“Yes,” growled Medenham; he knew what to expect, and his face was grim beneath the tan.
“But you were not driving it,” said the other.
“A chap named Dale was in charge then.”
“Oh, is that it? You’ve brought two ladies here just now?”
“Yes.”
“Good! My guv’nor’s on the lookout for ’em. He didn’t tell me so, but he made sure they hadn’t passed this way when we turned up.”
“And when was that?” asked Medenham, feeling unaccountably sick at heart.
“Soon after lunch. Ran here from Bristol. There’s a bad bit of road over the Mendips, but the rest is fine. I s’pose we’ll all be hiking back there to-night?”
“Most probably,” agreed Medenham, who said least when he was most disturbed; at that moment he could cheerfully have wrung Count Edouard Marigny’s neck.