CHAPTER XI
IN WHICH LAKINGTON PLAYS HIS LAST "COUP"
I
"Toby, I've got a sort of horrid feeling that the hunt is nearly over."
With a regretful sigh Hugh swung the car out of the sleeping town of Godalming in the direction of Laidley Towers. Mile after mile dropped smoothly behind the powerful two-seater, and still Drummond's eyes wore a look of resigned sadness.
"Very nearly over," he remarked again. "And then once more the tedium of respectability positively stares us in the face."
"You'll be getting married, old bean," murmured Toby Sinclair hopefully.
For a moment his companion brightened up.
"True, O King," he answered. "It will ease the situation somewhat; at least I suppose so. But think of it Toby: no Lakington, no Peterson—nothing at all to play about with and keep one amused."
"You're very certain, Hugh." With a feeling almost of wonder Sinclair glanced at the square-jawed, ugly profile beside him. "There's many a slip…"
"My dear old man," interrupted Drummond, "there's only one cure for the proverb-quoting disease—a dose of salts in the morning." For a while they raced on through the warm summer's night in
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