"I shouldn't like to take the risk," said I. "And remember, miss, we are in hiding."
"I don't want to see the old thing," protested Aunt Mary. "I've gone through so much to-day I feel a thousand years old. I'm not going to climb any hills or see any sights. I want my dinner."
"I think we'd better get on," advised Sherlock. "Not much fun poking about in a lot of old ruins in the dark."
"They're not ruins, and it isn't dark," said Miss Randolph. "Look at the sky! The moon's coming up this minute. If you don't want to see the cité, Jimmy, you might just as well sit here in the car while the rest of us go."
"I shall sit with him," announced Aunt Mary. "And if you must go on this wild goose chase, do for pity's sake hurry back, or we shall be frozen."
I began to fear that the scheme would fall through, with so much against it, but Miss Randolph kept to her resolution despite the moving picture of her relative's suffering.
"Oh yes, we will hurry back. We shan't be long," she said cheerfully, "we" meaning herself and her courier mécanicien. "You can't be cold in your furs; it's very early yet; you had a good tea; and Brown and I will whisk you off to some dear little village inn in time for an eight o'clock dinner."
I knew we should do nothing of the kind, but mine not to reason why, mine but to do or die—with her.
I daresay, my dear Montie, that even to you "Carcassonne" expresses nothing in particular. To
