CHAPTER XXV

HE FELL back in his chair, staring at the printed page. Interruption came from a totally unexpected source. The door was pushed open violently and Tommy Weald flung in. His hair was dishevelled, his face splashed with mud, and the state of his leather coat and his sodden gloves suggested he had come by road and in some hurry. “Seen Mary?” His voice was shrill with anxiety; and then, without waiting for a reply, he went on: “Popped off this afternoon, old boy! The whole blooming shoot. Mary, Cornfort—supposed to be …