LOST.
A peculiar grim smile came over the face of the man who called himself
Amati. He hesitated no longer, but with a single bound had reached
Vera's side, his arm was around her neck and his right hand pressed to
her lips before she could utter a sound.
"Be silent," he hissed, "and all will be well with you. Believe me, I
wish to do you no harm. You are quite safe with me."
There was nothing for it but to stand there obedient to the speaker's
will. Then, from his lips, came the sound like that of a bird startled
from its nest in the night. The green door opened, and another man
appeared. Almost before Vera knew what was happening she was half led,
half carried through the door and deposited in a cab. It seemed to her
that her senses were fading away, that there was something peculiarly
sweet and faint smelling on the handkerchief which her assailant had
pressed to her lips. The cab drove away swiftly, and the lane was left
in silence once more.
Meanwhile the evening was passing on, and Ravenspur was anxiously
waiting for the moment when it would be time to get away. Walter came
into the garden presently, wondering what had become of Vera.
"I have been looking for her, too," Ravenspur said. "That is the worst
of a great crush in a great house like this. It is so difficult to
find anybody. We must be off in a quarter of an hour from now. What is
all this I hear about one of the dogs?"
"Oh, that is true enough," Walter laughed. "It was old Bruno. I
suppose he managed to get away from Park Lane. At any rate, he
followed us here and I found him holding up some people in one of the
drawing-rooms. I thought he might just as well come to the station
with us, so I tied him up in the shrubbery. When I went to see if he
was all right just now I found the rascal had got away again. He came
back when I whistled, but I couldn't get him to come to my side. I
suppose he was afraid of getting a thrashing. However, he is lying
down quite good in the shrubbery now, so there is no cause for worry.
I daresay that it would be rather alarming for some of these women to
be suddenly confronted with the dog when they were carrying on a
tender flirtation in one of the arbours."
But Lord Ravenspur was not listening. He looked anxious and worried
and full of trouble.
"Oh, Bruno will follow the cab right enough," he said impatiently,
"and I daresay the other dog is at the station by this time. I wish
you would go and find Vera for me. It sounds foolish, I know, but I
have an absurd idea that something may happen just at the last moment.
It is always the way when one is overstrung."
Walter went off on his errand cheerfully enough. The moments passed,
but he did not return, and the feeling of anxiety on Ravenspur's part
deepened. Finally, Walter returned, with a face as anxious as Lord
Ravenspur's own. He caught the latter's arm almost fiercely.
"I begin to think you are right," he whispered. "I cannot find Vera
anywhere. One of her girl friends tells me that she last saw her quite
alone going off in the direction of the pathway behind the shrubbery.
That was half an hour ago. What she could be doing there I haven't the
remotest idea."
A smothered groan escaped Ravenspur's lips.
"I had half expected this," he muttered. "Something of the kind was
bound to happen. She has been lured away, or she has been kidnapped.
When you come to think of it, it is quite an easy matter in grounds as
large as these. It seems quite hopeless to try and fight against these
scoundrels. Depend upon it, they have found out our plans in some
mysterious way, and have taken this step to thwart them at the last
moment. But how did they manage, how could they have communicated with
Vera? And what extraordinary allurement did they hold out to her to
induce her to go off with strangers in this way? Oh, the thing is
maddening!"
"I don't know," Walter exclaimed. "I only know that we are wasting
time, and very precious time at that. Now, let me see, what would be
the most likely thing to appeal to the sentiments of a young girl like
Vera? I should say something to do with her mother. That, you may
depend upon it--a letter from her mother. We can very soon see whether
my suspicions are right or not. I'll go out into the hall at once and
interview the footmen."
A group of idle, lounging footmen were loafing in the hall. Walter
went straight to the point.
"Which of you gave Miss Rayne a letter just now?" he demanded. "And
who brought it? Come, speak out!"
The strong, determined voice was not without its effect. One of the
footmen came forward and murmured that he had taken the letter and
delivered it to Vera.
"It was about half an hour ago, sir," he explained. "No, I don't know
the man who brought it. He looked like a small tradesman, or
respectable clerk. All he told me was to give the letter to Miss Rayne
and see that she had it at once."
"And you were to give it to her when she was alone?"
"Well, yes, sir," the man admitted. "The messenger did say that. You
see, there was nothing strange--"
"Oh, of course not," Walter said impatiently. "You were to give it to
Miss Rayne when she was alone, and you had a handsome tip for your
pains. Was not that so?"
The man's face testified to the fact that Walter's shot had hit the
mark, but the latter did not remain there a single moment longer. He
had not lost sight of the fact that a cross-examination of a servant
would probably have led to a deal of idle gossip, in which Vera's name
would have been mixed up; and besides, the footman was obviously an
innocent party, and had told everything that he knew in connection
with the letter and its delivery.
"It is just as you feared," Walter said, when he reached Ravenspur's
side. "A respectably-dressed man came here half an hour ago and left a
letter for Vera, which was to be delivered to her when she was alone.
The thing was done, and that is how the mischief began. I feel quite
sure that I am right, and that that letter came, or purported to come,
from Vera's mother. The poor child would naturally go off, thinking no
evil. You may depend upon it that that scoundrel Silva is at the
bottom of it all. He cannot strike you in one way, so he has made up
his mind to deal the blow in another direction. There is no time to be
lost."
"But how on earth did they find out our plans?" Ravenspur groaned.
"All the servants are to be trusted."
"I've got it," Walter said suddenly. "Don't you recollect that blind
organ-grinder that Vera was so interested in? He was hanging about
Park Lane all day. Those sort of people have regular beats, and he has
never been seen there before. He saw all that baggage going away, and
drew his own conclusions. It would be an easy matter to have the stuff
followed to Waterloo Station, and find all about the special train
from the porters. But what are we going to do? Are we going to raise
an alarm?"
"Not yet," Ravenspur said hoarsely. "Don't let us have any scandal as
long as we can possibly avoid it. I'll go out with you and we'll make
another search of the grounds first. We may find some sort of a clue,
and if we do we can follow it up without anybody being any the wiser.
Lady Ringmar will simply think that we went off without saying
goodbye, and there will be an end of the matter as far as she is
concerned. Now come along."
The two slipped out into the grounds again and made a rapid search of
the garden. In the shrubbery they found the great hound, Bruno,
patiently waiting there. Apparently he seemed to think that his time
for punishment was past, for he crept up to Walter's side and rubbed
his great, black muzzle against his knee.
"Here's an inspiration," Walter exclaimed. "If Vera went away at all,
she must have gone by the back gate. We will put Bruno on the scent,
and if--Hallo, what's this?"
The dainty white cambric, with its fringe of lace, caught Walter's
eye. He withdrew the fragment from under the dog's collar and held it
up to one of the points of electric flame.
"Here is a clue with a vengeance," he exclaimed. "This is Vera's
handkerchief. Depend upon it, this is a signal to us that the dog must
have been with her at the time she went, and she must certainly have
gone voluntarily, or the dog would have made short work of the person
with whom Vera departed. She took this way of letting us know she had
gone, and most assuredly she must have gone by the back gate. What a
lucky thing it was that the dog came here tonight. Let us put him on
the scent at once."
"Your suggestion is an inspiration," Ravenspur muttered. "But we can't
go quite like this, you know. Run back to the house and get our coats
and hats. Don't be long."
Walter was back in a minute or two with the wraps. Then he laid his
hand on the dog's collar and led him down the path at the back of the
shrubbery. The great beast appeared to know exactly what was wanted of
him, for, after throwing up his head and giving vent to a long-drawn
howl, he placed his muzzle on the ground and scratched furiously at
the door. When the road was reached, at length, the dog tore along at
a furious rate, so that the silk scarf twisted round his collar tired
Walter's arms terribly.
Still, that did not matter, as they were making good progress now.
They went on and on, passing street after street, until the dawn came,
and they were in a distant suburb. Before an attractive-looking house,
the blinds and shutters of which were closely drawn, Bruno paused and
threw up his head.
"This is the place right enough," Walter whispered. "Be careful. If we
are seen everything is spoilt."