BAFFLED.
Balmayne danced down the lane with impotent fury. Despite her peril
and the fear that was in her heart, Hetty smiled. Here was a daring
and audacious rascal engaged in some desperate and, no doubt, cunning
scheme who was utterly baffled by a mere girl and a hairpin.
Hetty checked the smile, for that might have grown hysterical. She had
to brace herself to the effort, an easier task seeing that Gordon
Bruce was uppermost in her mind. For him she would have dared and done
anything. The woman who was at the bottom of this thing was his deadly
enemy. To gain her secrets must help in Gordon's final victory.
Balmayne knelt down there with one of the lamps in his hand. His face
was not good to look upon. Leona Lalage watched him eagerly.
"Is it a very bad puncture?" she asked.
"It isn't a puncture at all," Balmayne snarled, "at least not an
accidental one. Some mischievous fiend must have passed down the lane
just now and done this for pure wickedness. There are two long slashes
in the tyres."
"And the mending will be a matter of time?"
"Rather. An expert couldn't do it under an hour. Both those tyres will
have to come off. Now what are we to do?"
The Countess clasped her hands together in hopeless rage.
"If I only had that ruffian here!" she said. Her voice was low, she
strode backwards and forwards like an angry wolf. "Oh, if I only had
him here! I should like you to hold him down so that I----"
"Drop it," Balmayne said rudely. "What's the good of that theatrical
nonsense? If something is not done at once our plans are utterly
ruined. Don't stand there like a tragedy actress, but suggest
something."
"But what can I suggest? This thing has taken me utterly by surprise.
The only thing is to carry that thing back into the street and lay him
down where you found him. A policeman saw him leave the house. It will
be thought that he had a fit in the street, and we shall not be
suspected."
"And meanwhile the policeman on the beat has been at least twice past
the spot where the body ought to be," Balmayne sneered. "People in
fits don't get out of the way and then come back again."
"True," the Countess exclaimed. "I had not thought of that. Wheel your
motor into the courtyard of the Corner House before a policeman comes
this way, and carry him back into the house."
There was nothing else to do, and Balmayne complied, muttering. The
autocar was disposed of, and Balmayne, breathless and dripping under
the weight of his burden, staggered back into Lytton Avenue Gardens
again. Once the little green gate was closed he could breathe more
freely. But the perils and dangers of the night were not over yet.
The unconscious form of Maitrank was cast carelessly on the grass.
Balmayne wiped his heated forehead. The moon came out from behind a
ragged bank of cloud and fell on the face of the sleeping capitalist.
It was so white and still that he might have been dead already.
The white, still face looked up, the murderous dark one looked down.
Balmayne kicked the body in a sudden spurt of passion.
"You miserly old dog," he growled. "A nice dance you are leading us. I
wish I knew what on earth to do with you."
The Countess gripped his arm convulsively.
"Kill him," she said in a hoarse whisper that thrilled Hetty. "That is
a sure and easy way out of the peril. We can prove that he left the
house, nobody can prove that he ever returned. I have my jewels back;
there is nothing that we can be traced by. And the secret dies with
him."
Balmayne gave a shudder. Even he recoiled.
"I have never had that on my conscience," he whispered. "And if we
do----"
"Kill him," urged the Countess. "Kneel down and pin that wrap over his
face. He is an old man, and the drug has affected his heart. He will
go off quietly in his sleep. Then you can throw him down the well in
the courtyard of the Corner House."
"Can I help you?" cried Hetty, with a voice so steady that it
astonished herself. "I had a dreadful headache, so I thought I would
steal down into the garden. Have you killed a burglar or something of
that kind?"
Leona Lalage was the first to recover herself.
"Something of that kind," she said. "My friend Mr. Balmayne was
bringing my motor back when he found this poor fellow unconscious in
the lane. Mr. Balmayne called out to me for assistance and I
fortunately heard."
Hetty nodded. Truly the woman was magnificent.
"Had you not best get him into the house?" Hetty suggested. "It is not
cold, but any one who is ill, to lie on the damp grass----"
The Countess touched Balmayne. She had turned her face away, fearful
lest the expression of it should be seen.
"Convey him into the house," the Countess ordered.
There was nothing for it now but to obey. Hetty followed slowly and
crept up to her own bedroom. Once there, she dropped into a chair, and
just for the moment the whole world seemed to be whirling before her
sightless eyes.