“By Jove!” said Jimmy weakly to himself as the door closed. “What bee has she got in her bonnet now? At any rate she might have waited and explained.” But he did what he had been asked, and two days later the new circular was in the hands of the taxi-men.
And it bore early fruit. Only a few hours after its distribution there was an answer. A small, sallow, rat-faced man in a peaked cap and leather coat called to see Daunt.
“You think you picked up the man described in the letter?” asked Jimmy, as he produced his six photographs. “Was he one of these?”
Like his confrère of a day or two earlier, the man glanced over the cards and unhesitatingly drew out Cosgrove’s portrait.
“That’s ’im, mister,” he also said decisively.
“Where exactly did you pick him up?”
“In Knightsbridge, not far from Piccadilly.”
“At what time?”
“About .”
“And where did you set him down?”
“Over thirty miles away—at a crossroads away beyond Luton.”
James Daunt sprang excitedly to his feet.
“What?” he roared. “Where did you say?” Here, surely, was the impossible! All were agreed that Cosgrove could not have made the run in the time, and yet, it now seemed, he had done so. And then the thought of the tremendous consequences of this discovery overwhelmed every other consideration. If Cosgrove had really been to Luce Manor, particularly after his own denial, he must unquestionably be guilty. And if he were guilty, Austin was innocent. Jimmy believed he now held the evidence which would save his client.
He thought rapidly for a few seconds.
“At what hour did you reach this crossroads?” he asked.
“About , sir. I remember noticing when I was making up the money.”
And the bogus servant met Austin at the Old Ferry about then! Truly this was a great find!
“Are you engaged within the next hour or two?” Jimmy went on.
“No, sir.”
“Very good. Will you drive me to this crossroads? I’ll make it worth your while.”
They stopped at a post office and Jimmy sent a telegram to Lois asking her to be at the end of the Old Ferry lane at . Then the run began.
As the vehicle slipped quickly through the traffic, Daunt chuckled with delight. Though he did not in the least understand how Cosgrove had managed it, it was at least evident that he had visited Luce Manor before taking the to Montrose. And that, Daunt felt more than ever certain, meant his guilt and the breakdown of the case against Austin. Though, to do him justice, Jimmy’s chief joy was the thought of the happiness this would bring to Lois, yet he was human enough to realise the kudos which must come to him personally from the skilful way he had unravelled the mystery. And yet, had he unravelled it? As he looked back he had to admit that every particle of credit must go to the girl. She it was who had suggested the steps which had led to success—she who had evidently guessed the solution which even now still eluded him.
In about an hour and a half they reached their destination, and Jimmy, who knew the district from his visits to the Drews, saw with satisfaction that the point was where the Halford-London road crossed that which passed over the river bridge above the Cranshaw Falls. From there to the Old Ferry was about ten minutes’ smart walk, and, if the taxi-man’s statement was correct, Cosgrove could therefore have reached Austin’s boat about . It would take him ten minutes or more to row to the Luce Manor boathouse, so that he would arrive there, say, between and . This was quite sufficiently in accordance with the statement of Lucy Penrose and young Potts that they had seen the boat arriving about . Jimmy recognised delightedly that the whole thing was working in.
It was still about , and Jimmy had the taxi run slowly on to the Old Ferry lane. Lois was already there, and he lost no time in putting her in possession of the facts.
“You guessed that this happened?” he queried.
“Yes. I suddenly thought of it in bed, the night before I came up to see you.”
“But I can’t make head nor tail of it,” Jimmy confessed. “Now it seems that Cosgrove must have been at the boathouse between and , and yet he caught the from King’s Cross, where he couldn’t have arrived till at least . The thing’s an absolute puzzle to me. Can you see light?”
“Of course. He never caught the at all.”
“But, my dear girl, he did—he must have. You forget the porter at Grantham and the dealer at Montrose.”
“Not at all. He travelled no doubt by the from Grantham to Montrose. But that’s a very different thing. I’ll tell you, Jimmy, what’s puzzling you. You haven’t studied your Great Northern time table as I have. The is not the only train in the day from London.”
Daunt waited.
“Well?” he said impatiently.
“Before that , as you might have known from Mr. Tanner’s story of his own movements, there runs a pickup train. It leaves King’s Cross at and reaches Grantham at , ten minutes before the . And that train, Jimmy, stops at three or four stations. It stops”—she leant forward and whispered in his ear with an air of triumph—“it stops at Hitchin at !”
“And Hitchin is only six miles from here! Good Heavens, how stupid not to have seen that! Of course that’s what he did! After the murder he motored to Hitchin and caught the relief train. Well, Lois, you deserve all you’re going to get for thinking of it!”
“But we’re not quite out of the wood yet,” the girl reminded him. “We have to find out how he went from here
