I will not dwell upon his follies, the tale of which was enough to make the angels weep, but merely record that for the next three days he continually invited violence, taking the most curious interest in all we did, pressing his company upon us whenever we were at hand and openly trying to follow us when we went forth.
This we did every morning at break of day, as best we could to search the country towards the west, for, to that quarter, we made sure, Adèle had been carried off. Mansel, who alone could speak German, visited the villages in turn, stopping at wayside inns and engaging in conversation men and women whose business kept them in sight of the roads. George or Carson or I went always with him. The others repaired to the hog’s back, from which four men with glasses could command a very great view: if ever a car was sighted it was carefully watched, and two would leave in pursuit, so soon as the line it was taking could be fairly presumed. But questionings and scrutinies alike bore us no fruit, for Mansel learned nothing of value, and the occupants of the cars, which were few, gave us no cause to doubt their honesty. Indeed, at the end of three days, we seemed to be no nearer Adèle than when we left Cleveland Row. In that time, however, we received a savage monition that, though we had no idea where Rose Noble was, he had his hand upon us and could, so to speak, twist our tail whenever he pleased.
III
In Touch
When we came in at nightfall, at the end of our second patrol, Rouse was still abroad in his car. For this relief we were thankful, for the evening before he had sat with us during our supper and, hungry though we were, had gone far to spoil the meal. Our respite, however, was short, for we had scarcely sat down before we heard him arrive, and a moment later he thrust his head into the room.
“Guess who I’ve seen,” he said archly.
No one vouchsafed any answer; but Tester spoke for us all, by leaving his cushion and passing beneath the bed.
“Mr. Wilberforce,” said Rouse triumphantly.
The name meant nothing to me, and a glance at Mansel and Hanbury showed that their case was the same.
At length—
“Who’s Wilberforce?” said Mansel wearily.
Rouse’s grin faded, and his eyes grew round with surprise. Then he came into the room.
“He—he said he knew you,” he stammered. “He said he knew you quite well. I met him by the side of the road. He asked me the way to Salzburg, and then we got talking and, when I said you were at Villach, he asked how you were.”
“What was he like?” said Hanbury.
Rouse described some man I had never seen.
“When was this?” said Mansel.
Rouse said about six o’clock.
“I think you must know him,” he added. “He said that he lived near Bournemouth and he asked all about you and how you were getting on. I said you were out a great deal and—There now, I’ve left them in the car.”
As he turned to the door—
“Left what in the car?” said I.
“The flowers, of course, stupid,” said Rouse. I could have choked, but Mansel and Hanbury began to shake with laughter. “I tell you he gave me some flowers. Carson will you be so good? The box in the car.”
With a resigned look, Carson left the room.
“The man’s mad,” murmured Hanbury.
“No, he isn’t,” said Rouse excitedly. “He said you were a great gardener.”
“He said I was?” said Mansel.
“Oh, yes,” said Rouse. “I’ve no doubt about it at all. We were talking of horticulture and he said—”
“You must have got the name wrong,” said Mansel. “I know nothing of gardening.”
“You must mean fishing,” said Hanbury.
“No, it must have been gardening,” said Rouse. “Why else should he give me the flowers?”
Here Carson appeared in the doorway, with a shallow, white cardboard box, fastened with string.
“There you are,” said Rouse, handing the box to Mansel, as though there were no more to be said. “He asked me to give them to you.”
“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” said Mansel, taking a knife. “I’m certainly fond of flowers, but—”
“He cut those himself,” said Rouse, “and he said he could think of no one who would value them more than you. James Wilberforce, his name was, and, when I asked—”
“My God!” said Mansel, and Hanbury and I cried out.
The box was full of beautiful, soft, brown hair.
In an instant the room was in an uproar.
As I leapt to my feet, my head struck the electric light and put it out; but I saw George throw himself forward, as Rouse recoiled against the wall. There was a lamp by the bed, and I sought like a madman for the switch, while Tester was barking and George and Rouse were shouting and Mansel was calling George to order in a steady, metallic voice.
As the light went up—
“It’s beyond a joke,” said Rouse, painfully getting to his feet. “You might have hurt me very much. Supposing—”
“How did you come by that box?” said Mansel.
“I tell you,” said Rouse, “he told me to give it to you. I understood they were flowers and that you—”
“You say he was going to Salzburg?”
“I think so,” said Rouse, wincing. “He—”
“Please describe him again.”
Rouse gave the particulars, staring.
“And now describe his car.”
When he had done so, Mansel stepped to the door.
“I’m sorry for what’s happened,” he said. “The fault was not yours. And now please go. We’ve plans to make and rather a lot to discuss.”
Without a word, Rouse turned and limped from the room.
For a little, none of us spoke.
Then—
“Do you believe him?” said Hanbury.
“Why not?” said Mansel.
