They found the big gleaming Rolls-Royce drawn up by the curb with Jennings standing in a joyless attitude at the door. When his glance fell on Isabel he looked more pessimistic than ever.
"Any news of Bugg?" inquired Tony.
The chauffeur shook his head. "Not a word, sir."
"I left a message at Shepherd's that he was to come and pick you up at the Club. I wonder what's happened to him."
For a moment Jennings brooded darkly over the problem. "Perhaps he got some internal injury in the fight and was took sudden with it in the street," he suggested. "I could run round the 'orspitals and make inquiries if you wished, sir?"
"Thank you, Jennings," said Tony. "You are very helpful; but I think I should prefer to go back to Hampstead."
"Just as you please, sir," observed Jennings indifferently.
He closed the door after them, and then mounting the driving-seat, started off along Piccadilly.
Isabel, who had again cast a quick glance out of each window, turned to Tony with a smile.
"He doesn't seem a very cheerful man, your chauffeur," she said. "He has got such a sad voice."