Erica stood on the brake and brought her disreputable little car to a standstill. She then backed it the necessary yards, and stopped again. She inspected with interest the sole of a man's boot, visible in the grass and gorse, and then considered the wide empty landscape and the mile-long straight of chalky lane with its borders of speedwell and thrift, shining in the sun.
"You can come out," she said. "There's no one in sight for miles."
The boot sole disappeared and a man's astonished face appeared in the bushes above it.
"That's a great relief to me," Erica observed. "I thought for a moment that you might be dead."
"How did you know it was me? I suppose you did know it was me?"
"Yes. There's a funny squiggle on the instep part of your sole where the price has been scored off. I noticed it when you were lying on the floor of Father's office."
"Oh, yes; that's who you are, of course. You're a very good detective."
"You're a very bad escaper. No one could have missed your foot."
"You didn't give me much time. I didn't hear your car till it was nearly on me."
"You must be deaf. She's one of the County jokes, poor Tinny. Like Lady Middleway's hat and old Mr. Dyne's shell collection."