“You need a bit of exercise this weather, you do,” remarked Raffles to himself, as he retired, “to keep warm.”
A few minutes later the tutor was riding smartly to Yeld. During the half-hour occupied by that journey the signs of the approaching storm became manifest. The blue of the sky took a leaden hue, and out at sea an ominous cloud-bank lifted its head on the horizon, while the sultry air seemed to breathe hot on the rider’s cheek.
He pulled up short at Dr Brandram’s door.
“What’s the matter now?” asked the doctor. “I hate to see you on horseback. It always means bad news. Is Mrs Ingleton poorly? I am not at all comfortable about her.”
“No; nobody’s ill. But I want you for all that. There’s a storm coming on.”
“So the glass says. All the more reason for staying indoors.”
“The youngsters from the Hall are out in it.”
“Well, can I lend you an umbrella?”
“Don’t be an ass, Brandram. They are out in an open boat at sea.”
The doctor jumped to his feet.