Wedgwood glanced in the light of the feeble lamps at his two companions.
"We must get there!" said Mrs. Patello.
"If I have to walk, I must get there!"
"I'm afraid you couldn't walk, m'm," answered the porter. "Wildest part of all this country is that! And it's nearer four miles than three."
"We'll go down to the hotel," said Wedgwood. "They may be able to suggest something there."
The boots at the hotel remembered Wedgwood and welcomed the sight of him again. But he shook his head when sounded on the chance of getting a conveyance. Impossible! he said, to get to Mortover Grange on a night and in a storm like that; he, like the porter, had heard that the valley roads were choked with snow. Still, if it was as imperative as all that, he'd do his best. And Wedgwood, counselling Mr. and Mrs. Patello to thaw themselves and get some refreshment while they waited, installed them by the coffee-room fire, and left them for the smoking-room, where the young lady behind the bar was as quick to recognize him as the boots had been. The detective, over a glass of whisky, chatted to her awhile about the weather they had had up there since his previous visit, and quietly led the way to a
