No one spoke until Harrison, with an impatient sigh, remarked suddenly: “Oh, come along! let’s get back to sanity.”
“Hm! Yes,” Greatorex agreed.
“About time we went to bed,” Harrison went on. “We’ll be wiser in the morning.”
“I suppose,” Fell began as they resumed their walk to the house, but Harrison cut short his speculations.
“Here’s Emma coming to reprove us,” he interrupted. “She’ll probably insist on our all taking something hot to ward off the evil effects of miasma.”
Mrs. Harrison was, in fact, coming quickly to meet them with a brisk air of urgency, and as though she would shorten the little distance that still divided them, she called to her husband while she was still some few yards away, on a note that held the suggestion of a faint asperity.
“Charles. I want to speak to you,” she said.
“Are we in the way?” Fell asked as they hurried to meet her.
Mrs. Harrison looked at him for a moment as if she had been unexpectedly reminded of the fact of his existence, and then, taking no notice of his question, continued:
“That man Messenger, from the hotel, is here, Charles, with the police sergeant. They want to see you at once.”