Knotted to the bedstead was a rope. It was of amateur make, being three
strips of blanket plaited together, and the rope led through the open
window.
Diana looked down. The end of the rope dangled less than six feet from
the window-sill. He must have dropped twenty feet to the stone flags
below.
“That’s funny,” said Superbus, game to the last. “When I looked in----”
“Let us keep to facts,” begged Diana, her youthful brows wrinkled. “What
is the use of a rope if it only falls him a few feet from the sill--and
why didn’t he pull the bed to the window?”
She pulled the bed herself--it moved easily. The weight of a man would
have drawn it across the floor.
Thoughtfully she took stock of the apartment. In one corner stood a
long, mirror-fronted wardrobe. Drawing her Browning, she pulled open the
door.
“Come out, please,” she said coldly.
Gordon stepped forth with some dignity.
Standing in the doorway, Mr. Superbus witnessed the astonishing
spectacle and shook his head reproachfully.
“Uncle Isaac, Uncle Isaac!” he said reprovingly. “I never thought you’d
play a trick like that on an old friend!”
“Will you kindly tell me why you destroyed my bed linen?” asked Diana,
and her cool claim to the ownership of anything in the house aroused
Gordon to fury.
“Your bed linen is my bed linen!” he spluttered.
She raised her hand.
“We will not go into that matter, Uncle Isaac,” she said with freezing
politeness. “Will you be kind enough to draw in the blanket and close
the window? It will be light soon, and I have no wish to give the
milkman a topic for discussion. I have my cousin’s interests to guard.”
“Send for Bobbie,” said Gordon, suddenly quiet. “I don’t think he will
have any doubt as to who I am.”
“If by ‘Bobbie’ you mean Mr. Robert Selsbury,” said Diana, “I’ve already
telephoned to him. He is out of town--probably decoyed away by your
agents.”
Gordon was stricken to silence. The last avenue of escape was closed.
“Very well,” he said. “I promise you I will give you no further
trouble.”
He pulled in the rope, let down the window and drew the blinds.
“Now, if you don’t mind,” he said, “I would like to go to sleep. I have
been up the whole of the night.”
She nodded.
“You may sleep, but Mr. Superbus will sit in this room. I will lock the
door on you both----”
“Personally, I prefer sitting outside,” said Mr. Superbus hastily. “I
should like a smoke.”
“You will remain,” said Diana with firmness.
“If he does, I’ll chuck him out of the window,” said Gordon savagely.
Mr. Superbus backed from the room.
“He’ll be all right, ma’am--miss,” he said. “Trust old Uncle Isaac.”
Diana knew that it was useless to insist. She shut the door on her
captive and went down to The Study, being confident that he would make
no further attempt at escape.
She must get in touch with Bobbie, must even risk his annoyance at being
dragged from his bed at that unearthly hour. She took up the telephone
and put through a call. It was answered with surprising rapidity. The
voice of an unknown man spoke: she guessed it was Bobbie’s servant.
“It is Miss Ford speaking. Can I speak to Mr. Selsbury?”
“He hasn’t been home all night, miss. I’ve been sitting up for him. He
said he might get into London at daybreak.”
“Where is he?” she asked.
“He’s gone to Ostend, miss. He telephoned me from Dover.”
The news was unexpected and a little alarming.
“Has he gone alone?” she asked.
“To the best of my knowledge and belief, miss,” said Bobbie’s man,
tactfully, diplomatically and legally.
Diana hung up the receiver. Had they lured Bobbie, she wondered?