Part 12 (1/2)
”You left the village of Scawton in a motor car with them?”
”Yes! We quarrelled on the way, and parted.”
”You were robbed of nothing?”
Victor Franklin smiled.
”Certainly not,” he answered. ”I had nothing worth stealing except my plans, and they are in my pocket now.”
There was a few moments' intense silence. Dory wheeled suddenly round, and looked to where Mr. Vincent Cawdor had been standing.
”Where is Mr. Cawdor?” he asked, sharply.
”The gentleman with the grey moustache left a few seconds ago,” one of the men at the door said. Dory was very pale.
”Gentlemen,” he said, ”I have to offer you my apologies. I have apparently been deceived by some false information. The charge is withdrawn.”
He turned on his heel and left the room. The two policemen followed him.
”Keep them under observation,” Dory ordered shortly, ”but I am afraid this fellow Cawdor has sold me.”
He found a hansom outside, and sprang into it.
”Number 27, Southampton Row,” he ordered.
Rounceby and his partner were alone in the little smoking room. The former was almost inarticulate. The night porter brought them brandy, and both men drank.
”We've got to get to the bottom of this, Marnstam,” Mr. Rounceby muttered.
Mr. Marnstam was thinking.
”Do you remember that sound through the darkness,” he said--”the beating of an engine way back on the road?”
”What of it?” Rounceby demanded.
”It was a motor bicycle,” Marnstam said quietly. ”I thought so at the time.”
”Supposing some one followed us and pulled him out,” Rounceby said, hoa.r.s.ely, ”why are we treated like this? I tell you we've been made fools of! We've been treated like children--not even to be punished!
We'll have the truth somehow out of that devil Cawdor! Come!”
They made their way to the courtyard and found a cab.
”Number 27, Southampton Row!” they ordered.
They reached their destination some time before Dory, whose horse fell down in the Strand, and who had to walk. They ascended to the fourth floor of the building and rang the bell of Vincent Cawdor's room--no answer. They plied the knocker--no result. Rounceby peered through the keyhole.
”He hasn't come home yet,” he remarked. ”There is no light anywhere in the place.”
The door of a flat across the pa.s.sage was quietly opened. Mr. Peter Ruff, in a neat black smoking suit and slippers, and holding a pipe in his hand, looked out.