“Very likely,” returned Remsen. “The passenger in a hearse hasn’t anything to say about how he travels. We have. Ease it up.”
What retort the native might have found was cut off by a persistent trumpeting from around the curve.
“Honk-honk! Prr-rr-rrump! Honk! Honk-honk-honk! Prr-rr-rrump, prr-rr-rramp!”
“Two cars,” interpreted the native. “Bel-lerin’ fer help, I wouldn’t wonder. Prob’ly bogged down in that mud-waller at the foot of the hill. One of ’em sounds like our truck.” Again the brazen voice of warning and appeal thrilled through the air.
“’T is our truck,” confirmed the chauffeur. “I know the old caow’s voice. I pree-soom that couple for the boss’s cottage is gettin’ a taste of real country life in the roadin’ line.”
“What couple?” asked Darcy, sitting up. “Young married pair. Got off the train at Meredith.”
“At Meredith?” repeated Darcy, in troubled tones.
“There’s another couple due from Ashland for the Island. All friends of the boss’s. Like’s not that’s the other car that’s whoopin’ it up daown there’t the foot o’ the hill. Quite a pa’ty.”
The gleam of a horrid surmise shone in the look which Darcy turned upon Remsen.
“Do you suppose it could be they? Oh, it couldn’t!”