And without opening one of his letters, he snatched up the whole pile, thrust it into his pocket, hurriedly made some preparation for his journey and raced off to King's Cross.
He fumed and fretted with impatience during the six hours' journey down to Norcaster.

It was ten o'clock when he arrived there, and as he knew that the last train to Scarhaven left at half-past-nine he hurried to get a fast motor-car that would take him over the last twenty miles of his journey.

He had wired to Audrey from Peterborough, telling her that he was on his way and should motor out from Norcaster, and when he had found a car to his liking he ordered its driver to go straight to Mrs.
Greyle's cottage, close by Scarhaven church.

And just then he heard a voice calling his name, and turning saw, running out of the station, a young, athletic-looking man, much wrapped and cloaked, who waved a hand at him and whose face he had some dim notion of having seen before.
"Mr.Copplestone ?" panted the new arrival, coming up hurriedly.

"I almost missed you--I got on the wrong platform to meet your train.