"Not a bit."
"It's a rotten time to come." Craven came in and sat down. "I'm awfully worried."
"Worried?"
"Yes, about Carfax. No one knows what's happened to him. He may have gone up to town, of course, but if he did he went without an exeat. Thompson saw him go out about two-thirty yesterday afternoon—-was going to Grantchester, because he yelled it back to Cards, who asked him where he was off to—not been heard or seen since."
"Oh, he's sure to be all right," Olva said easily.
"He's up in town!"
"Yes, I expect he is, but I don't know that that makes it any better. There's some woman he's been getting in a mess with I know—didn't say anything to me about it, but I heard of it from Cards."
"Well—" Olva slowly lit his pipe—"there's something else too. He was always in with a lot of these roughs in the town—stable men and the rest. He used to get tips from them, he always said, and he's had awful rows with some of them before now. You know what a temper he's got, especially when he's been drinking at all. I shouldn't wonder if he hadn't a fight one fine day and got landed on the chin, or something, and left."
"Oh! Carfax can look after himself all right. He's used to that kind of company."
Olva gazed, through the smoke of his pipe, dreamily into the fire.