strip of road was clear in front. His thoughts were back in the garden with Clare Kenwardine, and he could smell the clogging sweetness of the stocks. This was folly, and he changed the gear on moderate hills and altered the control when the engine did not need it, to occupy his mind; but the picture of the girl he carried away with him would not be banished.
For all that, he reached Storeton Grange in time and, running up the drive, saw lights in the windows and a car waiting at the door. Getting down and stating his business, he was shown into a room where a stern-faced man in uniform sat talking to another in evening clothes.
“I understand you come from Captain Hallam,” said the Colonel.
“Yes, sir. He sent me with some papers.”
“Plans of pontoons, sir.”
“Very well,” said the Colonel, taking out a fountain pen. “Let me have them.”
Dick put his hand into his breastpocket, which was on the outside of his coat. The pocket was unbuttoned, and the big envelope had gone. He hurriedly felt the other pockets, but they too were empty, and his face got red.
The Colonel looked hard at him, and then made a sign to the other man, who quietly went out.