“Get up quickly,” came Gwen’s voice. “We’re moving on. You must be ready in ten minutes. Here is a lamp.”
The door opened, a small electric lamp was pushed in and the door was relocked.
Molly looked at her watch. It was still early—only . What was now afoot? Had her time come?
She had not fully undressed, and almost sick with terror, she put on the remainder of her things. But she had not much time to think. Before she was ready Gwen returned, accompanied by Style. In silence they seized her and before she realized what was happening, her wrists and ankles were rebound, the gag thrust into her mouth and a handkerchief tied over her eyes. She felt herself being lifted and carried down the six flights of stairs and along passages to what was evidently a door, for the night air blew on her face. Then she was placed on a seat, she imagined in the same car as before, the engine was started up and they moved off. After a few yards they stopped and she heard above the noise of the running engine the clang of a gate, someone got in and sat down beside her, and they moved off.
XVIII
When Greek Meets Greek
It was shortly after on that same night that news came to Inspector French. Fed up with the whole business and tired out, he was actually on his way upstairs when his telephone rang.
“News of Miss Moran, sir,” came the voice of the sergeant on duty at the Yard. “Hold the line and I’ll put you through.” There was a pause and then another voice sounded.
“Is that Victoria 7000? If so, I have a message for you.”
“That’s right. Repeat your message, please.”
“I’m speaking from near Guildford. Between and my little nipper was coming home through a field and he found some paper darts with this message written on each: ‘Finder for God’s sake phone Victoria 7000 that Molly Moran is in this big house. Her life at stake.’ We took it for a joke, but I am ringing up on chance.”
French wiped a film of sweat off his forehead.
“It’s no joke I can assure you. This is Scotland Yard and we know something of the affair. Tell me, please, who you are and where you’re speaking from.”
An expression of amazed concern came through, then the voice went on: “I am Mr. Edward Boland, speaking from my house, Dehra Dun, Elmford. I—I hope it’s all right?”
“I hope so,” French returned grimly. “Tell me, where is the big house mentioned?”
“It’s at the other end of the village; Mr. Trevellian’s, the novelist’s.”
“Now, Mr. Boland, could you lend me a hand at your end? It may save the girl’s life. How far are you from the police station?”
“It’s in the village, five minutes’ walk from here.”
“Good. Will you take the darts there and hand them to whoever is on duty and tell him your story. Tell him that you have rung me up, Inspector French, C.I.D., and say that I shall be going down immediately. Can you manage that?”
“Of course, Inspector. I’ll do it now.”
Ten seconds after Boland had rung off French was talking to the Yard.
“Get six men together at once, Deane, and two cars with petrol for a long run. I want to go to near Guildford. I’ll be with you by the time you’re ready. And look sharp, for goodness’ sake! It’s more than urgent.”
By a lucky chance French picked up a taxi almost at his own door, and soon he was giving his instructions to Deane in person.
“Got those cars? Right. I want you to ring up the police station at Elmford, near Guildford. Tell them to take the message seriously that Mr. Boland is bringing them: they’ll understand. Tell them that I’ll be with them in an hour and that in the meantime they are to surround Mr. Trevellian’s house and allow no one to leave; let them detain on suspicion anyone who tries to. Explain that we think these people have a girl in their power and say that if the sergeant has any reason to suspect foul play he’s not to wait for authority, but to break in. I’ll stand the racket.”
A minute later two fast cars left the Yard. In the first were French, Carter, and two other men. The second contained Sergeant Harvey and another two assistants. Contrary to custom all were armed. French had with him the warrants he had previously obtained for the arrest of the members of the gang and he was determined if necessary to strain a point and use these to cover the search of the house.
“Don’t kill anybody,” he told the driver, “but don’t be longer in one place than you need,” and they roared on, their speed increasing continually as they left London farther behind.
The night was calm but dark. The light which should have come from the quarter moon was obscured by clouds. It was now fine, but there had been a shower earlier and the roads were heavy. Five and twenty minutes after leaving the Yard they ran through Kingston and in another twenty Ripley was left behind. From Ripley to Guildford they had a clear road and they fairly hummed along, but they had an exasperating slack through the town. Then for the remaining three miles they were able to put on another spurt, reaching the police station at Elmford just an hour and three minutes after starting. A constable hurried out and saluted.
“Inspector French, sir?” he said. “The sergeant’s at Mr. Trevellian’s. First turn to the left and first house on the left-hand side.” He pointed down the street.
A couple of minutes brought them to the place. As they drew up at the entrance
