"We'll look in there as soon as we arrive." He hurried out with Copplestone and together they drove up to the station, where an express was just leaving for the south.

Once on their way to Northborough, Stafford turned to his companion with a grave shake of the head.
"I daresay you don't quite see the reason of our anxiety," he observed.
"You see, we know Oliver.

He's a trick of wandering about by himself on Sundays--when he gets the chance.

Of course when there's a long journey between two towns, he doesn't get the chance, and then he's all right.
But when, as in this case, the town of one week is fairly close to the town of the next, he invariably spots some place of interest, an old castle, or a ruined abbey, or some famous house, and goes looking round it.

And if he's been exploring some spot on this coast yesterday, and it's as that chap Rutherford said, wild and dangerous, why, then--" "You think he may have had an accident--fallen over the cliffs or something ?" suggested Copplestone.
"I don't like to think anything," replied Stafford.