第 16 页

It was nearly six o'clock before Miss Revelstoke returned, and the trip she had taken had evidently dispelled her anger, for she was in her most humorous mood.

She sent for the girl as soon as she returned.

"I've been up to see Henry," she said. "And Henry, not unnaturally, is a little peevish, but he quite understands your point of view and he thinks on the whole that you're right. Will you write and tell him? What is the name of your father's lawyers? He asked me that."

Nora realized with a sense of dismay that she did not know! The detective had told her, but she had forgotten almost instantly. Whether Miss Revelstoke detected her confusion or not, she did not pursue her inquiry.

"Fortunately, Henry hadn't got very far," she said. "He had already been in communication with Monkford's own lawyers, and they are annoyed, too. The worst of these wretched lawyers is that they all want their picking from an estate like Monkford's. The will will not be contested, you will be pleased to know. Monkford had no relations, and the earlier will he made left most of his money to charities."

She rose from the table where she was sitting with a little laugh.

"I resent the sense of unimportance which your fortune has given me," she said good-humouredly. "Yesterday you were just my secretary— a very nice girl, but, if you will forgive me, of no great importance. To-day, I dare hardly give you an order."

The girl was so relieved by her employer's attitude that she was more easily amused.

"You've already given me several," she said, and the answer seemed to tickle the woman.

"Then I will give you another. 'Phone Henry's clerk that I've changed my mind and will dine with him. I met that wretched creature, Jackson Crayley, in the city, and he asked me if he might come in and take coffee to-night. He had something of interest to tell me. Will you entertain him if he arrives and get rid of him as quickly as you can? You can tell him that I have been called out unexpectedly. I simply cannot endure an evening of Jackson Crayley!"

She did not leave until a quarter after seven. Dinner was arranged to be served at the half-hour, and Nora, who was not unused to dining alone, and to-night preferred the solitude, was glad to hear the door close upon the energetic lady. Miss Revelstoke's last order, delivered to her parlourmaid in Nora's presence, was characteristically domestic.

"Have coffee served in the drawing room at eight o'clock," she said. "Use the Sèvres set; Mr. Crayley is rather fastidious as to his china."

Left alone, the girl had her dinner at leisure, pondering the events of the day. She wondered if Betcher Long knew of Miss Revelstoke's departure, and whether he would take advantage of the absence. In spite of the promised call of Crayley, she hoped he would.

Eight was chiming from the silver clock on the mantelpiece when the maid came in.

"A gentleman to see you, miss," she said.

"Mr. Crayley?" asked the girl, knowing that Crayley was a frequent visitor.

To her surprise the maid shook her head.

"No, miss, it is a strange gentleman. I don't remember seeing him before."

Nora hurried into the drawing room, to find that the visitor was equally unknown to her. He was a man of the superior artisan class, she thought, and wondered if it was one of the tradesmen who were frequently summoned by Miss Revelstoke at this hour to account for the errors in their bills.

"Miss Sanders?" he asked, in a tone of authority.

"Yes," she answered, wondering, "I am Miss Sanders."

"I've come from Inspector Long to have a little talk with you, if you don't mind. I am Sergeant Smith of the C. I. D."

"A detective?" she asked in surprise.

"That's my profession, miss." He glanced at the silver tray and the coffee-pot. "I'll wait until you've finished your coffee, if you don't mind. I'm in no hurry."

She hesitated and glanced at the drawing-room clock. Mr. Crayley might appear at any minute, and the presence of Betcher Long's man would be a little embarrassing. As though he read her mind, the man went on "I'll slip out the moment you have any visitors, miss. I can see people coming from here." Which was true, for the drawing room commanded a view of the steps leading to the front door.

"Perhaps you will have some coffee, Sergeant?" she said, as she poured out a cup.

He shook his head.

"No, thank you, miss."

She filled her own, waiting for him to begin.

"The Inspector asked me to escort you to Scotland Yard. He wants to see you particularly to-night." Nora was in a dilemma.

"I cannot possibly go; I am expecting one of Miss Revelstoke's friends," she said, and the man smiled.

"You needn't worry about Mr. Crayley; he won't be here to-night," he said, to her astonishment. "He's with Mr. Long."

"With Mr. Long?" She was in the act of dropping sugar into her coffee when he made this startling statement.

"Yes, asking him a few questions, that's all, miss. And the inspector wants you there to confirm a statement that Crayley has made. Have you got the two papers that Henry wanted you to sign?"

She shook her head.

"I think they are in Miss Revelstoke's study," she said, and hurried out of the room to find them.

They were under a paper weight on the woman's desk and she came back with them in her hand.

"Does Mr. Long want these?"

"He thought he'd like to see them, miss," said the man, and looked at his watch. "We won't keep you an hour. If you'll drink up your coffee, we'll make a move."

She served the coffee and drank half its contents.

"I'll be ready in a moment," she said.

She took two steps toward the door, and then everything went black as she fell forward into the man's arms.

Chapter 24

SERGEANT SMITH lowered the girl to the ground, walked to the door, opened it carefully, and looked out. The hall was empty. He went back to the drawing room, rang the bell, and awaited the maid's coming in the hall.

"Will you go upstairs and pack Miss Sanders's bag?" he said. "She and Miss Revelstoke are going into the country for the night. Are there any other maids in the house besides you?"

"No, sir," said the girl, "only the cook. Miss Revelstoke gave the other girls the evening off. What clothes will Miss Sanders want?"

"The things she took to Heartsease," said the man glibly, and he watched the maid until she had disappeared on the landing above.

Returning to the unconscious girl, he lifted her in his arms, walked quickly along the hall into Miss Revelstoke's study. From here a door communicated by means of a flight of round stairs to the small courtyard behind the house and the brick shed where she garaged her car. Since her departure, another machine had backed into the garage, an old limousine, the blinds of which were drawn. The man opened the door of the car and with some difficulty bundled her inside, dosed and locked the door, then, opening the gates, he started up the machine and brought it into the narrow mews.

He got down from his seat and closed and locked the door, then sent the car moving at a leisurely pace through Colville Gardens and Elgin Crescent to Ladbroke Grove. Here he turned to the left, struck the main road a few hundred yards farther along, and, increasing the speed of his car, headed for the Great West Road.

Once or twice he glanced back through the uncurtained front window, but Nora had not stirred. The new road runs through fields, but the importance of the thoroughfare had brought the speculative builder on to the spot, and at one point stood a solitary red-brick house, glaringly new. He turned off the road, passed to the back of the house, and stopped before what was intended to be the kitchen door. The car was invisible from the road, and behind was a stretch of deserted fields. He unlocked the kitchen door, lifted the girl from the machine, and carried her into the house and laid her down on the dusty floor.

She was returning to consciousness before the car had stopped. Her head was splitting, and she felt deathly ill. When she opened her eyes, the light from the window was painful, and she turned away with a moan to face the wall. Only then was she dimly conscious of her unhappy position, and, struggling up on her elbow, she stared wildly at the man who was surveying her dispassionately.

She looked round. The kitchen reeked of new paint and was innocent of any kind of furnishing.

"Where— where am I?" she asked dully, as she sat up, her head between her hands.

The man took a flask from his hip pocket, poured out a golden-coloured fluid into the aluminum cup and put it to her lips.

"Drink this," he said. "It is only brandy— you needn't be scared."

She tried to push the cup away, but he forced the scorching liquor between her teeth. The spirit was choking, but it had the effect of reviving her to a clear understanding. She looked at the door, and from the door to the man who was replacing the flask in his pocket.

"Where is Mr. Long?" she asked.

"In hell, with a bit of luck," said he. "Deader than Harry the Lancer— one of the best lads that ever came out of Deptford!"

Harry the Lancer? Who was Harry the Lancer? She strove vainly to think. The name was familiar in a vague way.

"Why am I here?" she asked at last.

"You're here because I brought you here," said the man, "and you're miles from everywhere, so, if you start screaming, you'll waste your breath."

Faintly she could hear the whirr and rumble of car wheels. She was near some main thoroughfare, and yet it did not seem possible, looking through the window upon the endless vista of green. She might be in the midst of some remote part of the country. And then the truth came to her.

"This is the Great West Road," she said, and the man was taken aback.

"Great West Road or Great East Road," he said deliberately, "if you try to squeal, I'm going to make you wish you hadn't. Keep quiet and nobody will hurt you. Start something, and watch out!"

There was no effective reply to this. She could only sit in wonder and fear, as the daylight faded from the sky, and night, with all its horrible possibilities, brought dusk and then darkness to her prison.

It was Betcher Long's boast that he had outgrown sentiment and that his interest in woman was detached and philosophical. Yet he had no sooner parted from Nora Sanders than he sought round in his mind for an excuse to see her again. He told himself that here his interest was professional, but the honest ego in him gave the lie to this explanation.

He had work to do at the Yard, and his office for the moment was a central intelligence bureau, for it was here that his men reported every half-hour. Soon after eight the detective who was watching Colville Gardens reported that a stranger had called at the house and had been admitted. At eight-thirty he reported that the visitor had not yet come out. At nine and half-past nine this information was repeated.

Betcher Long knew that Miss Revelstoke was dining with Henry. He could, by asking a question, have discovered how far she had progressed in the meal, for here again the reports were very complete. He hung up the receiver and sent for Sergeant Rouch.

An evening visitor to Miss Revelstoke's house was not unusual. Nora Sanders had probably quite a circle of friends, interests of which he knew nothing— he seemed to remember her telling him that she was taking lessons in Spanish, and the appearance of the man as described by the watcher was not very alarming. Yet Detective Sergeant Rouch reported at that moment. "Come a little drive to Colville Gardens, Rouch," said Betcher, and told him of the caller.

"Maybe her young man," suggested Rouch, with a desire to help.

"He's a middle-aged person and not very attractive," said Betcher coldly. "He is no more her young man than you are."

"Or you, for the matter of that, Inspector," said Rouch. "She's a very nice girl; she ought to marry well, with all that money. Maybe a duke or something. It is about time some of the dukes married English girls, especially now the American heiresses have got wise to 'em."

"You've been reading the Sunday supplements," said Betcher severely.

They went down the broad stairs together into Scotland Yard and turned on to the Embankment. It was growing dusk and, as they stood on the edge of the curb, they saw a car with very bright lights coming at a rapid rate along Whitehall, close to the curb.

"Speeding, that fellow," said Rouch disapprovingly. "And fast traffic has no right to be on the inside."

The car was less than a dozen yards away and suddenly Betcher Long gripped his subordinate and flung him backward, only just in time, for the machine, moving at fifty miles an hour, swerved violently to the left, mounted the sidewalk, and missed the two men by the fraction of a second before, with a grind of brakes, its great shining radiator smashed into the iron railings behind them. So close a call was it that a jagged edge of the mudguard caught Betcher Long's cuff and ripped it open.

A policeman came running across and to him Betcher Long turned.

"Take that man," he pointed to the driver, "and keep him under close arrest until I see him."

And then, to Rouch's surprise, he grabbed his subordinate by the arm, and ran back toward Scotland Yard.

To the grim police headquarters there are two entrances, the one from Whitehall and the other from the Thames Embankment, and Rouch was intrigued by the fact that they passed the entrance of the office, continuing on their way to the arch which spans the Embankment entrance.

"Walk!" hissed Betcher. "In fact, stroll."

"But what—"

"Don't ask questions; do as I tell you. And get ready to jump."

They were on the Embankment pavement now, and stood on the edge of the sidewalk like men about to hail a taxicab. As they waited, Betcher saw a big car move toward them from the direction of the House of Commons, gathering speed every second. The roar of its accelerator was audible above the sound of the passing traffic.

Nearer and nearer it came, faster and faster, and then: