CHAPTER IX
ON THE WYE
For this is what happened. To Mrs. Devar, gazing darkly at Cynthia’s too innocent discovery of Medenham standing on the tiny quay, came the Welsh maid, saying:
“Beg pardon, mam, but iss your chauf-feur’s name Fitz-roy?”
“Yes.”
“Then he iss wan-ted on the tel-e-phone from Her-e-ford, mam.”
“There he is, below there, near the river.”
Mrs. Devar smiled sourly at the thought that the interruption was well-timed, since Medenham was just raising his cap with a fine assumption of surprise at finding Miss Vanrenen strolling by the water’s edge. The civil-spoken maid was about to trip off in pursuit of him, when Mrs. Devar changed her mind. The notion suddenly occurred to her that it would be well if she intervened in this telephonic conversation, and Fitzroy could still be summoned a minute later if desirable.