This ended the interview. Hughie shut the gate with care, murmuring as he did so: "We prefer your absence to your company," again Mrs. Jeep--and then he started off running at top speed down the turn to the stables and backyard, round the house and in at the garden door. That he locked inside. Then he pulled off his soaked shoes and stockings on the mat--rubbing stone-cold feet energetically to dry them well--sped along the passage, up the back-stairs, and away down to his own room, leaving no mark or faintest trace with his bare feet. Arrived "at home", he dragged off the wet garments--knickers and woolly sweater, not even a vest in addition--bundled the things up and put them with the stockings under his bed--as the shoes were always wet, more or less, they did not count; then he rubbed himself energetically with a rough towel, assumed the striped pyjamas, dived into bed, and was asleep within three minutes. For Hughie the episode was successfully closed. For some others it had just begun. It was said that when the two entered the drive from the terrace walk, Hughie hurried the pace in order to get his charge out of range of Adrian’s and Christobel’s windows. There was just about a minute in which that curve of the drive was in full view from the house. There were surely a thousand chances to one that the pair would not be seen at such an hour--not much after four o’clock in the morning. But as it happened, Adrian had waked--perhaps some odd instinct of doings on board the yawl had pricked him--the thousandth chance was against Hughie, and Adrian got up at that instant to look at the weather and see what sort of day was going to favour his project. His plan the night before had been a seven o’clock start and breakfast on board. It would be heavenly in the early morning, and nearly three hours tide to Salterne river would be theirs. He wanted to be off at half-past six, but Mrs. Jeep was firm about seven--she "didn’t hold" with depriving people of their rest, she said. So seven it was to be--and Adrian, on the alert at 4.20, saw something that surprised him so immensely that he was nailed to the floor, gazing. The disappearing figures of Pamela and Hughie just rounding the curve of the drive towards the big gates. Hughie bare-headed--otherwise as usual. Pamela just as usual. Dawn was piercing the "darkest hour", and the pair were fairly distinct in the mist. Distinct enough to remove all doubt as to who they were. Adrian gazed as they went out of sight, gazed at the empty drive; then he leaned from his casement and listened. No sound but here and there a faint "tweet" from a tentative bird, asking if it was time to get up. Three or four minutes passed, then Adrian opened his door, hurried down to Christobel’s room and knocked--once--twice--no answer; she was asleep; he went in. "Is that you, Keziah?" murmured Crow--sleepily: "is it five?"