.

.

We went, as I had ordained, like the devil.
"Who sent that telegram ?" asked Barbara.
"Doria," said I.
"I think it's Adrian," said Jaffery.
"I think," said Barbara, "it's that silly old woman, Adrian's mother.
Either of the others would have said something definite.

Ah!" she smote her knee with her small hand, "I hate people with spinal marrow and no backbone to hold it!" We tore through Maidenhead at a terrific pace, the Christmas traffic in the town clearing magically before us.

Sometimes a car on an errand of life or death is recognised, given way to, like a fire engine.
"What makes you so dead sure something's happened to Adrian ?" Jaffery asked me as we thundered through the railway arch.
Then I remembered.