“Try it again,” stormed Jack. “Remember you’re playing a man’s part. Young Coogan would hold her better than that!”
They tried again, with greater success, and after the third rehearsal, when poor Reggie was in a state of exhaustion—
“Camera!” said Knebworth shortly, and then began the actual taking of the picture.
Whatever his other drawbacks were, and whatever his disadvantages, there was no doubt that Connolly was an artist. Racked with agony at this unusual exertion though he was, he could smile sweetly into the upturned face of the girl, whilst the camera, fixed upon a collapsible platform, clicked encouragingly as it was lowered to keep pace with the escaping lovers. They touched ground, and with one last languishing look at the girl, Connolly posed for the final three seconds.
“That’ll do,” said Jack.
Reggie sat down heavily.
“My heavens!” he wailed, feeling his arms painfully. “I’ll never do that again, I won’t really. I’ve had as much of that stuff as ever I’m going to have, Mr. Knebworth. It was terrible! I thought I should die!”
“Well, you didn’t,” said Jack good-humouredly. “Now have a rest, you boys and girls, and then we’ll shoot the escape.”
The camera was moved off twenty or thirty yards, and whilst Reggie Connolly writhed in agony on the ground, the girl walked over to Michael.
“I’m glad that’s over,” she said thankfully. “Poor Mr. Connolly! The awful language he was using inside nearly made me laugh, and that would have meant that we should have had to take it all over again. But it wasn’t easy,” she added.
Her own arm was bruised, and the rope had rubbed raw a little place on her wrist. Michael had an insane desire to kiss the raw skin, but restrained himself.
“What did you think of me? Did I look anything approaching graceful? I felt like a bundle of straw!”
“You looked—wonderful!” he said fervently, and she shot a quick glance at him and dropped her eyes.
“Perhaps you’re prejudiced,” she said demurely.
“I have that feeling too,” said Michael. “What is inside?” He pointed.
“Inside the tower? Nothing, except a lot of rock and wild bush, and a pathetic dwarf tree. I loved it.”
He laughed.
“Just now you said you were glad it was over. I presume you were referring to the play and not to the interior of the tower?”
She nodded, a twinkle in her eye.
“Mr. Knebworth says he may have to take a night shot if he’s not satisfied with the day picture. Poor Mr. Connolly! He’ll throw up his part.”
At that moment Jack Knebworth’s voice was heard.
“Don’t take the ladder, Collins,” he shouted. “Put it down on the grass behind the tower. I may have to come up here tonight, so you can leave anything that won’t be hurt by the weather, and collect it again in the morning.”
Adele made a little face.
“I was afraid he would,” she said. “Not that I mind very much—it’s rather fun. But Mr. Connolly’s nervousness communicates itself in some way. I wish you were playing that part.”
“I wish to heaven I were!” said Michael, with such sincerity in his voice that she coloured.
Jack Knebworth came toward them.
“Did you leave anything up there, Adele?” he asked, pointing to the tower.
“No, Mr. Knebworth,” she said in surprise.
“Well, what’s that?”
He pointed to something round that showed above the edge of the tower top.
“Why, it’s moving!” he gasped.
As he spoke a head came slowly into view. It was followed by a massive pair of hairy shoulders, and then a leg was thrown over the wall.
It was Bhag!
His tawny hair was white with dust, his face was powdered grotesquely. All these things Michael noticed. Then, as the creature put out his hand to steady himself, Michael saw that each wrist was encircled by the half of a broken pair of handcuffs!
XXIX
Bhag’s Return
The girl screamed and gripped Michael’s arm.
“What is that?” she asked. “Is it the Thing that came to my—my room?”
Michael put her aside gently, and ran toward the tower. As he did so, Bhag took a leap and dropped on the ground. For a moment he stood, his knuckles on the ground, his malignant face turned in the direction of the man. And then he sniffed, and, with that queer twittering noise of his, went ambling across the downs and disappeared over a nearby crest.
Michael raced in pursuit. By the time he came into view, the great ape was a quarter of a mile away, running at top speed, and always keeping close to the hedges that divided the fields he had to cross. Pursuit was useless, and the detective went slowly back to the alarmed company.
“It is only an orangutan belonging to Sir Gregory, and perfectly harmless,” he said. “He has been missing from the house for two or three days.”
“He must have been hiding in the tower,” said Knebworth, and Michael nodded. “Well, I’m darned glad he didn’t choose to come out at the moment I was shooting,” said the director, mopping his forehead. “You didn’t see anything of him, Adele?”
Michael guessed that the girl was pale under her yellow makeup, and the hand she raised to her lips shook a little.
“That explains the mystery of the handcuffs,” said Knebworth.
“Did you notice them?” asked Michael quickly. “Yes, that explains the broken link,” he said, “but it doesn’t exactly explain the butyl chloride.”
He held the girl’s arm as he spoke, and in the warm, strong pressure she felt something more than his sympathy.
“Were you a little frightened?”
“I was badly frightened,” she confessed. “How terrible! Was that Bhag?”
He nodded.
“That was Bhag,” he said. “I suppose he’s been hiding in the tower ever since his disappearance. You saw nothing when you were on the top of the wall?”
“I’m glad to say I didn’t, or I should have dropped. There are a
