Evidently Lionel Clarke had died of his wound. He saw people standing in groups and reading the paper. He began to share the nervousness of Preston and the wise, far-seeing Franklin. He jumped into a cab and was at the corner some minutes ahead of time. Precisely at eleven he saw the coach draw near. He hurried to its side. The footman dismounted and opened the door. Inside he saw, not Margaret, but the lady of the hidden face.
"You are to get in, sir, and make a little journey with the madame," said the footman.
Jack got into the coach. Its door closed, the horses started with a jump and he was on his way whither he knew not. Nor did he know the reason for the rapid pace at which the horses had begun to travel.
"If you do not mind, sir, we will not lift the shades," said the veiled lady, as the coach started. "We shall see Margaret soon, I hope."
She had a colorless, cold voice and what was then known in London as the "patrician manner." Her tone and silence seemed to say: "Please remember this is all a matter of business and not a highly agreeable business to me."
"Where is Margaret?" he asked.
"A long way from here. We shall meet her at The Ship and Anchor in Gravesend. She will be making the journey by another road."
She had answered in a voice as cold as the day and in the manner of one who had said quite enough.
"Where is Gravesend?"
"On the Thames near the sea," she answered briskly, as if in pity of his ignorance.