Martyn threw open the hall doors and we listened, but the hooting had ceased and for a moment there was no sound. Then from far away we heard that indescribable medley of noises, broken and piercing, that unmistakably denotes calamity. “An accident?” said Sallie in a doubtful way. Martyn, who had stepped outside, suddenly dashed off down the moonlit drive. “I’ll just see--I’ll come back--” promised Sallie, and she, too, was off. Mary Ambrey had come downstairs again and was standing beside me. She never says to a crippled man, as other people do, “I’ll come back”--that promise which no one ever keeps. “It’s a clear night--no one could have come to grief, surely,” she said. “I hope to God that Harter was fit to drive a car,” said I, remembering that sudden loosening of Harter’s tongue. “Did you think--” “No, not really. But he did drink, during the evening. Fellows who’ve been in the East--” “There’s a car coming up here.” There was no need to comment to one another upon the speed with which that car could be heard tearing up the avenue. Mary gave me her arm to the door and we saw the Standard, brought to a standstill so violently and so abruptly that her brakes jarred with a grinding noise. It was General and Mrs. Kendal. “They want help--just down by the bridge,” said the General hoarsely. “Harter has had a smash with a hired car--it’s very bad.” “Who?” said Mary. “Carey and--and poor young Patch. And Mrs. Harter is hurt, too, but she’s conscious.” Claire came down and Mary turned to her. The General leaned forward out of his seat. “Don’t let the women come. It’s ghastly. Patch was killed on the spot. The spare wheel came down on his head--broke his neck. They’re taking them to the cottage hospital--all but Harter. He’s down there--he somehow escaped. Old Carey is jammed between the car and the parapet--dead, they think, but they can’t get him out. Can you send down one or two of the men?” Claire had already rung the bell violently, and we heard the servants coming hurriedly. General Kendal helped his wife out of the car. She was white-faced and shaking. We knew afterwards that the girls had been told to walk home from the scene of the accident, but that poor Mrs. Kendal had valiantly refused to let her husband come back to us by himself. “Let me leave her here. I’ll take the men back with me,” said the General. The two men who were ready first sprang into the car, and when I got in myself I found Claire already there. “Get out, Claire,” I said abruptly. “It’s not fit for you, and you couldn’t help them.” “I am coming,” said Claire tensely. “I tell you, there’s nothing you can do.” “I can do as much as you can,” she retorted. She was quite obviously on the verge of becoming hysterical. I looked at Mary in despair. There was no time to lose, but to have Claire creating a panic among the terrible wreckage at the bridge was unthinkable.