The Cromwellian clock chimed a remnant half hour.

"Half-past," said Morris, filling his glass again. "You expect him then,
don't you?"

"Mills is not always very punctual," said Mr. Taynton.

For the next quarter of an hour the two sat with hardly the interchange
of a word. From outside came the swift steady hiss of the rain on to
the shrubs in the garden, and again the clock chimed. Morris who at
first had sat very quiet had begun to fidget and stir in his chair;
occasionally when he happened to notice it, he drank off the port with
which Mr. Taynton hospitably kept his glass supplied. Sometimes he
relit a cigarette only to let it go out again. But when the clock
struck he got up.

"I wonder what has happened," he said. "Can he have missed his train?
What time ought he to have got in?"

"He was to have got to Falmer," said Mr. Taynton with a little
emphasis on the last word, "at a quarter to seven. He spoke of walking
from there."

Morris looked at him with a furtive sidelong glance.

"Why, I--I might have met him there," he said. "I went up there again
after I left you to tell Sir Richard you would call to-morrow."

"You saw nothing of him?" asked the lawyer.