Part 43 (2/2)

he said. ”We hear that the three men and the woman called at the Bell, at Barnby Moor, and had some breakfast. Afterwards they continued northward.”

”Barnby Moor!” I echoed. ”Why, that's near Doncaster.”

”Yes, sir. Motorists patronize the place a good deal.”

”And is that all that is known?” I inquired eagerly.

”All at present,” he said. Therefore I left and, returning to the garage, mounted the car and, with head-lamps alight, drove out into the pitch darkness in the direction of Grantham. We sped along the broad old coach-road for nearly three hours, until at last we pulled up before an ancient wayside inn which had been modernized and adapted to twentieth-century requirements.

The manager, in reply to my eager questions, said it was true that the Doncaster police had been there making inquiries regarding four motorists--three gentlemen and a lady--who had called there that morning and had had breakfast in the coffee-room.

The head-waiter who had attended them was called, and I questioned him. I think the manager believed me to be a detective, for he was most courteous, and ready to give me all information.

”Yes, sir,” replied the tall, slim head-waiter. ”They came here in a great hurry, and seemed to have come a long distance, judging from the way the car was plastered with mud. The lady was very cold, for they had an open car, and she wore a gentleman's overcoat and a shawl tied around her head. The tallest of the gentlemen drove the car. They called him Lewis.”

”Did you hear them address the lady?” I asked eagerly.

”They called her Sonia, sir.”

”And you say she seemed very fatigued?”

”Very. She went upstairs and changed her evening gown for a stuff dress, which was brought out of the car. Then she came down and joined the others at breakfast.”

”They gave you no indication as to their destination, I suppose?”

”Well, sir, I think they were returning to London, for I heard one of the gentlemen say something about catching the boat-train.”

”They may have meant the Harwich boat-train from the north,” I remarked.

”Very likely, sir. One portion of that train comes through Doncaster in the afternoon to Peterborough and March, while the other comes down to Rugby on the North-Western, and then goes across to Peterborough by way of Market Harborough.”

”Then they may have joined that, and if so they would just about be leaving Parkeston Quay by now!”

”If so, the police are certain to spot them,” laughed the waiter.

”They're wanted for the theft of a princess's jewels, they say.”

What should I do? It was now long past ten o'clock, and I could not possibly arrive at Parkeston before early morning. Besides, if they had really gone there, they would, no doubt, be arrested. The man with the pimply face whose description so closely tallied with that of Reckitt, was surely too clever a criminal to run his neck into a noose by going to any port of embarkation. Therefore I concluded that whatever had been said at table had been said with the distinct object of misleading the waiter. The very manner in which the diamonds had been stolen showed a cunning and a daring unsurpa.s.sed. Such men were certainly not easily trapped.

My sole thought was of Sylvia. I could not bring myself to believe that she had wilfully forsaken her home and her husband. Upon her, I felt confident, some species of blackmail had been levied, and she had been forced away from me by reasons beyond her control.

That incident of the photograph--the picture believed to have been of myself--which the foreigner tried to secure but which the man Lewis had himself destroyed, was incomprehensible. What had been intended by the foreigner?

I gathered all the information I could in the hotel, and then, after a hasty meal, re-entered the car and set out upon the dark, cold return journey to London.

Where was Sylvia? Who were her mysterious friends? And, chief of all, who was that man Lewis who addressed her in such endearing terms?

What could possibly be the solution of the mystery?

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