Page:The woman, the man, and the monster (IA womanmanmonster00dawe).pdf/244

 I might have broken my damned neck. What’s happened to the car?”

“Rather badly damaged, sir.”

“Pitched me clean out, didn’t it? The fool was right across the road?”

“Yes, Sir Digby.”

“Umph! Well, where’s the master of this delectable mansion?”

Vermont advanced.

““How de do, Brenton?”

The man looked up, a puzzled expression on his face. He was not old nor was he young, but his face, which was heavy and square like a bulldog’s, bore on it unmistakable traces of evil living. The eyes, of a pale, cold blue, were narrow and clotted with veins.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Don’t you remember me—Vermont?”

“Vermont—Vermont!” He seemed to roll the name round his memory as he did about his tongue. “Not Carey Vermont?”

“The same.”

“Why, it’s years since we saw each other!”

“Years. But how are you getting on? Are you sure you're not hurt?”

“Quite. Just a shaking. I shall be all right