“But it isn’t proper for a young girl tearing about the country by herself and driving her own car,” protested the old lady. “She knows that I most strongly disapprove of it.”
“And therefore does it all the more,” laughed the man who had identified the victim in Charlton Wood.
“Tibbie is really quite incorrigible.”
“Quite, Mr Winsloe,” declared her ladyship. “My only fear is that one day something terrible may happen to her. The driving of a big car is, I always say, not a proper occupation for a girl. She’ll come to grief some day—depend upon it!”
Ellice looked straight at the old lady, without uttering any word of reply. What did he know, I wondered? Was he, too, aware of her secret?
But the others were chattering gaily, and next moment he turned from me and joined in their merry gossip.
That afternoon I remained at home, but he drove out with two ladies of the party to make a call on some people about five miles away.
After he had gone Eric returned, and I told him all that I had seen, and of my suspicions.
He stood at the end of the grey old terrace, and heard me through to the end, then said,—
“This puts an entirely new complexion upon matters, old fellow. You suspect him of knowing something. If so, then we must act at once, and fearlessly—just as we did last night.”