that gave it authority beyond question. She stared at her reflection, and then the effort of thought made her head whirl again and she sat down.
“I mustn’t think, I mustn’t think,” she muttered, and yet thoughts and doubts, questions and speculations, crowded in upon her. Lady Mary Danton was her mother! She was the woman who had come into Jim’s flat. There was a tap at the door and she started. Was it Digby Groat? Digby who had brought her here?
“Come in,” she said faintly.
The door opened but the visitor did not enter, and she saw, standing on the little landing, a woman in black, heavily veiled, who beckoned to her to follow. She rose unsteadily and moved towards her.
“Where are we going?” she asked, and then, “Thank you, thank you a thousand times, for all you are doing for me!”
The woman made no reply, but walked down the stairs, and Eunice went after her.
It was a dark night; rain was falling heavily and the mews was deserted except for the taxi-cab which was drawn up at the door. The woman opened the door of the cab and followed Eunice into its dark interior.
“You must not ask questions,” she whispered. “There is a hood to your coat. Pull it over your head.”
What did it mean? Eunice wondered.
She was safe, but why were they going out of London? Perhaps Jim awaited her at the end of the journey and the danger was greater than she had imagined. Whither had Digby Groat gone, and how had this mysterious woman in black got him out of the way? She put her hand to her head. She must wait. She must have patience. All would be revealed to her in good time—and she would see Jim!
The two people who were interested in the departure of the eleven-forty-five train for the north, did not think it was unusual to see a girl in evening dress, accompanied by a woman in mourning, take their places in a reserved compartment. It was a train very popular with those visitors to London who wanted to see a theatre before they left, and the detective who was watching on the departure platform, scrutinizing every man who was accompanied by a woman, gave no attention to the girl in evening dress and, as they thought, her mother. Perhaps if she had not been so attired, they might have looked more closely—Digby Groat was a great student of human nature.
Lady Mary, in her restlessness, had come to Euston to supplement the watch of the detectives, and had passed every carriage and its occupants under review just before Eunice had taken her seat.
“Sit in the corner,” whispered the “woman,” “and do not look at the platform. I am afraid Groat will be on the look-out for me.”
The girl obeyed and Lady Mary, walking back, seeing the young girl in evening dress, whose face was hidden from her, never dreamt of making any closer inspection. The detective strolled along the platform with her towards the entrance.
“I am afraid there will be no more trains tonight, my lady,” said the bearded officer, and she nodded. “I should think they’ve left by motor-car.”
“Every road is watched now,” said Lady Mary quietly, “and it is impossible for them to get out of London by road.”
At the moment the train, with a shrill whistle, began to move slowly out of the station.
“May I look now?” said Eunice, and the “woman” in black nodded.
Eunice turned her head to the platform and then with a cry, started up.
“Why, why,” she cried wildly, “there is Mrs. Fane—Lady Mary, my mother!”
Another instant, and she was dragged back to her seat, and a hateful voice hissed in her ear; “Sit down!” The “woman” in black snapped down the blind and raised “her” veil. But Eunice knew that it was Digby Groat before she saw the yellow face of the man.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
THE recognition had been mutual. Lady Mary had seen that white face, those staring eyes, for a second, and then the train had rolled quickly past her, leaving her momentarily paralysed.
“There, there!” she gasped, pointing. “Stop the train!”
The detective looked round. There was no official in sight, and he tore back to the barriers, followed by Lady Mary. He could discover nobody with authority to act.
“I’ll find the station-master,” he cried. “Can you telephone anywhere?”
There was a telephone booth within a few yards and her first thought was of Jim.
Jim was sitting in his room, his head in his hands, when the telephone bell rang, and he went listlessly to answer the call. It was Lady Mary speaking.
“Eunice is on the northern train that has just left the station,” she said, speaking rapidly. “We are trying to stop it at Willesden, but I am afraid it will be impossible. Oh, for God’s sake do something, Jim!”
“On the northern train?” he gasped. “How long has it left?”
“A few seconds ago….”
He dropped the receiver, threw open the door and ran downstairs. In that moment his decision had been taken. Like a flash there had come back to his mind a sunny afternoon when, with Eunice at his side, he had watched a daring little boy pulling himself across the lines by the telegraph wire which crossed the railway from one side to the other. He darted into the courtyard and as he mounted the wall he beard the rumble and roar of the train in the tunnel.
It would be moving slowly because the gradient was a stiff one. From which tunnel would it emerge? There were two black openings and it might be from either. He must risk that, he thought, and reaching up for a telegraph wire, swung himself over the coping. The wires would be strong enough to hold a boy. Would they support him? He felt them sagging and heard an ominous creak from the post which was in the courtyard, but he must risk that too. Hand over hand he went, and presently he saw with consternation the gleam of a light from the farther tunnel. In frantic haste he pulled himself across. There was no time for caution. The engine, labouring heavily, had passed before he came above the line. Now he was over the white-topped carriages, and his legs were curled up to avoid contact with them. He let go and dropped on his foot. The movement of the carriage threw him down and he all but fell over the side, but gripping to a ventilator, he managed to scramble to his knees.
As he did so he saw the danger ahead. The train was running into a second tunnel. He had only time to throw himself flat on the carriage, before he was all but suffocated by the sulphur fumes which filled the tunnel. He was on the right train, he was certain of that, as he lay gasping and coughing, but it would need all his strength to hold himself in position when the driver began to work up speed.
He realized, when they came out again into the open, that it was raining, and raining, heavily. In a few minutes he was wet through, but he clung grimly to his perilous hold. Would Lady Mary succeed in stopping the train at Willesden? The answer came when they flashed through that junction, gathering speed at every minute.
The carriages rocked left and right and the rain-splashed roofs were as smooth as glass. It was only by twining his legs about one ventilator, and holding on to the other, that he succeeded in retaining his hold at all. But it was for her sake. For the sake of the woman he loved, he told himself, when utter weariness almost forced him to release his grip. Faster and faster grew the speed of the train, and now in addition to the misery the stinging rain caused him, he was bombarded by flying cinders and sparks from the engine.
His coat was smouldering in a dozen places, in spite of its sodden condition, his eyes were grimed and smarting with the dust which the rain washed into them, and the agony of the attacks of cramp, which were becoming more and more frequent, was almost unendurable. But he held on as the train roared through the night, flashing through little wayside stations, diving into smoky tunnels, and all the time rocking left and right, so that it seemed miraculous that it was able to keep the rails.
It seemed a century before there came from the darkness ahead a bewildering tangle of red and green lights. They were reaching Rugby and the train was already slowing. Suddenly it stopped with unusual suddenness and Jim was jerked from his hold. He made a wild claw at the nearest ventilator, but he missed his hold and fell with a thud down a steep bank, rolling over and over… another second, and he fell with a splash into water.
The journey had been one of terror for Eunice Danton. She understood now the trick that had been played upon her. Digby Groat had known she would never leave willingly and had feared to use his dope lest her appearance betrayed him. He had guessed that in his disguise of the woman in black she would obey him instantly, and now she began to understand why he had chosen evening dress for her.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
He had drawn the blinds of the carriage and was smoking a cigarette.
