He jumped to his feet and made for his hat and overcoat. Valencia glanced at the clock.
“But why must you go now?” she asked. “You say you’re going to get the early morning train at Mitbourne? That doesn’t leave till after four o’clock. And it’s now only half-past ten.”
Guy had already got into his overcoat. He smiled at Valencia’s questioning look.
“Just so!” he answered. “But there’s somebody else in this neighbourhood that I’ve got to see—on business. Appointment, you understand?—already made. I must be off, or I shall be late for it.”
“But—you ought to have had some supper—or something,” protested Valencia.
“That’ll be ready where I’m going,” replied Guy. “There—don’t bother yourselves! Call Braxfield down—good old chap, that, and I must say good-bye to him.”
Five minutes later he had said good-bye to all three, and Braxfield had let him out by the door at which he had entered. The old butler went back to his pantry to find his young mistress standing by the fire, evidently in deep thought. She looked up as he entered.
“Braxfield,” she said, “which way did Mr. Guy go?”
“Towards the village, miss,” replied Braxfield. “Turned through the shrubbery.”
Braxfield was the sort of man to whom everybody is confidential. Valencia saw no reason for keeping back what was in her mind.