And when the man had replied in the affirmative:
“Now get me Brixton 9007,” he said.
Sneed must know, if he could only arouse that lethargic man from his sleep. To his surprise, the call came through almost immediately, and Sneed’s voice answered him,
“I’ve been playing bridge with a few nuts from headquarters,” he began. “It was like taking money from children—”
“Listen, Sneed,” said Dick urgently, “There’s trouble at Cody’s place. He’s just called me through.”
In a few words he gave the gist of the terrible message which had reached him.
“That sounds bad,” said Sneed’s thoughtful voice. “I’ve got a car down here—”
“Mine is faster. I’ll pick you up. Where are you?”
“I’ll be under the railway arch in Brixton Road. I can bring a couple of men with me—Inspector Elbert and Sergeant Staynes. They are here with me.”
This was good news. He knew instinctively that in the work ahead of him he would need all the assistance he could procure.
“I’ll be with you in ten minutes.”
Dick grabbed his overcoat and flew to the door. As he flung it open he stepped back in amazement. A white-faced woman was standing on the threshold.
“Mrs. Lansdown!” he gasped, and his heart sank.
“Sybil did not go with Jane Allen,” she said in a low voice.
“She hasn’t returned?”
Mrs. Lansdown shook her head.
“Come in,” said Dick, and took her into the dining-room. “Now, tell me—”
Mrs. Lansdown’s story was all he might have expected. She had waited until twelve, and then, growing a little uneasy, had walked round to the boardinghouse where Jane Allen lived. She found the girl in bed. She had not seen Sybil, nor had she made any arrangements to meet her.
“Is there anybody else to whom she could have gone?”
“I have been able to ring up two friends she might be staying with, but they have not seen her,” said Mrs. Lansdown. “I was fortunate enough to get in touch with the girl who works with Sybil at the library, and she described the woman who came for my girl; a very overdressed woman of middle age, who wore a lot of jewellery and spoke in a very common voice.”
Mrs. Cody! She saw him turn pale and gripped him by the arm.
“Is anything very wrong?” she asked huskily.
“I don’t know. Will you stay here? I’m going to see.”
“Can I come with you.”
“No, no.” He shook his head. “I’ll be gone a little more than an hour, then I’ll phone you. Won’t you try to read? You will find books in my room that will interest you.”
She shook her head.
“I must go home in case Sybil returns. But don’t wait for me; I have a cab at the door.”
There was no time for polite protests. He dashed out of the house ahead of her, and was in the mews unlocking the garage door before she had reached the cab.
Within a few minutes of the promised time the big car drew up under the railway arch at Brixton, where Sneed and his two friends were waiting.
“Jump in,” said Dick; “I’ve got something to tell you. I’m trying to get the hang of it—your head will be cooler than mine.”
As the machine sped southward he told of Sybil’s disappearance.
“That was Mrs. Cody all right,” he said. “I met her some time ago. She’s certainly a daisy. But what harm could she do to a girl?”
Dick Martin was not prepared with an answer.
“The Sussex sleuths will be there before we reach the house—” he began, but the other scoffed.
“You don’t know our police system, or you wouldn’t be so sure. Probably the nearest station to South Weald hasn’t a telephone; and even if it had, it’s unlikely that a police officer would act on telephoned instructions unless he were sure of the sender. I’m not so certain that we aren’t on a fool’s chase.”
“I’ve thought of that, too,” said Martin; “but, weighing it up, there are long odds against that possibility. No, the man who telephoned me was not acting.”
They passed the next quarter of an hour without speaking.
“We’re somewhere near Stalletti’s house, aren’t we?” said Sneed, waking from a doze.
“On the left,” replied the other curtly.
They flashed past the dark entrance of the drive. From the road the house was invisible, and only the high trees standing against the moonlit sky marked its situation.
“Rum thing about this Lord Selford business,” said Sneed meditatively. “There’s trouble wherever you touch it. I wonder what he’s done?”
“What who’s done? Selford?” asked Dick, rousing himself with a start.
The fat man nodded.
“Why is he keeping out of England? Why is he running around like a Christianized Wandering Jew? Wearing out his shoe-leather whilst the ancestral chair is collecting dust? You’ve never seen him, have you?”
“No,” said Dick shortly. “I’ve seen a photograph of him, but I’ve never seen him.”
Sneed shifted round and peered through the darkness at his companion.
“Seen a photograph of him?” he said slowly.
“Sure,” said Dick. “He was in Cape Town the day the new Governor-General arrived. He came out on to the balcony of the hotel to watch the procession, and one of the newspaper boys took a picture shot of the crowd. I didn’t know this, only the hotel porter had seen it in the paper and pointed him out to me. And then I went along to the newspaper office and got a firsthand print and had it enlarged.”
“What is he like?” asked Sneed curiously.
“I’ll tell you one of these days,” was the unsatisfactory reply, and soon after they were speeding down the secondary road and through the tiny village of South Weald.
There was no unusual stir, and at Sneed’s suggestion they stopped at the little cottage where the village patrol lived and had his tiny lockup for the infrequent offenders who came his way. The man’s wife opened an upper window when they knocked.
“No, sir—the constable is out tonight. He
