But louder and clearer it grew, until at last I knew it for what it was.
“It’s a motor-car!” I cried.
“And coming here!” added Soar. “Listen! it’s in the lane!”
“It certainly isn’t a taxicab,” declared Hilton. “None of the men will come beyond the village.”
“That’s the gate!” said Soar, in an awed voice, and stood up, looking at Hilton.
“Come on,” said the latter abruptly, making for the door.
“Be careful, Hilton!” I cried; “it may be a trick!”
Soar unbolted the front door, threw it open, and looked out. In the darkness of the storm it was almost impossible to see anything in the lane outside. But at that moment a great sheet of lightning split the gloom, and we saw a taxicab standing close up to the gateway!
“Help! Open the gate!” came a high-pitched voice; “open the gate!”
Out into the rain we ran and down the gravel path. Soar had the gate open in a twinkling, and a woman carrying a brown leather grip, but who was so closely veiled that I had no glimpse of her features, leapt through on to the drive.