The car that had been hired to take old Carey and his daughter home had not appeared at the door, and Christopher, returning from the stable yard, reported the driver to be lying helplessly intoxicated in a corner of the old cowhouse. Christopher said that the lad deserved instant dismissal and that he would make a point of seeing that he got it, but he had seized the opportunity of bringing round his own two-seater and was eager to take Nancy home in it. “Oh, but Father--” “I could easily come back for him.” Old Carey, however, had flown into a passion. He used fearful language and said that he should walk every step of the way home, which threat he evidently supposed to constitute a terrible revenge upon the drunken driver, Nancy, Christopher, and everybody who had helped to enrage him. “He’s in one of his rather difficult moods, I’m afraid,” said Nancy aside. It was Harter, of all unlikely people, who suddenly suggested a solution. “The car is only a Ford, isn’t it? I’ll drive it back to the garage--it’s next door to our rooms in Queen Street--and I will drop Mr. --” “Carey--” “Mr. Carey and this lady on the way.” “No room,” growled Carey, determined not to be appeased. “Plenty of room,” everybody assured him. “Three at the back and one beside the driver,” said Harter, who appeared to have become suddenly articulate. I remember that it flashed across my mind just then, casually, that he had been drinking a good deal during the evening and that this had evidently had the effect of rendering him sociable. “Mr. Carey and his daughter and Mrs. Harter in the back and myself and Captain Patch in front,” said Harter calmly. There was an electric silence. Then Mrs. Kendal, tactfully filling up the significant pause, inquired brightly: “Then can you drive a car, Mr. Harter?” They settled it at last, but Christopher held firm to his intention of taking Nancy home in the two-seater, and they went off, overtaking and passing General Kendal, in his tightly packed Standard, before the lodge gates were reached. Harter brought the hired Ford round to the front door, old Carey, still grumbling, was helped in, and Mrs. Harter got in beside him. Captain Patch hesitated for a moment. “Get in,” said little Harter coldly. He was himself already at the wheel and he sketched a slight gesture which unmistakably invited Bill to the place beside him. It crossed my mind then that he was determined to speak to Bill, and I think Mrs. Harter thought so, too. She said, “Come on, then,” and Bill came, and they all drove off together. _Chapter Fourteen_ It was less than ten minutes later that we all heard the frantic hooting of a motor horn again and again. Claire was already in her room, Mary Ambrey halfway upstairs, and the indefatigable Sallie and Martyn still talking in the hall. “What’s that?”