“I should say your ’eart, cook, was better than your understanding,” he answered tolerantly.
It was an hour later, nearly nine o’clock, when Mrs. Maclean touched her still sleeping husband. She had got up at the usual time, for all that they had talked till two in the morning, debating every point of the mysterious and terrible business with which they were now so closely and so painfully connected.
“Jock?” she said in a low voice, “it’s time to get up.”
He opened his eyes.
“What’s that you’re saying? I wish you’d let me sleep a little longer, Jenny.”
“Well, so I should have done——” and then she stopped short.
Walking across to the window, she drew the blind a little way up. “Get out of bed for a minute, and come over here,” she exclaimed.
Together, in silence, husband and wife gazed out on what was to them a most surprising sight. The drive up to their front door, as well as the road beyond, was blocked with vehicles—old-fashioned flys and motors, closed and open. In one of the cars a man was standing with a huge camera bracketed on the house.
“My God!” exclaimed Dr. Maclean, and then with a groan, “I suppose we must expect this kind of thing, Jenny, till we’ve got that child away.”
“Ay,” she answered. “This will surely show her that she can’t stay here. But I’m glad she’s having her breakfast in bed this morning.”