She had a very fair idea of the rumours which had been running through the hotel, and she had no desire to advertise her meeting with her uncle. The final phrase in the note: “Come alone,” was quite enough to suggest that he wished to keep the encounter secret. And she knew well enough that a plain-clothes constable had been detached to watch her; she had seen him once or twice when she had been passing through the entrance-hall, and had no difficulty in detecting the interest which he took in her movements. Unless she could contrive to give him the slip, he would follow her out to the Blowhole. Then she thought of the lady golfers’ dressing-room, with its convenient door to the outside of the hotel, and a method of evasion suggested itself. She took the lift down; walked boldly past the watcher; turned down the passage and entered the dressing-room. Then, picking up her hat, blazer, and golfing-shoes, she slipped out of the side-entrance and hurried down one of the paths till she reached a place where she could change her slippers for her outdoor shoes.
Leaving the slippers to be picked up on her way back, she crossed the hotel gardens and made her way out on to the headland where the Blowhole lay. The night was clear enough, but the moon was still very low, and the light was dim. As she came up towards the Blowhole, a figure came forward to meet her.
“Is that you, uncle?” she asked.
As soon as she spoke she was aware of someone who had risen behind her from an ambush. An arm came round her from the rear, pinning her hands to her sides; and a soft, wet pad was brought down on her face. She felt a burning liquid on her lips, and, as she gasped under the mask, a sickly, sweet-scented vapour seemed to penetrate down into her lungs. As she struggled to free herself and to cry out, the man before her stepped forward and helped his companion to hold her.
“Don’t choke her altogether, you fool!” she heard her new assailant say, but his voice sounded faint; and in a minute she had lost consciousness.
When she came to herself once more, it was to find herself lying on a bed from which all the bed clothes had been removed. Her head swam at the slightest movement, and she felt deadly sick. With complete incuriosity, she noticed some figures in the room, and then again she slipped back into unconsciousness.
The sound of voices roused her once more, after what seemed to be a span of eternity, and she slowly began to recollect the events which had led to her present condition. As she gained more control over herself, she attempted to move, but she found that her wrists and ankles were fettered, and her further vague attempts to get her bearings satisfied her that some kind of gag had been thrust between her teeth and lashed at the back of her head.
For a while she lay, feeling sick and dizzy and unable to think clearly; but gradually, as the narcosis passed slowly off, she grew better able to take in her surroundings. She had just reached the stage when she could concentrate her attention when one of the figures in the room came to the side of the bed, and stooped down to examine her in the light of a candle. The features seemed faintly familiar; but in her drugged condition it was some moments before she could identify the man as Simon Aird, at one time valet at Foxhills.
“Got your senses back, miss? You’ve been a longish while over it. Better pull yourself together.”
Even in her bemused condition she recognised something in the tone of his voice which told her that he was not friendly. She lay still, fighting hard to recover her normal personality. Aird watched her with cold interest, without making any attempt to disturb her. At last the fumes of the anesthetic seemed to clear from her brain.
“Feelin’ sick, miss?” Aird inquired callously. “That’s the chlorryform, I expect. You’ll be all right in a jiffy or two.”
Her head still swam, but she managed to turn slightly so that she could see the two other figures in the room. One of them, with his back to her, was unrecognisable. The other, whose face she could see, was a total stranger.
Aird saw her glance, and interpreted it aloud.
“Lookin’ for your uncle, miss, I expect?”
His mean little eyes seemed to twinkle at some obscure joke.
“He couldn’t come to meet you, miss, as arranged. He was unexpectedly detained. Ain’t that so, boys? Mr. Paul Fordingbridge was unexpectedly detained, and couldn’t come to meet ’is niece?”
The joke, whatever it was, seemed to be shared by the other two, for they laughed coarsely. Aird was encouraged to proceed to further flights of humour.
“You’ve got an expressive face, miss—always ’ad. Why, I can read you like a book. You’re worryin’ your pretty ’ead to know ’ow you came ’ere, isn’t that it? Trust Simon Aird to understand what a girl’s thinkin’ about. A pretty girl’s as plain as print to me—always was. But I’m keepin’ you on tenterhooks, I see, an’ that’s not polite. I’ll soon tell you. We found you up yonder on the headland, near the Blowhole, drunk and incapable. That was a dangerous thing to do, miss. I can’t think ’ow you came to be doin’ it. Lord! In that state, there’s no knowin’ what mightn’t ’ave
