“Why, because”--Nick’s face wore an expression of puzzled concern--“because I saw Judith in Newton Abbot late this evening.” Blaise leaned forward, a sudden look of concentration on his face. “You saw Judith?” he repeated. “What time?” “It must have been nearly eight o’clock. I was buzzing along in Jim Cresswell’s car to catch the seven forty-five up train, and I saw Judith with one of the Holfords--you know, those people from London--turning into the gateway of a house. I expect it was the place the Holfords are stopping at. They didn’t see me.” “You’re quite certain? You’ve made no mistake?” said Blaise sharply. “Of course I’ve made no mistake. Think I don’t know Judy when I see her? But what’s the meaning of it, Blaise?” Tormarin rose to his feet, tossing the stump of his cigarette into the fire. “I’m not sure,” he said slowly. “But I’m going to find out. Madonna”--turning to his mother--“did Jean tell you just exactly what Judith said when she rang her up on the’phone about this moonlight plan?” “It wasn’t Judith who rang up,” replied Lady Anne, a faint misgiving showing itself in her face. “It was Geoffrey who gave the message.” Tormarin looked at her with a sudden awakened expression in his eyes. There was dread in them, too--keen dread. The expression of a man who, all at once, sees the thing he values more than anything in the whole world being torn from him--dragged forcibly away from the shelter he could give into some unspeakable darkness of disaster. “That settles it.” He pressed his finger against the bell-push and held it there, and when Baines came hurrying in response to the imperative summons, he said curtly: “Order me a fresh horse round at once--_at once_, mind--tell Harding to saddle Orion, and to look sharp about it.” “Blaise”--Lady Anne’s obvious uneasiness had deepened to a sharp anxiety--“Blaise, what are you going to do? What--what are you afraid of?” He looked her straight in the eyes. “I’m afraid of just what you are afraid of, madonna--of the devil let loose in Geoffrey Burke.” “And--and you’re going to look for her--for Jean?” “I’m going to find her,” he corrected quietly. Gravity had set its seal on all three faces. Each was conscious of the same fear--the fear they could not put into words. “But why do you take Orion?” asked Nick. “The little thoroughbred mare--Redwing--would do the journey quicker and he lighter of foot over any marshy ground on the Moor.” “Orion can go where he chooses,” returned Tormarin. “And he’ll choose to-night. Redwing is a little bit of a thing, though she’s game as a pebble. But she couldn’t carry--two.” The significance of Tormarin’s choice of his big roan hunter, three-parts thoroughbred and standing sixteen hands, came home to Nick. He nodded without comment. Silently he and Lady Anne accompanied Blaise into the hall. From the gravelled drive outside came the impatient stamping of Orion’s iron-shod hoofs. Just at the last Lady Anne clung to her son’s arm.