Armathwaite's drawn features relaxed, and he placed a friendly hand on the villager's shoulder.
"You've done right," he said. "I am very much obliged to you. I have a stupid habit of allowing my mind to wander. Just then I was thinking of something wholly unconnected with Miss Garth's disappearance, which will arouse Mrs. Jackson's wrath because of bacon and eggs frizzled to a cinder. I must go and condole with her."
He was turning to re-enter the house, mainly to set at rest any suspicion that Marguérite's absence arose from other cause than sheer forgetfulness, when the clang of the gate stayed him. A youth had dismounted from a bicycle, and was hastening up the path with an air of brisk importance.
"Telegrams for Garth and Whittaker," he said. "Any answer, sir?"
Armathwaite took the two buff envelopes which the lad produced from a leather pouch.
"Have you come from Bellerby?" he inquired.
"Yes, sir."
"Well, wait a few minutes. There may be some reply."
He went into the dining-room. So sure was he that Marguérite had gone away that he had not the slightest hesitation about opening the telegram addressed to "Garth, The Grange, Elmdale." As he anticipated, it was from Mrs. Ogilvey. It had been dispatched at seven o'clock from Tavistock, and read:
"Arriving to-night if possible. Don't take any action until I am with you.—Mother."