Then he slapped his hand on his desk and looked up with the air of a man struck by a brilliant idea. Yet there was nothing for her to do. Jonathan looked in that direction, and beheld the fugitives riding off in triumph. I can never be grateful enough. At Boulogne they took train to Basle; next morning they breakfasted together in the buffet of that station, and thence they caught the Interlaken express, and so went by way of Spies to Frutigen. But Jack was too nimble for him. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. Earles said, “but this is rubbish. There was no past, no future, only this exhilarating present. But at last this ordeal was over, and Ramage opened the door. Glad to get back, I’m sure,” he said briskly. " CHAPTER XXV.
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