“We must warn Miss Ardfern at once. I have been on the telephone with
her this evening. I was enquiring about you, and the chances are that
I so thoroughly alarmed her, that she is awake. I only hope to God she
is,” said Carver.
But whilst it was easy earlier in the evening to get into touch with
Hertford 906, it was now impossible. The Hertford operator, after the
second attempt, signalled through that there was an interruption.
Carver came back to Mr. Stott’s dining-room with a grave face. They
could speak without interruption because Mrs. Stott and the errant
Eline had disappeared. Mr. Stott, his hands clasped across his stomach,
was fast asleep in a chair, a touch of a smile on his lips. Probably he
was dreaming of his heroic and hard bit’n ancestors.
“Tab,” said Carver, “you know Stone Cottage? Have you any recollection
of the telephone arrangements? Is it a dead-end connection or is it
connected from the road?”
“I think it is from the road,” said Tab, “the wire runs by the house
and the connection crosses the garden. I remember because Ursula said
how unsightly it was.”
Carver nodded.
“Then he’s there,” he said, “and the wire has been cut. I’ll get the
nearest police station and see what we can do,” he said. “In the
meantime we will find somebody with a car; make a few quick enquiries,
Tab.”
Tab’s enquiries were particularly fortunate. In the very next house was
a young man whose joy in life it was to exceed all speed limits on a
sporting Spanz, and he accepted the commission which would enable him
to break the laws with the approval of the police, with alacrity and
enthusiasm.
When Tab returned the Inspector was waiting at the garden gate.
“Is that the car?” he said. “Our friend knows the way?”
“I could find it blindfold,” said the amateur chauffeur.
It was a wild ride. Even Tab, who treated all speed regulations with
scorn, admitted that the driver erred on the side of recklessness.
They spun through rain that stung and smarted like needles, that fell
so fast that the two powerful lamps created fantastic nebulæ and haloes
in the darkness ahead. They skidded round greasy corners, thundered
along narrow roads. Once Tab could have sworn he glimpsed a black car
drawn up under a hedge. They passed before he could be sure.
The garden gate was open when Tab leapt out from his precarious seat.
As he came through the gate, a dangling wire struck him across the face.
There was no need to look for evidence of a visitor--the door was open
wide.
His heart was beating thunderously as he stood in the quiet hall, where
the only sound that came to him was the sober ticking of a clock. He
struck a match and lit one of the candles that he knew Ursula kept
ready on a side table. By its faint light he saw that a chair in the
hall had been overturned and lay on the carpet, which had been dragged
up as though in a struggle. He held on to the wall for support.
“I’ll go alone,” he whispered hoarsely, and went up the stairs slowly.
Every movement required an effort.
On the landing above a dim night light burnt. It was a broad landing,
carpetted with a square blue carpet and there were two easy chairs and
a small table-nest. Ursula had told him she sometimes read there, for
there was a skylight overhead which could be opened on hot days. Here,
again, the carpet was in disorder and on the blue settee--
He bit his lip to stop the cry that came.
Blood! A great patch near one end. He touched it frightfully, and
looked at the tips of his fingers. Blood!
His knees gave way under him, and he sat down for a second, then with a
tremendous effort, rose again and went to the door of Ursula’s room and
turned the knob.
Shading the candle with his hands, he walked into the room. A figure
was lying on the bed: the brown hair lay fan-like across the pillow,
the face was turned away from him, and then--His heart stood still.
“Who is that?” said a sleepy voice.
Ursula turned on her elbow, shading her eyes from the light of the
candle.
“Ursula!” he breathed.
“Why--it is Tab!”
He caught a glitter of steel as she thrust something back under the
pillow, that she had half withdrawn.
“Tab!” She sat up in bed. “Why, Tab, what is wrong?”
The candlestick was shaking in his hand, and he put it down on the
table.
“What is wrong, dear?” she asked.
He could not answer; falling to his knees by the bedside, he trembled
his relief into the crook of his arm.