“To see somebody—important,” was his vague answer. And though the elder man tried time after time to get something more definite from him, he remained silent. Had not his unknown friend urged him to say nothing to anybody wherever he might be?
So at nine Mead drove up the car to the door, and Hugh, slipping on his light overcoat, bade his hostess good-night, thanked her for allowing him the use of the limousine, and promised to be back soon after midnight.
“Good-night, Hugh!” cried Louise from the other end of the fine old hall. And a moment later the car drove away in the darkness.
Along the Hog’s Back they went, and down into Guildford. Then up the long steep High Street, past the ancient, overhanging clock at the Guildhall, and out again on the long straight road to Ripley and London.
As soon as they were beyond Guildford, he knocked at the window, and afterwards mounted beside Mead. He hated to be in a car alone, for he himself was a good driver and used always to drive his father’s old “‘bus.”
“I’ll go to the Berkeley Hotel,” he said to the man. “Drop me there, and pick me up outside there at twelve, will you?”
The man promised to do so, and then they chatted as they continued on their way to London. Mead, a Guildfordian, knew every inch of the road. Before entering Mrs. Bond’s service he had, for a month, driven a lorry for a local firm of builders, and went constantly to and from London.
They arrived at the corner of St. James’s Street at half-past ten. Hugh gave Mead five shillings to get his evening meal, and said:
“Be back here at midnight, Mead. I expect I’ll be through my business long before that. But it’s a clear night, and we shall have a splendid run home.”
“Very well, sir. Thank you,” replied his hostess’s chauffeur.