“I know,” he said. “I didn’t get it at first. You know, I made quite certain that they were out for money. It never occurred to me that Adèle had been taken for herself.”
Mansel started to his feet.
“I don’t believe it,” he cried.
“I know,” said the other calmly. “Neither did I. But you’ll come round in the end and face the facts—when the days go by and you don’t find her, but no demand is made; when the weeks go by and I’m crawling round with a stick and people are forgetting what she looked like—”
“Oh, Boy, Boy,” wailed Daphne.
“—but no demand is made; when—”
“Never,” cried Mansel. “Never.”
“Then, why don’t they ask?” said the other, with the sweat running down his face.
“They will,” said Mansel.
The other shook his head.
“What about the police?” he said suddenly. “Why don’t you want them called in?”
“Because I want my hands free. If battle and murder will help, I’m out to do both: but I can’t do either, if I’ve got to apply for a warrant before I can force a door. We’re six men armed: we know how to work together; and we’re not afraid of lying out in the rain. Call in the police and you put us out of court.”
“That’s right,” said his cousin, nodding. “The police wouldn’t do any good.” He lay back and closed his eyes. “But, as they’re not out for money, neither will you.”
“I know they’re out for money,” said Mansel.
“Face the facts,” said his cousin. “Seventy hours since they took her, and no demand. Face the facts, Jonah: and, when you’ve had a good look at them, come back and try to tell me not to turn my face to the wall.”
There was a dreadful silence, broken only by Daphne’s sobs.
At last her brother called her and asked for some drug.
While she was pleading with him, we others stole out of the room.
I was confounded by this perversity of Fortune and I dared not look at Mansel, for here, at the outset of our venture, he was faced with a choice of two evils, neither of which, it seemed, he could possibly accept.
To conceal the truth from his cousin was to withhold water from a dying man: yet how could he ever allow that he, and not her husband, had been offered the lady back? Explain it as he would, the fact must arouse misgivings in the steadiest mind: to a man in his cousin’s condition, it would be plain poison.
Major Pleydell was speaking.
“If they don’t make a demand, he’ll lose his mind. He hasn’t slept since she went. His hair was grey on Tuesday, and yesterday it was white. If they’d only hold her to ransom, he wouldn’t care. If they asked a million, he wouldn’t care a damn. We might not be able to pay it, but he’d know she was safe and sound. But when the hours go by and there’s no demand—”
“Where have you looked?” said Mansel.
The other stared at him.
“Looked?” he said.
“D’you mean to say,” cried Mansel, “that you’ve been waiting for it to come by post? Why, man alive, that’s the last agency they’ll use! Haven’t you even looked in the box in the gate?”
The front door was open and we pelted out of the hall.
Mansel cried to Hanbury and me to bring some tools and a torch and, in spite of his limp—for he was lame of a wound he had had in the War—ran well ahead of his cousin down the drive.
It was seldom that he took some action which I could not understand: but now I was bewildered, for I knew as well as did he that the box in the gate would be as bare as my hand. Still there was no time to think, and, Hanbury being gone with the tools, I plucked a torch out of a pocket and ran in his wake.
The box was a doll’s-house business, cut out of the gatepost itself, with a slit for letters before and a little iron door behind. No doubt it was meant to be used in days gone by, for a man on horseback could reach the slit from the road, but the door had not been undone for many a year, although there was nothing to show this upon the other side.
I held the torch, while Mansel played with the chisel and presently forced the lock.
As he wrenched the little door open, Major Pleydell thrust in his hand.
When he drew out a folded paper, I could hardly believe my eyes.
The stolen goods will be returned on the receipt by the Manager of the ⸻ Bank, Zurich, of your cheque for five hundred thousand pounds. This sum you can raise, if you please. No time should be wasted, for the goods are perishable.
Before my wits were in order, Major Pleydell was well up the drive, shouting for Daphne and crying aloud his news.
“It’s come!” he bellowed. “It’s come! It’s been here since Monday. The demand. …”
As we walked after him—
“Learn of me,” said Mansel. “Never burn anything.”
When we came to the house, he called a footman to serve us with food and drink and himself went up to the chamber where Captain Pleydell lay.
Ten minutes later he returned, to say that the latter was asleep.
A brief council was held the next morning at a quarter to twelve, and the moment I entered the bedroom I saw with half an eye that the patient was a new man. He spoke with eagerness, and the grey look was out of his face. His sister sat beside him, with shining eyes.
There was no argument, and everything went our way.
All were agreed that the sum demanded was fantastic and that the letter be ignored: and, when Mansel said that we should leave after lunch and should not return, Daphne began to protest, but the sick man inclined his head.
“I thought that was coming,” he said. “You were ever a dark horse, Jonah,
