"I never let him out of my sight for a moment, and I sleep at night with my bed drawn across the door. The whole thing is like what you'd read of in a book; but it's too awful for words. He can talk about nothing, and we are living on tinned meat and biscuits, and now my tobacco is giving out. I'd ask you to send me some, only I daren't, for if the postman came here, Giveen would be sure to make a bid for freedom.
"Be sure I will stick to him, like grim death, and give my kind regards to all at The Martens."
French read this important despatch to Miss Grimshaw as they sat at breakfast, and the girl listened with sparkling eyes.
"I always hated motor-cars," said she, when he had finished. "But I'll never hear a word against them again. Wasn't it clever of him? And the cleverest thing in the whole business is the King of Siam part, for if there's any bother afterwards, he can put the whole affair down to a practical joke. There are only five days now to the 13th. You are moving the horse to Major Lawson's stables at Epsom on the 13th, aren't you?"
"I am," said French. "I had a letter from him only yesterday, asking after the colt. By George, but I believe we'll pull the thing through, after all!"
He rose from the table in high excitement, went to the window, and stood, jingling the keys in his pocket and gazing at the view. It seemed to him that at last fortune was beginning to make a way for him. A few days only separated him from his goal. If Bobby Dashwood could only keep Giveen "bottled" till the 13th, or even the 12th, all would be well. Could he do this? Time alone could answer that question.
It will be remembered that the night of the 5th of April was the date of the kidnapping of Mr. Giveen. Early in the morning of the 6th Mr. Dashwood awoke from his slumbers with a start, looked around him, and remembered.
The cottage contained only two bedrooms and a living-room. He had taken a bed the night before from one of the bedrooms and dragged it in front of the living-room door, which was also the hall door. Here he had slept, literally making a barrier of his body to the escape of Giveen.
His first thought was of his prisoner, but he was reassured as to his safety by loud snores coming from the bedroom where he had deposited him the night before. The morning reflections of Mr. Dashwood, as he lay watching the mournful dawn breaking through the diamond-paned window, were not of the most cheerful description.