Frank Laurier, accompanied by his best man, Ernest Noel, returned to their coupé, and outside the cemetery limits ordered the coachman to proceed as fast as possible to old Trinity to meet the bridal party.
Noel thought that this attendance on a funeral in the very hour of his marriage was a very strange freak on the part of his friend, and he was puzzled yet more by the gravity and sadness of Laurier’s face as they drove swiftly along toward the church.
But having no clew to the enigma, he tried to dismiss it from his mind, glancing at his watch and saying:
“By George, we are due at Trinity now, and it would be shocking to get there late—a slight the bride would not easily forgive!”
He was astonished that Laurier made no reply, sitting pale and grave and seemingly indifferent in his seat as if he had not heard.
Noel shrugged his shoulders, and called to the coachman:
“Drive as fast as you dare. We are already late!”
Thereupon the horse was urged to a higher rate of speed, and presently there was a commotion outside, and the coupé stopped.
“What is the matter?” inquired Noel, putting his head outside, and thus encountering a burly policeman.
“You are under arrest for fast driving,” grunted the guardian of the law.