Sinclair laughed scornfully. “Nothing would please them better, it would be playing into their hands.
“One last thing — I have to go away. I can’t even tell you where. This suspense and imminent danger cannot go on — your nerves will break down in time. It is absolutely necessary.”
Dismay and alarm showed plainly on all their faces.
“Don’t leave us,” Diana pleaded.
“My dear,” Sinclair said gently, “if I could see any other course, I would take it. It will not be for long. I shall wait till — things are settled up here, of course, and will let you know when I do go. That’s why I’m telling you all this. Don’t be afraid. If you take the precautions I have mentioned all will be right.”
They were all standing, and Ronald impulsively took the hands of the other two. It would have been a grotesque situation had the gravity of the case not been so great. No word was spoken butjïach knew the others were pledging themselves to the service of this young girl.
“No, I must go,” Sinclair said. “Dr. Simpson is looking after everything here, and I will find out about Dighton. It will be in all the papers to-day, as many other people are affected,” he stopped there and walked to the fire-place, now empty and dark.
“One moment, Ronald. Your uncle was sitting here,” he pointed to the great vacant arm-chair. “You were there — back to the door. Just sit down there.” They took their places at his bidding. “I am Ganzani and come in through the door, and stand — where?”
“Just where you are now — that’s right.”
“Then you told me, he came forward to a little table.”
Diana fetched it and placed it at Sinclair’s side. “He placed the notes on the table? Did he come any nearer to your uncle?”
“No — he stood there between us both.”
“He didn’t hand them to him? You are sure?”
“Quite certain.”
“Then your uncle never touched them at all?”
“Oh — I forgot to tell you. I found them this morning in his desk. He had somehow managed to write a note, and wrapped the notes in this envelope.” He went to his own desk and took the packet out — handing it to Sinclair.
“And Ganzini? He never touched your uncle?”
“No.”
“I see.” Sinclair had assumed that Sphinx-like manner they knew so well. “I’ll take this packet with me if you don’t mind. You don’t want a receipt,” he said with a grim smile.
The doctor had been watching him keenly — it was a pleasure to try to follow the workings of his subtle mind.
“Do you?” he began.
“Only idle curiosity,” he turned on the doctor abruptly with a frown, and went on quickly, “You cannot return the money — unless we find Ganzani. I’ll keep it in trust — it may be useful.”
“Fifty thousand pounds and fifteen shillings — that’s a queer sum.”
“Why the fifteen shillings?” Ronald asked in a puzzled manner.
“That is what I am going to discover. It means a sum in mathematics. Good-bye. Remember — never relax your guard. If you go to Simpson’s house, as I hope you do . . .” He turned to the doctor. “Could you arrange for Miss Diana to sleep with your housekeeper?”
“Certainly. She’s been with me for ten years. Yes, that can be arranged.”
“Ten years — she didn’t know Mrs. Shepherd?”
Sinclair asked.
“Certainly — she was with me then.”
“All the better — then that is settled.”
Sinclair passed out of the house, and took his way to the British Museum.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DISASTER
A week had passed and the funeral was over. Ralph and Doris Gorringe had called to express their sympathy.
The four young people greeted each other with silent handshakes — somehow it was difficult to express anything in words.
Ronald broke the silence. “It’s awfully decent of you to come.”
“Not at all, old bird — of course we came — I say, what are you going to do now?”
Doris cast a look of apprehension at her brother, and hastily intervened.
“What Ralph means is — are you staying on here?”
She sat down beside Diana and took her hand.
“You didn’t see the board outside?” Ronald said.
“The place is for sale already. Whatever it fetches will go in settling debts. Dr. Simpson has been into everything for us. He and Smart have been real pals. No one else has been round,” he laughed scornfully.
“But I say — it’s devilish awkward to put — I mean has that rotter of a lawyer gone off with the whole bally lot of your uncle’s boodle?”
“Ralph, it’s no business of yours,” Doris said indignantly.
“Sorry — I didn’t mean to say anything — ”
“That’s all right,” Ronald interrupted cheerily. “We haven’t got a penny — but you see it’s different for us, because we have been used to living quite simply — haven’t we, Di?”
“We don’t mind about the money — not a bit,” Diana said. “We’ll work.”
Ralph’s face cleared. “That’s what I meant — I can’t express it properly. You see, Doris and I were talking it over.”
A flush came to Diana’s face, then she laughed. She could not be indignant with this naïve creature.
“You see, it’s like this,” Doris said. “Ralph hasn’t done a stroke of work in his life — neither have I. We thought we’d like to. We had an idea that Ronald and Ralph could start a garage — Ralph can drive when he’s not trying to beat the record and you and I could start a shop — everyone’s doing it now. It would be great fun, don’t you think?”
“What about your mother?” Diana smiled at the enthusiasm of the two.
“Oh, hang mother — I mean we haven’t got to ask her. She needn’t know anything about it,” Ralph declaimed, brave behind her back.
“And, then, we can’t do anything without capital,” Diana objected.
“That’s settled — I have got some of my own and we can borrow some from the bank. We’ll get busy right away.” Ralph was already tasting in anticipation the joys of unaccustomed work.
And so it went on — the optimism of youth. Doris saw herself selling priceless gowns to millionaires’ wives and daughters, while Diana, looking supremely beautiful, was ushering in and engaging waiting crowds. Ralph saw himself thoroughly dirty as in the days when he used to race his car, in greasy overalls tinkering about with gadgets. Ronald would, of course, look after the books and other troublesome things.
Ralph bent down to take a plate from the floor. He suddenly straightened himself with a gasp, clutching his right side. Doris looked at him anxiously.
“Anything the matter?” Ronald asked.
Ralph was very white — he smiled feebly. He was still holding his right side. “Nothing — same old trouble.”
Doris for once grew grave. “Ralph, I wish you’d give it up — not altogether — I hate teetotallers — they’re so dull and priggish. But ease up a bit.”
“Doris is always on at me,” Ralph laughed, though he was still in pain. “Drink, you know — all sorts of things — cirrhosis of the liver and so on.”
“You remember what the doctor said.”
“Silly ass the doctor — it’s only want of exercise. I get sick at times, and have rather a rotten time — don’t worry.”
Diana’s ready sympathy went out to this strange creature whom she had started by despising until in time of trouble she had seen the steel behind the rust.
“Why not see Dr. Simpson — he’s a brick and will not fuss. He’ll be round soon.” Ronald was genuinely anxious.
The man in question came in while they were having tea.
“Hullo, having a picnic? May I join?” he said cheerfully.
“Ralph, be a good fellow and get another cup,” Diana said, making room for the doctor on the couch.
The mom
ent the door was shut, she spoke hurriedly to Dr. Simpson. “Will you have a look at Ralph, just to oblige us. There’s something wrong with him, and we are anxious.”
“Why, certainly, my dear. I couldn’t refuse you anything with those eyes of yours asking questions.”
Ralph took it better than they thought — perhaps it was the idea of coming work. “All right — if it gives you pleasure,” he said and retired with the doctor.
Simpson came back alone, his face unusually solemn.
“May I speak plainly to you — you seem to be all anxious about Ralph?”
“Certainly,” Doris said, trying to hide her feelings. “We’re all going into partnership, so we all stand together.”
“Well, then — your brother’s in a bad way. He’s young, and if he pulls himself together, well and good, but if he goes on with this continual drinking — there’s only one ending.”
“What do you suggest?” It was Ronald who spoke.
“You say you’re going to start work — that’s the best thing for him if, and it’s a very big if — he can keep off it. The very best thing would be a complete change of scene — to travel — preferably with a doctor who could look after him — to foreign countries where they only have light wines, and no gin. It’s rank poison to him.”
The three exchanged glances. Here was an end of their schemes.
“That’s a queer thing,” Ronald said at last. “Dr. Smart was urging us — Diana and myself — to go for a trip. I wonder whether we could all go together.”
“Let’s try our plan first,” Diana pleaded. She dared not say that they could not afford to go and she was too proud to take charity from anyone.
“Where’s Ralph?” she asked, as no one ventured a remark.
“He’s gone home. He seemed rather upset. I had to speak plainly, it may do some good, but I rather fancy that you young ladies could do more than I could,” he added slyly. Diana blushed.
“Well,” the doctor said briskly, “I’ve made all arrangements. You two are coming to live with me for a bit. It’s no good stopping here, and, besides, there will be people coming to look at the house, and a sale of furniture. It will only distress you.”
Ronald’s eyes met those of the doctor, and he recalled Sinclair’s advice.
“There’ll be a few pounds, enough to carry on with — the auditor told me,” Doctor Simpson said casually.
“It’s no good, Doctor,” Ronald said. “I’m not quite such a fool as that. There’s no will, and it takes ages to get things through in that case. We’ve got to prove that we’re next-of-kin or something. I know what you’re doing — lending us money. As a loan I don’t mind from you, but not otherwise.”
Ronald and Simpson were sitting in the latter’s room discussing the question of ways and means, and working out expenses. They had reached the stage when things were assuming a practical shape.
The evening was closing in, and the weather was sultry with thunder in the air. The window was wide open, in spite of the autumn. Ralph had taken Diana and Doris to a matinee.
Suddenly the telephone bell rang, and Ronald picked up the receiver. Doris was speaking. “We’ve just come out,” she said. “It’s going to rain like mad in a moment, so we’ve put Diana into a taxi. She’ll be back in a few minutes. Ralph and I are just getting off home.”
For some unaccountable reason a sense of impending disaster seized Ronald in its grip.
“You’ve not sent her alone?” he asked.
“She told us to — she wouldn’t hear of us coming all that way alone — Ralph has an attack of his old pain, and I have to get him home at once. Why, what’s the matter?”
“You know she was not to be alone,” he cried.
“I’m awfully sorry — I am sure she will be all right. She should be there in a few moments,” Doris spoke soothingly.
Ronald hooked up the receiver mechanically and faced the doctor.
“What is it — nothing wrong, I hope,” he had seen Ronald’s face.
“Diana — she’s alone in a taxi — coming here.”
“Well, I expect she will be here soon.” The doctor spoke calmly, but even he felt a foreboding of evil. For the first time Sinclair’s instructions had been broken. Perhaps the hidden danger, which had lurked hooded, ready to strike, had been waiting — waiting for such an opportunity, with deadly patience.
Ronald leant far out of the window and searched the deserted road. Rain was now pouring down in torrents, tropical rain in great sheets, making a mist rise from the tarred road, and converting the gutters into running streams. A flash of lightning was followed immediately by a terrific burst of thunder. Careless of the storm Ronald watched in feverish anxiety. A taxi dashed round the corner, making a splash as it turned. It flashed by the house, and away up the road past the endless vista of street lamps.
The doctor rose and laid his hand on Ronald’s shoulder. “Come in, my boy, you’re soaking wet.”
Ronald gave one convulsive sob. “She’s gone — I know it,” he cried in bitterness. “Fools that we were.”
They waited in the gloom till the storm had passed. Ronald’s face was grey and drawn.
He could not keep still — backwards and forwards he walked.
“Fools — we ought to have taken the Gorringes fully into our confidence. Now, it’s too late. I can’t stand it — I must do something. Doctor, I’m going out.”
The doctor shook his head sadly. “What good will that do?”
“I can’t help it, I must do something — I can’t stay here.”
He rushed from the house in a mad search, racing up the street hatless and coatless. All night he continued his fruitless search — he went to the theatre — to taxi ranks, everywhere, asking wild questions — taken for a common case of drunk. Women in the streets cast hungry eyes at him, and murmured “dearie” as he passed. Policemen eyed him suspiciously. Late revellers walking four abreast stopped him to ask whether he had lost anything. He brushed them aside. White streaks of dawn were in the eastern sky, and the campanile of Westminster Cathedral showed like a black spike against the growing light when he turned home, utterly worn out.
Simpson was waiting for him.
Ronald gazed wildly round the room in futile hope, but the doctor shook his head sadly at his wordless question.
Ronald stumbled forward, blindly groping in the air — then fell prostrate on the floor in a dead faint for the first time in his life.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SYSTEM
With the day came wiser councils: they met in conclave at the doctor’s house. Ralph and Doris had been told part of the story, as much as might be told without imputing dishonour to Diana’s mother. That was secret from all. Ralph had cursed himself heartily and with choice epithets; Doris in rather less emphatic language had joined in.
“I could kick myself,” she declared. “I shall never forgive it till we’ve found her. Everything else must be put on one side. We’re all in it with you, Ronald.”
Ralph spoke otherwise. “It’s all my own cursed fault. If I hadn’t had that attack of pain, we’d have brought Diana back and this wouldn’t have happened.”
Ronald had not spoken — he sat wild-eyed and stricken at the table. Now he joined in wearily.
“It’s not your faults, either of you. I can see it now. It was no good — they were bound to get her some day. If it hadn’t been yesterday, it would have been another day — and it might have involved one of you two as well . . . I’m off to Scotland Yard where we should have gone in the first instance. But for Sinclair . . .” he spoke bitterly.
“But who are they, and what is the meaning of it all? What do they want Diana for?” Doris asked.
“There’s some curse on the family — Diana said three had died for her — I thought she was raving at the time. Sinclair kept on throwing out hints — I don’t believe he knew anything at all. That comes of trusting to him.”
“It’s all very mysterious, but we must put our
heads together. Surely we can do something.” Doris spoke optimistically to lighten the gloom. “We’ll stay here while you go to Scotland Yard, and talk over things.”
Ronald took a taxi to the Yard, urging the driver to make haste, and was ushered in to Superintendent Elliott, whom he had met at his father’s inquest.
“Now sit down and tell me all about it,” the detective said in a kindly manner.
“My sister has gone — she’s been abducted — stolen,” he blurted out.
“What makes you think that?” Elliott asked.
Ronald began at the beginning and told the whole story while Elliott took notes. At the mention of Sinclair’s name, he looked up sharply. “I would like to tell you, Mr. Shepherd, that Sir Arthur Sinclair while he was in the Force was a brilliant detective — there’s no doubt of that, but he was always given to letting his imagination run away with him. I am bound to say it led to some brilliant cases — yes, he certainly brought off strikingly good results, but lately I have fancied his powers are getting a little worn out. To be quite frank with you, I think he is not quite — what he was, a little eccentric,” he touched his forehead significantly.
Ronald was seized with a feeling of impotent despair. This was the man whose advice had been their mainstay and guide.
He finished his story with less confidence, feeling as he went on that the detective was sceptical.
When he had done, he glanced at Elliott who had assumed a brisk business-like air.
“Let’s take your points one by one. Your father first. Sinclair in this very room was making all sorts of queer suggestions — without a shadow of evidence. The inquest was quite conclusive. Two doctors gave their report — no! it’s quite fantastic. What had Sinclair to go upon — the fact that a parson unused to London slipped on the stairs.
“There is no evidence that anyone was near him — in fact the evidence was emphatically the other way. A child frightened in the woods — the mother dying quite normally of heart disease. Really, Mr. Shepherd, I think you have been building up a fairy story. The burglar — you should have reported that at once — but it is quite a common occurrence, of course, every day in London.
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