The time slipped away quickly, and it was with a shock of astonishment that Jean realised, on glancing down at the watch on her wrist, that over an hour and a half had gone by while they had been sitting chatting on the verandah.
“Geoffrey! Do you know it’s nearly six o’clock! I’m certain something must have happened. Judy and the Holfords would surely be here by now if they hadn’t had an accident of some sort.”
Burke looked at his own watch.
“Yes,” he acquiesced slowly. “It is—getting late.” A look of concern spread itself over Jean’s face.
“I think we ought to get the car out again and go and see if anything has happened,” she said decisively. “They may have had a spill. Were they coming by motor?”
“No. Judy drove down to Newton Abbot in the dog-cart, and the Holfords proposed hiring some sort of conveyance from a livery stable.”
“Well, I expect they’ve had a smash of some kind. I’m sure we ought to go and find out! Was Judy driving that excitable chestnut of yours?”
He shook his head.
“No—a perfectly well-conducted pony, as meek as Moses. We’ll give them a quarter of an hour more. If they don’t turn up by then, I’ll run the car out and we’ll investigate.”
The minutes crawled by on leaden feet. Jean felt restless and uneasy and more than a trifle astonished that Burke should manifest so little anxiety concerning his sister’s whereabouts. Then, just before the quarter of an hour was up, there came the shrill tinkle of a bicycle bell, and a boy cycled up to the gate and, springing off his machine, advanced up the cobbled path with a telegram in his hand.