Jean rather thought so, too. There didn’t seem any way out of it. She knew that Burke was perfectly capable, under cover of some supposed mishap to his trap, of throwing the whole party into confusion and difficulty, rather than relinquish his intention. “Oh, very well,” she yielded at last, resignedly. “Have your own way, you obstinate man.” “I intend to,” he replied coolly. “Now---and always.” CHAPTER XXI--DIVERS HAPPENINGS “I DON’T think I want any champagne,” said Claire smilingly, as Nick filled a glass and handed it to her. “Being utterly free like this produces much the same effect. I feel drunk, Nick--drunk with happiness. Oh, why can’t I be always free----” She broke off abruptly in her speech, her face whitening, and stared past Nick with dilated eyes. Her lips remained parted, just as when she had ceased speaking, and the breath came between them unevenly. Nick followed the direction of her glance. But he could see nothing to account for her suddenly stricken expression of dismay. A man in chauffeur’s livery, vaguely familiar to him, was approaching, and it was upon him that Claire’s eyes were fixed in a sick gaze of apprehension. It reminded Nick of the look of a wounded bird, incapable of flight, as it watches the approach of a hungry cat. “What is it?” he asked quickly. “What’s the matter? For God’s sake don’t look like that, Claire!” Slowly, with difficulty, she wrenched her eyes away from that sleek, conventional figure in the dark green livery. “Don’t you see who it is?” she asked in a harsh, dry whisper. Before Nick could answer, the man had made his way to Claire’s side and paused respectfully. “Beg pardon, my lady,” he said, touching his hat, “Sir Adrian sent me to say that he’s waiting for you in the car just along the road there.” He pointed to where, on the white ribbon of road which crossed the Moor not far from the base of the tor, a stationary car was visible. Claire, her face ashen, turned to Nick in mute appeal. “Sir Adrian? I thought he left for London this morning?” Nick shot the question fiercely at the chauffeur, but the man’s face remained respectfully blank. “No, sir. Sir Adrian drove as far as Exeter and then returned. Afterwards we drove on here, sir, and they told us in the village we should find you at Shelston Tors.” Meanwhile the other members of the party were becoming aware that some contretemps had occurred. Claire’s white, stricken face was evidence enough that something was amiss, and simultaneously Lady Anne and Jean hurried forward, filled with apprehension. “What is it, Claire?” asked Lady Anne, suspecting bad news of some kind. “What has happened?” Recognising the Charnwood livery, she turned to the chauffeur and continued quickly: “Has Sir Adrian met with an accident?” She could conceive of no other cause for the man’s unexpected appearance. “No, my lady. Sir Adrian is waiting in the car for her ladyship.” “Waiting in the car?” repeated Jean and Lady Anne in chorus.