"What?"

"I mustn't say--even to you."

Mrs. Barraclough didn't press for an answer. She was pleased there was a little bit of mystery left over.

Isabel kissed the old lady very tenderly and walked out into the rose garden by herself. There was a glow on her cheeks almost as pink as the roses themselves. It was a sweet relief that Anthony had gone into these dangers more for her sake than any other reason and that their happiness and future rested on his success. In her twenty-one years of life she had come too much into contact with men whose ruling pa.s.sion was the dollar to the exclusion of all else. At the back of her head the fear had haunted her that Anthony had been bitten by the money bug--the hateful contagion that straightened and thinned the lips, chilled the emotions and case-hardened the kindliest natures. But now that fear was gone to be replaced with glad a.s.surance.

On a semi-circular stone bench that backed the roadside hedge Isabel sat and hugged her knees and here a few moments later she was joined by Flora.

"He's a topper, your man," said Flora. "A downright first rater."

Isabel grinned an acknowledgment.

"Did he have any trouble in getting away?"

"Awful, I believe, but--but they had a plan which he said would make it easy."

On the road side of the hedge, barely three feet away, a clergyman, who apparently was seeking protection from the sun, moved sharply and c.o.c.ked a listening ear.

"What plan?"

"He didn't tell me that and anyhow I shouldn't be allowed to repeat it."

The listening clergyman looked disappointed.

"Do you know what he was going after?"

"Yes, I know."

"Wouldn't care to tell anyone, I s'pose. I'm as safe as a house."

"I'm certain you are, only----"

"Oh, well, it doesn't matter so long as he got away all right. He did get away all right, didn't he?"

"Yes, I--I think so--he must have or his servant, Doran, would have told me."

Harrison Smith, on the far side of the hedge, pushed back his clerical hat and frowned deeply.

"And you had no message?"

Isabel shook her head.

"None. So I just tell myself everything is all right."

"Oh, I'm sure it is--certain," said Flora ecstatically. "It's bound to be. Mr. Anthony'd never let himself be beaten by any crowd." She paused. "If only one could be in it--but nothing ever happens down here. Are you staying much longer?"

"Going back tomorrow or the next day. I must be in Town on the night of the 18th."

"That the day he's expected?"

"Yes, at eleven o'clock."

"Wish I could be there to give him a cheer when he comes in."

Isabel slipped an arm through Flora's.

"It's great of you to be so keen," she said.

"Think so," Flora replied. "Jolly sporting of you not to mind. We've got a bit of a 'pash' on Mr. Anthony, you know."

"I thought you had," said Isabel sympathetically.

"Kind of hero worship it is. Nothing to bother about 'cos as matter of fact we're all engaged--'cept Cook who hates men. But even Cook can't help admiring him. Be a sport and let us know if he gets through all right. You could 'phone."

"I will."

"Any notion which port he'll arrive at?"

"Couldn't say. I've a sort of idea that it might be one of the little Cornish fishing villages."

"What makes you think so?"

"No particular reason only----"

"Yes, go on--be a pal."

"You won't repeat it?"

"No fear."

"There was a West Country guide book on his table one day and I happened to glance at it."

"Um."

"Ever heard of Polperro?"

"Yes."

"On one of the maps Polperro had a pencil line ringed round it and a couple of very small dots marked in certain places."

"That might have been years old."

"It wasn't. I had lent him a blue pencil a few days before--rather a funny colour it was. He'd used that pencil."

"You're a bit of a Sherlock."

"I oughtn't to have said anything about it."