Tony's soft, slate-coloured eyes surveyed her placidly beneath their long
lashes.

"I haven't the faintest idea," he acknowledged.

"Tony!" In spite of her indignation a quiver underlay Ann's voice. Her
nerves had been wrought up to a high pitch by the afternoon's events, and
she felt unequal to parrying Tony's customary banter.

Immediately his manner changed. When he spoke again it was with a quiet
confidence that reassured her completely.

"It's quite true," he said soberly. "I haven't an idea at the moment. But
I'll get you safely back to Montricheux this evening somehow. I promise
you, Ann. So don't worry."

The sun was hanging low in the sky by the time they reached the hotel,
and when he had established Ann in an easy chair and provided her with a
cigarette, together with a six-weeks'-old copy of a London magazine which
he unearthed from amongst a dusty pile of luridly illustrated handbooks on
Switzerland, Tony departed to make inquiries regarding their journey back
to Montricheux. He returned within a very short time, his face wearing an
unusual look of gravity, and for a moment he stood staring down at her
without speaking.

"I've got some bad news for you," he said at last, with obvious reluctance.
"I'm not able to keep my promise, Ann. We can't get back to Montricheux
to-night."