“I would go myself, sir,” French went on, “but I don’t want to leave the Yard for the present. I want to be here if any news of that girl should come in.”
“Quite.” Sir Mortimer turned to the others. “Inspector French is much upset as to the possible fate of one of the four girls who were changing coins for these ruffians. After worm—shall I say ‘obtaining her confidence,’ French?—she has disappeared and there is evidence that she has been kidnapped. Three of her predecessors were kidnapped and, I regret to say, murdered, almost certainly under similar circumstances.”
“When I asked her for her confidence I promised her protection,” French explained in a low tone.
“You mustn’t blame yourself,” Sir Mortimer declared. “I appreciate your feelings, but you mustn’t let sentiment run away with you. You acted for the best and no one is omniscient.”
“Thank you, sir. But you see why I want to stay at the Yard?”
“Yes, I approve of that. Well, gentlemen,” he went on to the others, who had risen, “we are much obliged for your call and information. You may rest assured that we shall keep you posted in the developments of the case, and I trust you will advise us if further information comes to your knowledge.”
“You may depend on us.”
“Our friends are annoyed that we should have found out about this fraud before they did,” Sir Mortimer remarked when the visitors had gone. “It evidently hurts their pride. Now, French, tell me exactly what you’re doing. You can have all the resources you want. I quite agree that we must save that girl’s life if it is humanly possible.”
French detailed his plans.
“Is there anything else, sir, that you think I should do?” he asked.
“No, I think you have pretty well covered the ground. Carry on as you’re doing and let me know directly anything comes in.”
But nothing did come in. Every hour that passed made the affair seem more and more hopeless, while French grew more and more worried and despondent. That night he scarcely closed an eye, lying with the telephone beside him and hoping against hope to hear its bell summoning him to the Yard to follow up some clue which had just been reported. But though he had been disturbed on many a night when he was tired and would have given a good deal to remain in bed, on this occasion there was no call.
Next day at the Yard there was the same blank silence. He fretted and fumed through its insufferable hours until at last he told himself that he must give up hope and began to fear that the only news he could expect would be that of the finding of the unhappy girl’s body. And then late in the evening his weariness and lassitude changed to fierce energy and excitement. News had come in!
XVI
In the Net
French’s conversation with Molly Moran had given that young lady very seriously to think. From the beginning she had realized that the undertaking in which she was assisting was unlawful, if not actually criminal. She was not making a bid for French’s sympathy when she told him that since she had become involved she had been miserable and in terror. This was the literal truth. Continually she had felt as if she were living on the edge of a volcano which might break out and overwhelm her at any moment. Visions of dismissal, of imprisonment, of ruin were constantly before her and in spite of the money she was earning she would have been thankful if she could have given up the whole thing and removed its evil shadow from her life.
But never in her wildest imaginings had she conceived that the affair could be weighted with murder or she herself in actual physical danger. The story of Thurza Darke and her two predecessors had therefore come to her as an appalling shock. Indeed, she realized that had it come alone she might easily have been driven by panic to take some step which might have precipitated the very crisis she feared.
Fortunately it had not come alone. The same conversation had brought her a feeling of overwhelming relief. She had confided her position to Scotland Yard. She had made a clean breast of everything. And she had not been arrested nor made to suffer any unpleasantness whatever. On the contrary she had been met with a sympathetic understanding such as she could not have expected from a police officer. She had been promised escape from the toils in which she had been caught as well as protection against her captors. In spite of the dark suggestion of murder, as she returned from the manager’s room to her box office she felt happier than she had done for months.
During the remainder of that day it must be confessed that her thoughts were far from her job. Mechanically she counted change and shot out disc tickets while she speculated as to the developments which would take place as a result of her statement to French. Would Westinghouse, Style, and Gwen Lestrange be arrested? If so, would she be a witness at their trial? She had always heard that giving evidence was a distressing ordeal, especially if one were cross-examined, as she would be by the lawyers for the defence. However, she was sure that French would see her through.
Excitement kept her awake for a good part of that night and next morning she came down with her mind keyed up to a high pitch of expectancy. What would the day bring forth? Surely with the knowledge the police now had, some decisive step would be taken before night.
After breakfast she found herself with three hours on her hands before she must present herself
