~ 97 ~
He was nervous all that day, and went to bed early determined to put the matter to the proof
the following morning.
As was perhaps natural in such a case, he remained awake half the night, and finally
overslept himself. It was twenty past seven by the time he was clear of the hotel and running
towards the links. He realised that he would not be able to get to the fatal spot by twenty-five
past, but surely, if the voice were a hallucination pure and simple, he would hear it anywhere.
He ran on, his eyes fixed on the hands of his watch.
Twenty-five past. From far off came the echo of a woman’s voice, calling. The words
could not be distinguished, but he was convinced that it was the same cry he had heard before,
and that it came from the same spot, somewhere in the neighbourhood of the cottage.
Strangely enough, that fact reassured him. It might, after all, be a hoax. Unlikely as it
seemed, the girl herself might be playing a trick on him.
The girl was in the garden as usual. She looked up this morning, and when he raised
his cap to her, said good morning rather shyly… She looked, he thought, lovelier than ever.
“Nice day, isn’t it” Jack called out cheerily.
“Yes, indeed, it is lovely.”
“Good for the garden, I expect?”
The girl smiled a little.
“Alas, no! For my flowers the rain is needed. See, they are all dried up. Monsieur is
much better today, I can see.”
Her encouraging tone annoyed Jack intensely.
“I’m perfectly well,” he said irritably.
“That is good then,” returned the girl quickly and soothingly.
Jack had the irritating feeling that she didn’t believe him.
He played a few more holes and hurried back to breakfast.
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