"The tank's fairly full, isn't it? Put out the jack and the levers. We shall not want you, Anderson. Now, Carteret. Oh, you'll want a coat--take one of mine. We must run fast for it's a long way." The big Daimler glided off, threading her decorous, restrained way through London, gathering speed in the endless dreariness of the suburbs, shooting past tradesmen's carts, past suburban children herded by nurses in spotless white, for Suburbia on two hundred a year must not be surpassed by Belgravia on four thousand. Then the open country, the hum of warm engines, the glorious rush of the highly-powered car through the sunlit world, spurning the miles, taking the hills contemptuously, rushing along the level. Roads showed white ribbons, and then when that ribbon was gone another was to be ruled off. Policemen sprang out waving angry hands; the red car was past and away, and the quiet man who drove did not mean to stop. They stopped once for petrol and water, drank a whisky and Perrier, and munched some biscuits. "Not bad." Cyril Blakeney looked at the clock which marked five as they tore into Trelawney. "We left at eleven. Now we shall know." He drove to a little red-brick house looking on to the bay. Denise had brought her Cecil down to grow strong in the soft mild air; the boy had caught cold and been delicate. Mrs Stanson was at the door, her face wrapped in a shawl. She came to meet them. Her ladyship was out, she said, had taken the children to the bay. "My face ached, Sir Cyril. Her ladyship said she would go alone without Ellen." "Has Mrs Carteret been here?" Sir Cyril asked. "Quickly, nurse, answer!" Mrs Stanson blushed, faltered. "Yes, Sir Cyril. She came in a motor, has gone out to her ladyship. Oh! is anything wrong?" "Yes!" Cyril Blakeney's face was very quiet, but his eyes gleamed thoughtfully. "Where shall we find them, Mrs Stanson?" There were two bays, one on each side of the town; two stretches of firm sands. Mrs Stanson looked dubious. It appeared that the children had quarrelled as they started. Master Cyril wanted to go to the bay to the east, where the big rock ran out into the sea. Master Cecil to the west bay. "Then it is sure to be this way." Sir Cyril turned to the right--to the west. "Come, Carteret--we'll walk fast." Something was making Bertie Carteret afraid. The two men had scarcely spoken on the way down. Just once Sir Cyril had asked: "You think you're right, Carteret?" and Bertie had answered: "Yes. My wife's no thief. She was _given_ those jewels." "Then there is something," Cyril said. "Something!" and did not speak again. "I'll go the other way." Bertie pointed to the cliffs. "One never knows, and Esmé was dreadfully excited. I'll go along the cliffs, Blakeney; I can see the whole shore, and there are passages leading down, and the cliff path is quicker walking." "Very well! It's all rather a fuss about nothing, isn't it, Carteret?"