The next moment she was in my arms, and three minutes later we
were making for Fallow at nearer thirty than twenty miles an
hour.



As we an into the village, I heard the church clock chime the
half-hour. Half-past four. We had come well. A moment later I
had stopped at the old inn's door. Except for a flickering
light, visible between the curtains of the Cromwell room, the
place was in darkness. I clambered stiffly out and felt for the
key I had asked for. A Yale lock in the studded door! Never
mind. This door is only a reproduction. The original probably
shuts off some pantry from some servants' hall in New York City.
However. When I had switched on a course of lights, I went back
to the car and opened the door. Have I said that it was a
cabriolet?

"Eve," said I. No answer, I took the lamp once more and
flooded the car with light. In the far corner, still wrapped in
the rugs, my lady lay fast asleep. With some difficulty I got
her into my arms. On the threshold I met Thomas, our waiter. He
had little on but a coat and trousers, and there was slumber in
his eyes.

"I didn't wait up, sir," he explained, "but, hearing the car, I
just come down to see you'd got everything. Miss Mansel asleep,
sir?"