“You do have the house—”
“Yes, and I may as well make use of it,” Judy broke in. “This may be exciting—”
“Judy,” Honey interrupted, “do you see what I see?”
“A car with three men in it! Oh dear! I hadn’t counted on so many!” Judy exclaimed as the car came to a stop beside them.
At first both girls were dismayed. Gray eyes met blue ones in a moment of panic. Then Honey recognized one of the men as a customer who had ordered signs to be lettered at the studio in Farringdon where she worked as an artist.
“That one won’t want a room,” she whispered. “He lives around here. His name’s Montrose, I think.”
“What about the others?” Judy whispered back.
For some reason that she could not name, she was suddenly suspicious of them. None of the men introduced themselves. After inquiring briefly about the sign, they piled out of the expensive car they were driving and asked Judy and Honey to show them the house. The two girls started down the road, hardly knowing what to expect. They had crossed Dry Brook and were passing through the beech grove when a sudden rustling of the wind in the trees overhead made them look up. The sky had darkened although it was still early in the day.
“It’s weird,” Judy whispered. “See that pinkish haze over there? It makes the sun look red. And the wind sounds—strange.”
“It is sort of spooky,” Honey replied. “I think a storm is blowing up.”