There was no time to spare for further thought or conjecture concerning the mystery of the missing papers until, an hour and a half later, they were on their way to Victoria, whirling rapidly along in a taxi, for the fog had lifted.
They had none too much time to get the train to Dover, where they intended to stay the night at the “Lord Warden” and cross to Calais next day, en route for Paris and the Riviera.
“The Rawsons didn’t come after all,” Grace remarked. “Mother was so disappointed, poor dear, for she had been telling every one about them, and then they never turned up! I’m not sorry though—at least about Lady Rawson. I don’t know what there is about her that always makes me think of a snake. That sounds very ungrateful when she gave me these lovely furs”—she glanced down at the costly chinchilla wrap and muff she wore, which had been Lady Rawson’s wedding gift—“but really I can’t help it.”
“Same here! And it really is curious considering she’s always been so jolly decent to us both. I wonder——”
He broke off, knitting his brows perplexedly, and as if in response to his unspoken thought Grace exclaimed:
“Roger, do you think she could have had anything to do with those missing papers?”
He glanced at her in astonishment.
“What makes you ask that, darling?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure. It just flashed into my mind. But do you think so? Sir Robert didn’t ’phone to you, did he?”
“No. And I don’t know what to think about Lady Rawson. Oh, bother the papers; let’s forget all about them—for to-day, anyhow! I say, beloved, it doesn’t seem possible that we’re really married and off on our honeymoon, does it?”