Then he slipped back to his room just in time. The someone was approaching with light feet and a rustle of draperies. He had his door shut when the steps passed, and then opened it and stuck his head out. He saw a pink dressing-gown, and above it a slender neck and masses of dark hair. It was the figure which he of all men was likely to know best.
It seemed that the place for him was bed, so he got between the sheets again and tried to think. Adela Victor was here; therefore he was in the hands of her captors, and made a fourth in their bag. But what insanity had prompted these wary criminals to bring the two of them to the same prison? Were they so utterly secure, so confident of their power, that they took this crazy risk? The insolence of it made him furious. In the name of every saint he swore that he would make them regret it. He would free the lady and himself, though he had to burn down the house and wring the neck of every inmate. And then he remembered the delicacy of the business, and the need of exact timing if the other two hostages were not to be lost, and at the thought he groaned.
There was a tap at the door, and a man entered to clear away the supper table. He seemed an ordinary English valet, with his stiff collar and decent black coat and smug expressionless face.
“Beg pardon, my lord,” he said, “at what hour would you like your shavin’ water? Seein’ it’s been a late night I make so bold as to suggest ten o’clock.”
Turpin assented, and the servant had hardly gone when another visitor appeared. It was a slim pale man, whom he was not conscious of having seen before, a man with grey hair and a melancholy droop of the head. He stood at the foot of the bed, gazing upon the prostrate Turpin, and his look was friendly. Then he addressed him in French of the most Saxon type.
“Êtes-vous comfortable, monsieur? C’est bien. Soyez tranquille. Nous sommes vos amis. Bon soir.”
XVI
Our Time Is Narrowed
I lunched that day with Mary—alone, for her aunts were both in Paris—and it would have been hard to find in the confines of the British islands a more dejected pair. Mary, who had always a singular placid gentleness, showed her discomposure only by her pallor. As for me I was as restless as a bantam.
“I wish I had never touched the thing,” I cried. “I have done more harm than good.”
“You have found Lord Mercot,” she protested.
“Yes, and lost Turpin. The brutes are still three up on us. We thought we had found two, and now we have lost Miss Victor again. And Turpin! They’ll find him an ugly customer, and probably take strong measures with him. They’ll stick to him and the girl and the little boy now like wax; for last night’s performance is bound to make them suspicious.”
“I wonder,” said Mary, always an optimist. “You see, Sir Archie only dragged him in because of his rank. It looked odd his being in Adela’s company, but then all the times he has seen her he never spoke a word to her. They must have noticed that. I’m anxious about Sir Archie. He ought to leave London.”
“Confound him! He’s going to, as soon as he gets out of hospital, which will probably be this afternoon. I insisted on it, but he meant to in any case. He’s heard an authentic report of a green sandpiper nesting somewhere. It would be a good thing if Archie would stick to birds. He has no head for anything else. … And now we’ve got to start again at the beginning.”
“Not quite the beginning,” she interposed.
“Dashed near it. They won’t bring Miss Victor into that kind of world again, and all your work goes for nothing, my dear. It’s uncommon bad luck that you didn’t begin to wake her up, for then she might have done something on her own account. But she’s still a dummy, and tucked away, you may be sure, in some place where we can never reach her. And we have little more than three weeks left.”
“It is bad luck,” Mary agreed. “But, Dick, I’ve a feeling that I haven’t lost Adela Victor. I believe that somehow or other we’ll soon get in touch with her again. You remember how children when they lose a ball sometimes send another one after it in the hope that one will find the other. Well, we’ve sent the Marquis after Adela, and I’ve a notion we may find them both together. We always did that as children. …” She paused at the word “children” and I saw pain in her eyes. “Oh, Dick, the little boy! We’re no nearer him, and he’s far the most tragic of all.”
The whole business looked so black that I had no word of comfort to give her.
“And to put the lid on it,” I groaned, “I’ve got to settle down in Medina’s house this evening. I hate the idea like poison.”
“It’s the safest way,” she said.
“Yes, but it puts me out of action. He’ll watch me like a lynx, and I won’t be able to take a single step on my own—simply sit there and eat and drink and play up to his vanity. Great Scott, I swear I’ll have a row with him and break his head.”
“Dick, you’re not going to—how do you say it?—chuck in your hand? Everything depends on you. You’re our scout in the enemy’s headquarters. Your life depends on your playing the game. Colonel Arbuthnot said so. And you may find out something tremendous. It will be horrible for you, but it isn’t for long,
