Brian passed the wire over to Ernest as they walked along Knightsbridge.
“‘I am coming, Gladys’,” read the doctor. “Why is this?” he asked.
“That is what I want to know,” said Brian. “The dear girl only went home this afternoon.”
“Rum!” said Ernest; then he stopped dead. “That reads like an answer to a wire; have you wired to her?”
A tense, drawn look came to Brian’s face. He said no word.
Hailing a taxi he drove straight back to the house. He had been on his way to the club, having, as it happened, postponed his visit to Wickham.
He found another telegram which had recently arrived.
In five minutes his car was at the door, and the two men were speeding toward Sevenoaks.
“If Pinlow is in this—” said Brian, between his teeth. Then he recognized the absurdity of the unuttered threat. The man was already a fugitive from justice—a murderer. It was hopeless.
He flung himself from the car before it had stopped at the door of the house.
One glance at Mr Callander’s face told him all he feared to know.
“She has not returned,” said the old man; “here is the telegram.”
He handed the wire which had called the girl away. It had been despatched from a West End office.
A rough description of the car was given by a man in the village, who was also able to supply the information as to the direction the car took.
This was a slender clue to work on, but Brian lost no time. He notified Scotland Yard by telephone, and with a road map he started forth in pursuit.
It was an impossible task he set himself. He kept on the track of the car until it left the main road. After that it seemed to have passed unnoticed.
He spent the whole of the night fruitlessly, and returned to Mr Callander at daybreak, tired and dispirited.
No news awaited him, except that Scotland Yard had sent two of their best men, and every police-station in England had been notified.
He snatched a few hours’ sleep, and awoke refreshed. Over a hasty breakfast he discussed the situation with Mr Callander and Ernest.
“I think no harm will come to her,” he said. “Pinlow is holding her to ransom. He wants money, and he shall have it.”
He took out his cheque-book and wrote an order on his banker. “I must have this money in hard cash,” he said. “Ernest, will you go to town for me?”
“With pleasure.”
“Go to town and cash this.”
He handed the cheque, which was for £20,000. Seeing the doctor’s look of amazement, Brian went on:
“I am prepared to pay anything—I tell you that I will give every cent I own in the world if needs be.”
“But how will it be conveyed to him?”
“He’ll find a way,” said Brian grimly. “I expect the next move from him.”
His expectations were justified. At noon that day there arrived from London a little district messenger with a letter. It had been sent from the Northumberland Avenue depot.
“As I thought,” said Brian.
He handed the letter to Mr Callander.
“What will you do?” asked the old man.
“Go to the post-office and wait—the police must not know of this; we can afford to take no risks.”
He was waiting at one o’clock, and prompt to the minute the call came through.
“Is that you, Pallard?”
He recognized the hateful voice.
“Yes.”
“Do you agree to my terms?”
“Absolutely.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
“Remember, only your chauffeur and yourself.”
“I have given you my word; at what hour?”
“At five this afternoon.”
“I will be there.”
He heard the click of the telephone as it was hung up.
At three o’clock that afternoon he left in his car, carrying with him part of the money Ernest had brought from town. He reached Petworth at half-past four, and stopped for a cup of tea in that ancient town. The clock of the Town Hall was striking five when he reached the Chichester road. There was a car waiting a little way ahead. As soon as the driver saw Brian’s big Panhard, he moved off.
The two ran at a respectable interval till they came to the steep winding road that runs across the Downs. Up this they climbed. They were now on the long white road that runs across the Downs. There was nobody in sight. The road stretched to the horizon, only in one place being lost to view where it made a sharp bend northward. At the bend was a little copse.
“My man will be there,” said Brian to himself. The foremost car increased its speed and Brian’s followed suit. Within fifty yards of the copse, the car stopped.
Brian looked out. He saw another car drawn up by the side of the road. He thought he detected the figure of a man in the shade of the little wood. His car stopped and he got out.