To-day was Monday; Tuesday, Wednesday, and then Thursday, Thursday the 27th. That was the day on which everything must be done. He was thinking it all out, they had got that one chance. If they missed it Morelli would be back, and for ever. They must not miss it.
But he was perfectly calm about it. His agitation seemed curiously to have left him. He was cold and stern and absolutely collected. He and Maradick were going to pull it through.
He could not find Maradick. He searched for him in the dining-room, the passages, the billiard-room.
No. The servants hadn’t seen him. Mrs. Maradick was with Mrs. Lawrence in one of the drawing-rooms; no, they hadn’t see him, he had disappeared after lunch.
Mrs. Maradick smiled. “Find Mrs. Lester” was the advice that she would have given him. She went back to her novel with tightly closed mouth and refused to talk to Mrs. Lawrence.
And then Tony suddenly remembered. Of course, he would be up in that old room where he so often went, the room with the gallery. Tony found him there.
The rain was beating furiously against the panes, and there was a very dismal light that struggled across the floor and lost itself hopelessly in the dark corners under the gallery. Maradick was sitting close up against the window, reading in the rather feeble light. He looked up when he saw Tony and put his book down.
“Ah, Tony, I was coming down to find you; Sir Richard’s decision at lunch pretty well settles things, doesn’t it? We must move at once.”
He looked up at the boy and saw the age in his face.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’re going to pull it through all right.”