The mark of the heavy wheels was visible now. In places the weeds which grew thickly between the sleepers had been crushed by their passage. He now left the rail and began moving round in a wide semicircle that would bring him to a low neck in the hill. His plan was to climb the hill from here and work his way back along its crest until he overlooked the works. He was now in the danger zone.
He shifted his stick to his left hand and slipped out his pistol and pulled back the cover. It took him an hour to gain the crest of the neck. He found it more difficult to climb than he had thought. Evidently chalk had been quarried here and, save in one or two places, he was faced by a sheer unscalable wall. It was hard climbing all the way and he was hot and thirsty by the time he reached the top.
From the neck he could only secure a partial view of the works. He had taken the precaution to bring a pair of prismatic glasses and with these he surveyed the ground. There was no sign of the train and for a moment his heart sank. Then he picked up the rail and followed it yard by yard and he could scarcely restrain himself from a yell of joy when he saw the rail led to a big shed, the gates of which were closed.
Originally, this may have been the mill house, but the new tenants had relaid the line so that it passed into the building. He replaced his glasses and continued his climb. He was halfway between the neck and the point which would directly overlook the works when he heard the hum of a motor car and dropped flat. He was within fifty yards of the road which was slightly above him, and looking up very cautiously he saw a car dash past and disappear over the rise.
There was no mistaking its occupant. It was the Spaniard, Gregori.
He rose cautiously and continued his progress, keeping a sharp lookout for the sentries which he knew would be posted on the road. The path he followed was a beaten track. He realized this before he had gone much farther and sought to find a way either to the left or the right, but without success.
He halted and debated with himself the question as to whether he should go back. It was madness to attempt to make the capture alone. Even now, he might have been detected, but if this was the case by the time he went back and procured assistance the whole gang would have gone and probably the gold with them. Of the two risks he decided to take the first.
Little time was given to him to regret this decision. He had taken three paces when he heard the unmistakable whirr of a lariat. He turned to face the danger, pistol in hand, but too late. The rope settled about his neck, he felt a sharp nerve-racking jar and fell heavily to the ground.
XV
As Sir Ralph Said, “Business Is Business”
T. B. Smith walked into his outer office.
“Any news of Mr. Pretherston?” he asked.
“No, sir,” was the reply.
“Any news of Barr?”
“No, sir.”
T. B. clicked his lips impatiently.
“Who’s looking after them?”
“Detective-sergeant Grey, sir,” was the reply. “You know we traced him as far as Pinham Heights. After that he seems to have been lost sight of.”
“Have you notified the chief constables of Hampshire, Sussex and Surrey?” asked T. B.
“That has been done, sir,” said the officer. “The local constabulary are making a search.”
T. B. bit his lips.
“I can understand Mr. Pretherston going,” he said, “but what has happened to Barr?”
His subordinate very wisely offered no solution.
There were other anxious enquirers. Moya Felton had called that morning. Sir Ralph had made two visits to headquarters though it was doubtful whether his anxiety was in any way associated with the well being of Michael Pretherston.
“I think Michael will find the gang,” said T. B., “though he may be too late to get the gold.”
“What do I want the gang for?” demanded Sir Ralph wrathfully. “Will the government give me £2,800,000 for them? The gang can go to the devil so far as I am concerned. I want the gold.”
“You may get neither,” said T. B.; “at any rate, it ought to be very pleasing to you, Sir Ralph, that Michael Pretherston is risking his life to recover your property.”
“Isn’t he paid to do it?” demanded Sir Ralph. “Isn’t that the job of a policeman? By Gad! Commissioner, one would imagine that Pretherston was doing something out of the common! I take risks every day of my life.”
“If you could see my mind,” said T. B. Smith suavely, “you would realize that you are taking the biggest risk you have taken today. I advise you to go home and get into a calmer frame of mind.”
“When shall I hear anything?” asked the truculent baronet.
“Whenever you are within earshot,” snapped the Commissioner. “Show Sir Ralph out, constable.”
Lord Flanborough did not obtrude his enquiries. He was so far reconciled to Moya that he could discuss the matter dispassionately, without reference to the mésalliance which threatened his family.
“I think on the whole, Moya,” he said, “I had better not see Ralph. After all, business is business and friends are friends; but I disclaim all responsibility
