He took off his old tweed coat and, in spite of her protests, made her put it on to protect her from the clammy cold of the fog. Making her as comfortable as possible on the damp earth, he lit a cigarette and paced meditatively to and fro in short staccato strides, ever and again throwing a thoughtful glance upon the girl.
She lay passive and silent for a while, intent on regaining her strength, and her eyes followed him contentedly. As for Labar, he felt a sense of elation that he had at least got her from the clutches of Larry Hughes, though he chafed to think that he was held from any farther action till the night was out. He had a shrewd idea that when the pursuit proved hopeless things would happen swiftly at the house on the marshes. He could scarcely expect that Larry’s people would calmly await the return of Penelope or himself some time the next day with a posse of police. The only chance was that the fog which seemed likely to confine the girl and himself to the marsh for the night, would also delay any active measures of escape that the others might initiate.