"Brundage, sir."
"And the name of this place?"
"Monkswood Cottage, near Margetstowe."
"Well, then, Mrs. Brundage—about that brandy?"
"There is a drop of rum—for medicine, so to say," admitted Mrs. Brundage, with a cold simper.
"Good medicine too," he said. "Lady Adelina will take some in the eggs I'm going to beat up for her. For me, get bacon and eggs, tea, and bags of bread and butter. See, she's opening her eyes. I'll leave you to look after her."
Outside the cottage door, he examined the revolver Amaryllis had given him. Of its six cartridges, four had been discharged. But two might make all the difference; and, after all, he had only to get Amaryllis to the car, or the car to Amaryllis.
And as he walked round the cottage, watching the woods, reflection led him more and more to believe that he had shaken himself free of his enemies. All but the Woman and the Dago were more or less damaged; none, it was probable, knew in what direction Ockley had disappeared; fear of the evidence he held against them might now prompt them rather to flight than pursuit; and what, he asked himself, could that yellow-haired she-devil, even if the little Dago that had bolted were faithful to his fellows, do against him now?
Amaryllis should have her rest.
Passing her window, he heard her talking rapidly, her words broken by sobs which pained him, and snatches of laughter which hurt him more.