She had packed hurriedly.

She had left at nine by motor.
"Where for ?" asked Hillyard.
The name of an hotel in the pine country of Surrey was given.
"Thank you," said Hillyard, and he rang off.
She had run to earth in her usual way, when trouble and grief broke through her woman's armour and struck her down--that was all! Hillyard lighted a cigarette and rang for his tea.

Yes, that was all! She was acting true to her type, as the jargon has it.

But against his will, her face took shape before him, as he had seen it in the darkness of her room and ever since--ever since! He rang again, and more insistently.

He possessed a small, swift motor-car.