Pulling up, he saw her coming as a shadow out of the shadows, a slim figure that detached itself from the trunk of the yew.
“All right! Here’s a coat. Get into the back, and curl yourself up. It’s as well that no Peeping Tom in Basingford should discover that I have a passenger.”
Eve put on the coat, climbed in, and snuggled down into the deeply cushioned seat so that she was hidden by the coachwork. The car had not stopped for more than thirty seconds, Canterton holding the clutch out with the first speed engaged. They were on the move again, and, with deft gear-changing, gliding away with hardly a sound.
Eve lay and looked at the sky, and at the dim tops of the trees sliding by, trailing their branches across the stars. She could see the outline of Canterton’s head and shoulders in front of her, but never once did she see his profile, for the car was travelling fast and he kept his eyes on the winding road that was lit brilliantly by the electric headlights. They swept through Basingford like a charge of horse. Eve saw the spire of the church walk by, a line of dark roofs undulating beneath it. The car turned sharply into the London road, and the quickening purr of the engine told of an open throttle.
They drove ten miles before Canterton slowed up and drew to the side of the road.
“You can join me now!”
He leant over and opened the door, and she took the seat beside him.
“Warm enough?”
“Yes.”
He looked at her throat.