Yet somehow I got an irresistible conviction that he was exasperated by something in particular.

In the unworthy hope of being amused by the misfortunes of a fellow-creature I asked him point-blank what was wrong now.
What was wrong was that a girl-friend was missing.

She had been missing precisely since six o'clock that morning.

The woman who did the work of the cottage saw her going out at that hour, for a walk.

The pedestrian Fyne's ideas of a walk were extensive, but the girl did not turn up for lunch, nor yet for tea, nor yet for dinner.