She opened the front door cautiously and hurried down the veranda steps and along the driveway toward the lodge. A taxicab turned in at the lodge gates and deposited a passenger and then drove off. But Anne’s attention was centered on her car parked close to the central driveway, and she did not observe a man walking slowly toward her. Her foot was on the running board when a hand was laid on her shoulder.
“Anne!” Gerald Armstrong’s hot breath was unpleasantly close to her face. “Where are you going?”
“For a drive.”
“Then I’ll go with you,” and his dictatorial manner sent a chill down her spine.
“Hop in.”
She was in her place in an instant, her foot on the starter, but the engine was cold. Another second and Armstrong would be by her side. Why hadn’t she told Damason to leave the engine running?
In her haste Anne had switched on her headlights and in their glare she saw a man approaching. He walked with assured tread, his cane tapping time to his footsteps, his sightless eyes looking full at the headlights. Anne stopped her engine and turned to Armstrong standing on the running board.
“My fiance, Doctor Curtis, is going with me,” she said. “Kindly step down and make room for him.” Leaning out of the car, she called: “David!”
At sound of his name in her clear, soft tones Curtis felt his heart leap and was conscious of an accelerated pulse as he increased his footsteps. It was the first time she had ever called him “David.” For the first time in his life he liked his given name!
“What is it—Anne?” he asked. “Where are you?”