And he felt that he carried all the past in those pictures.
Lynette wondered why he walked so fast, and why his face looked so quiet and funny. She had to bustle her slim legs to keep up with him, and he had nothing whatever to say.
“What a hurry you’re in, daddy.”
“I have just remembered I’ve got to go down to the village before breakfast. And, by George! here’s something I have forgotten to give to Lavender. Will you take it, old lady, while I go down to the village?”
“Yes, daddy.”
He gave her an envelope he had in his pocket. It contained nothing but some seeds he had taken from a plant a few days ago, but the ruse served.
Canterton left the parcel of pictures at one of the lodges. It took him just twenty minutes to reach Basingford station, for he had to walk through the village after taking some of the field paths at a run. A solitary milk cart stood in the station yard, and a clattering of cans came from the up platform. Canterton entered the booking office, glanced into the waiting-room, and strolled through to the up platform. There was no Eve. The place was deserted, save for a porter and the driver of the milk cart, who were loading empty cans on to a truck.
Canterton remembered that he had a freight bill in his pocket, and that he owed the railway company three pounds and some odd silver. He called the porter.
“Gates!”
The man came at once, touching his cap.