He ought to have left nothing
to chance where Angela's comfort and safety were concerned.
They got water, though finding it meant further delay, and after all, the
acetylene lamps obstinately refused to shine. It was the first time they
had been used since Nick bought the car, and he abused himself roundly for
not having tested their temper. Something was wrong, something which
neither his knowledge nor Billy's could set right; and after tinkering for
half an hour, they started with no other light than that of the lantern
which Billy proposed to hold while Hilliard drove.
By this time Angela was thankful for the cloak she had left in the car. It
was nearly twelve; and the eight miles which the Bright Angel would gaily
have gobbled up in the same number of minutes had she been able to use her
eyes, took an hour to negotiate. Like a wounded lioness the car crawled
along the dark road, illumined only by a fitful spot of yellow light; and
a deep-toned clock somewhere was striking one as she drew up before the
door of the hotel.
Most of the windows had gone to sleep, but a few near the front entrance
were twinkling wakefully, and the door flew open in response to the call
of the motor. A servant of the hotel came out, but behind the liveried man
appeared the tall figure of John Falconer, with a woman at his side.
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