"Damn it!" exclaimed Bullard, "the air's frosty. We'll meet with fog presently."
He was right. They met it before they were clear of the city, and over the twenty miles that followed it lay thick, blanketing the river and countryside. Bullard was a seasoned but not a reckless driver; besides he was no more than acquainted with the road. He drove cautiously, his impatience escaping now and then in curses. They were nearing Helensburgh when they came almost abruptly into clear weather. The sky was cloudless, starry.
"This is better," said Bullard, "but I'm afraid it'll be a case of routing the estimable Caw from his virtuous couch."
Lancaster struggled out of his stupor of weariness. "Are we nearly there?"
"Hardly, but we can let her go now. I say, don't sleep; or you'll be too stiff for anything. Think over what I told you in the train; don't talk."
Five minutes later they were speeding up the Gareloch; still later, down the west side; then through the village of Roseneath, over the hill into Kilcreggan; then round the point and up Loch Long side….
At the last, as it seemed, of the houses Bullard slowed down.
"Aren't we going too far?" Lancaster inquired in a voice unnecessarily low.
"You are no observer," the other returned pleasantly, "or you would have remembered that there are here first a small wood and then a biggish field, aFter which we come to a couple of solitary houses, the further and larger being Christopher's. The other belongs to a doctor—retired, though I believe he has attended our old friend. As it may not be advisable to advertise our call more than we can help, we are going to run the car into the wood—there's a sort of track—and make our approach on foot. We can do with the exercise."
Within five minutes they started briskly along the deserted road.