“We will go back to her in the motor,” Nick said.

He got to his feet, his arm still about her, raising her also.

“Come now!” he said.  “Pull yourself together, kiddie!  You will need all the strength you can muster.  Come inside and have a drain of brandy before we start!”

He led her within.  She was shivering as one with an ague, but she made desperate efforts to control herself.

Nick was exceedingly matter-of-fact.  There was never anything tragic about him.  He made her drink some brandy and water, and while she did so he scribbled a brief note.

“I will send off my own man in the motor with this to Max,” he said.  “He had better come.”

Olga looked up sharply.  “It’s no manner of use sending for him, Nick.  She vows she will never see him again.”

“We will have him all the same,” said Nick.  “He is the man for the job.”

He went off and despatched his message, and then, returning, went out with her to the motor in which they had arrived so gaily but a few hours before.

“Now go steady, my chicken!” he said, as he got in beside her.  “It wouldn’t serve anyone’s turn to have a spill at this juncture.”

His yellow face smiled cheery encouragement into hers, and Olga felt subtly comforted.

“Oh, I am glad I’ve got you, Nick,” she said.  “You’re such a brick in any trouble.”

“Don’t tell anyone!” said Nick.  “But that’s my speciality.”

The midday sun was veiled in a thick haze, and the heat was intense.  The dust lay white upon the hedges, and eddied about their wheels as they passed.  The sea stretched away indefinitely into the sky, leaden, motionless, with no sound of waves.

“I am sure there will be a storm,” said Olga.

“A good thing if there is,” said Nick.

“Yes, but Violet is terrified at thunder.  She always has been.”

“It won’t break yet,” he said.

Almost noiselessly the motor sped along the dusty road.  All Olga’s faculties became concentrated upon her task, and she spoke no more.

They reached the village.  It seemed to be deserted in the slumbrous stillness.  There was not so much as a dog to be seen.

Suddenly Nick spoke.  “What became of Hunt-Goring?”

The colour leaped into her pale, tense face.  “He landed us at the jetty, and went away again in his yacht.”

“Let us hope he will go to the bottom!” said Nick.

She shook her head, a gleam of spirit answering his.  “Men like that never do.”

They ran unhindered through the village and came to “The Ship.”  The inn-door gaped upon the street.  There was not a soul in sight.

Olga brought the car to a stand.  “We had better go straight in, Nick.”

“Certainly,” said Nick.

She peeped into the bar and found it empty.  Together they entered the narrow passage.  The unmistakable odour of beer and stale tobacco was all-prevalent.  The air was heavy with it.  They reached the foot of the steep winding stairs, and Olga paused irresolutely.