She stood tensely still, with lips slightly parted, and a strained look in her eyes, while Hastings gazed at the wagon for another moment or two.
“Yes,” he said, and his voice was harsh, “it’s Dampier. The other man’s surely Bramfield. Harry’s not with him.”
He glanced at Agatha, who turned away, and sat down in the nearest chair. She made no comment, and there was an oppressive silence, through which the beat of hoofs and rattle of wheels rang more distinctly.
It seemed a long time before Dampier came in. He shook hands with Agatha and Mrs. Hastings diffidently.
“You remember me?” he asked.
“Of course,” answered Mrs. Hastings, with impatience in her tone. “Where’s Harry?”
The skipper spread a hard hand out, and sat down heavily.
“That,” he said, “is what I have to tell you. He asked me to.”
“He asked you to?” questioned Agatha, and though her voice was strained there was relief in it.
Dampier made a gesture, which seemed to beseech her patience.