Night came upon us soon after eight o’clock, but a fine moon was westering, and two and a half hours later we entered Austria.
At Salzburg we drove straight to the station, where Rowley lay, stretched on our luggage, fast asleep. It took but a moment to rouse him and lift the trunks into the cars, and I do not think this digression cost us five minutes of time.
So soon as we were clear of the city, a halt was made, and Mansel called the servants to listen to what he would say.
“You all know what has happened,” he said. “Mrs. Pleydell has disappeared. Everything points to abduction—by no ordinary gang. As one of the family, I should in any event have done what I could: but, with Captain Pleydell out of action, it’s up to me to take charge. Very well. Here’s my first order. Discuss this business with no one. We’re certainly going to friends, but we’re going to enemies too, and the latter are already in touch. I’ve had two letters already warning me not to proceed.
“We’re going to drop Rowley at Villach, where he will go to bed. Tomorrow he will take four bedrooms and unpack all our things. And he may as well order supper, for we shall surely sleep there tomorrow night.
“The rest of us go to Poganec, and, whilst we are there, Carson and Bell will stay with and sleep in the cars.”
Then he told Carson to drive and called for Tester, and a moment later we were moving again.
All of us knew the way now, so there was no thought of leading or being led, and though I remember little—for Hanbury was driving and I slept most of the way—I know that we stopped at Villach, to find the inn shut, that the landlord looked out of the window, with an old-fashioned cap on his head and that, when he saw who it was, he began to cry to his household that at last his luck had turned, for the best guests he ever had had were come again.
We were gone, however, before he had opened the door, leaving Rowley in the midst of the luggage, with his hand to his hat.
We were now in most handsome country, very mountainous and closely wooded, with streams and pastures lying in every dale: the air was most soft and rich, and plainly suited the engines, for the cars sailed over the hills like giants refreshed.
We swept through St. Martin, to hear the church clock strike one, and ten minutes later sighted a long low house, lying in the lap of a meadow, with rising woods behind.
This was Poganec: and I well remember remarking how fantastic a picture it made, for the moonlight was all about it and all its windows were open and lights burning in every room.
It was, I suppose, ten minutes before Mansel came to a window upon the first floor.
“Will you two come up?” he said.
The front door was open, and Hanbury and I passed in.
Major Pleydell met us at the top of the stairs and brought us into a room at the back of the house.
Daphne Pleydell rose to greet us, and her brother propped with pillows, called to us from the bed. Beside him sat Mansel.
As I went to take his hand—
“Jonah can drive, can’t he?” he said with a smile.
Before I could answer—for I had some sort of condolence upon my tongue—he began to speak of the cars, reciting their qualities with judgment and remembering runs he had taken against the clock and, so, making smooth an encounter which I had been dreading more than I care to admit.
“I’ve often followed Jonah,” he concluded, “but I’ve never had to chase him when he had his whip out and, to be perfectly honest, I hope I never shall.” He laughed lightly. “And now sit down, you two—anywhere except on my leg—and Berry will bring you some beer. I think you’ve earned it.”
I tried to reply, but the words stuck in my throat.
I could not cope with such bravery. The man was jesting: his eyes were steady and his speech was firm, but the thick, dark hair I remembered was white as snow.
As Major Pleydell came forward, with a glass in his hand—
“And now to business,” he said.
“Today is Thursday. At seven on Monday morning Adèle went out for a ride. She rode in the direction of Sava, a village ten miles away. Her mare came in on her own at a quarter past eight. Everyone turned out at once, but found nothing. The mare was clean and unhurt. Inquiries were made at all farms in the direction of Sava. They proved fruitless. Nobody saw Adèle on Monday morning. The day was hot, and she was wearing breeches and boots, a white silk shirt and gloves. She had no hat on.
“Early on Tuesday morning Fitch found one of her gloves. It was lying by the side of the road almost exactly eleven miles from here, but not in the direction of Sava.
“Well, there you are. I’m afraid I’ve no more to say.”
There was a little silence, and presently Mansel spoke.
“You’ve had no demand for money?”
His cousin looked away.
“None,” he said quietly. “I’ve got the money ready: it’s all I’ve been able to do.” He stretched out a trembling hand. “There’s five thousand pounds worth of notes in that chest of drawers. They’ve only to come and ask. But they—they don’t do that.”
There was something so dark about the way he said this as took us all three by surprise: and this, I suppose, he was expecting, for he let
