"Thank you," she said quietly, then she set off homewards.
One hundred and eleven survivors. Roughly one in every five of the "Heracles'" original complement. Was it too much to hope that the two in whom she was most concerned were amongst those who had escaped?
Gradually she formed her plans. Until more news was obtainable, she decided not to raise false hopes in her parents' minds. She would keep the tidings to herself until——
The hoot of a motor-car interrupted her train of thought. Bowling along the narrow, sunken lane was a six-seater owned by Dr. Cardyke, a retired practitioner who had been "dug out" of his retreat to act as surgeon to a military hospital.
Recognising the girl, the doctor slowed down.
"A lift, Miss Greenwood? I'm going close to your house?"
Doris accepted the invitation gratefully.
"I'm just off to Dartmouth and back," continued the doctor. "Wonderful things these cars after one has been used to a horse. Get there in no time, to use a common expression."
Dr. Cardyke spoke with all the enthusiasm of a keen motorist, in spite of his sixty-odd years. Had he been any one else but a well-known country practitioner, he might have been "run in" for furious driving times without number, but luck and a "benevolent neutrality" on the part of the police had hitherto steered him clear of the police-courts.
"Dartmouth?" repeated Doris. "Would you mind, doctor, if you—I mean, will you take me to Dartmouth with you?"