The evening was delightful, and he stayed on giving her the best from the different programmes. At nine-thirty came the news bulletin, and weather forecast, and after that an announcement. She caught the words “Portham Junction” and heard Mr. Halley give a quick intake of breath.
Then came the stony words. “I will repeat.” “Missing from Home, Frederic Summers, Bank Manager from Tunbridge Wells, since January 20th. Aged 40. Tall, clean-shaven, dark. Last seen at Portham Junction carrying a hand-bag. He had gone on a week’s holiday, and his friends have heard no news of him since that date.” And then followed the usual request for information.
Ena looked up, and their eyes met.
“It appears to be one of those mysterious disappearances which baffle the police,” he said in level tones.
“But it’s so near to this place, and coming after the—other thing,” she said and stopped.
“There’s no need for alarm,” said he “it may be a simple case of loss of memory, or some natural explanation.”
“Of course, but this place is so lonely, and Jack is out so much.”
“You must tell him, and ask him to come in earlier, but forgive me, I have no right to talk like that.” He spread out his hands in apology, and she for a moment was reminded of something not quite English. There was just a touch of the alien, not menial, but rather belonging to the Age of Chivalry, which lives on in remote places.
“We must arrange a definite meeting,” he said. “You see, although this place is small, and quite unconventional, I cannot come here to see you. You understand that.”
“Of course, you are right. I will tell him when he comes in.”