The study clock chimed out the hour of seven, and, laying aside the paper she had been looking at, Nancy got up from her chair and walked to the window. She drew back the blind, and stood there for a minute gazing down at, the lighted pavements, where the usual throng of poorly dressed women were drifting to and fro, intent upon their evening shopping. Then with a puzzled and rather anxious expression in her face she turned toward the door, and, descending the staircase, made her way along the passage as far as the kitchen.
She found Martha Jane standing at the sink, peeling potatoes.
"I can't think what can have happened to Doctor Gray, Martha," she said. "I'm really beginning to get worried about him."
"Don't you upset yerself, miss," was the reassuring answer. "'E'll be along safe enough in a minute or two."
"I hope so," said Nancy. "All the same, it seems rather extraordinary. You tell me he said he'd be home by six, and here it is just gone seven."
"You can't pay no 'eed to what doctors say," began Martha Jane. "Not that they ain't as truthful as other gentlemen, but——"
She was interrupted by a ring at the back-door bell, and, wiping her hands on her apron, departed to answer the summons. Nancy heard the low rumble of a man's voice, followed almost immediately by the sound of returning footsteps.
"It's the same party that called before, Miss Nancy. A man of the name of Bates. The doctor said he wanted to see 'im special, so I s'pose I'd better ask 'im to wait."
"What, Joe Bates the prize-fighter?" exclaimed Nancy. "Oh, please bring him in at once. He's the very person I should like to have a talk to."
Martha Jane disappeared again into the scullery, and a moment later a burly figure in a cap and muffler followed her diffidently into the light.
Nancy welcomed him with an encouraging smile.
"We have met before, Mr. Bates," she said. "I don't suppose you remember, but it was one night in Whitcomb Street, when I was in the car with Doctor Ashton."
Joe grinned a trifle nervously. "That's right, miss," he observed. "I ain't forgot yer—not me." He pulled off his cap and scratched the back of his closely cropped head. "I got a bit o' noos for the doctor," he continued. "D'you happen to know when 'e's likely to be in, miss?"
"That's the very point we were talking about," replied Nancy. "He went out at half-past five and he left a message that he would be back by six at the latest."
Joe stared at her. "Well, that's a bit queer," he remarked. "'E ain't the sort to say a thing and then not do it."
"It's queerer than it looks," was Nancy's answer. "Six o'clock is the time at which he sees his outdoor patients. He wouldn't forget that, however busy he was."
"Did 'e tell yer where 'e was goin' to?"
"He told me," broke in Martha Jane. "Some 'ouse down at the bottom of Flood Lane."
A swift change manifested itself in Joe's face. "Flood Lane!" he almost shouted. "You're sure 'e said Flood Lane?"
"Of course I am. I ain't deaf, Mr. Bates."
Joe took no notice of the snub. "Wot made 'im go there?" he demanded.
"'E was fetched," replied Martha Jane with some asperity. "Fetched by a party who hadn't no better manners——"
"'Ere," interrupted Joe, "wot was the bloke like? You answer me quick."
Martha Jane flushed indignantly, but before her lips could frame a protest she was forestalled by Nancy.
"It's all right, Martha. Mr. Bates is afraid that something may have happened to Doctor Gray, and he wants to help us. That's so, isn't it?" She turned quickly to Joe, who nodded his head.
"Well," replied Martha Jane, in a slightly mollified voice, "'e was just a rough common-looking man the same as you can see 'anging about the street corners I'd know 'im anywhere, though, if only by the scar on 'is face."
There was a half-stifled oath from Joe. "Jake 'Udson!" he cried. "Jake 'Udson it was for a million!" He clenched his fists and glared savagely at the two women. "Nah ye can see why he ain't come back."
Nancy's heart was beating swiftly, but to all outward appearance she remained perfectly cool.
"Don't waste time," she said. "Tell me what you mean at once. I know that you're a friend of Doctor Gray's, and I know that he asked you to follow a man outside the station."
Joe moistened his lips. "That's it, miss. A bloke of the name o' 'Spike' Cooper. 'E's 'and an' glove with this 'ere Jake 'Udson, an' there ain't two dirtier blackguards, not in the 'ole o' London."
Nancy's face had gone very white. "Do you know this place—Flood Lane?" she demanded.
"It's where 'Spike' Cooper's lodgin'," was the answer. "Leastways, not Flood Lane itself, but dahn in one o' them old 'ouses backin' on the river. I seen 'im go in there twice with me own eyes." He pulled on his cap and half turned toward the door. "I'll get inside some'ow, miss. I'll learn wot they done to the doctor if I got to pull the blarsted place down."
Nancy stepped forward. "Wait a minute," she said quickly. "I'm coming with you."
Joe turned and stared at her incredulously. "You comin' with me?" he repeated. "Why, wot'd be the good o' that, miss?"
"I can use a revolver," said Nancy curtly, "and there's one upstairs in the doctor's room. You stop here while I fetch it."
There was something so imperative in her manner that Joe attempted no further argument. Removing his cap again, he seated himself obediently on a chair, and, leaving him and Martha Jane to keep each other company, Nancy hurried from the kitchen.
Going straight to the cloak room, she slipped on a mackintosh over her indoor costume and, after rapidly donning a hat, ran up the staircase to the study. From the top drawer of the writing table she took out a small Service revolver which Mark had once exhibited to her with some pride as the actual implement with which he had formerly waged war against the Flanders rats. There was a box of cartridges alongside, and after filling all six chambers she thrust the weapon into her pocket, and swiftly made her way downstairs again to the kitchen.
Joe, who was still sitting where she had left him, rose up at her entrance. It was Martha Jane, however, who was the first to speak.
"You can't go off like this, Miss Nancy," she exclaimed. "Let me fetch a policeman to come with you."
Nancy shook her head. "There's no time for that," she replied. "Besides, what can we possibly say to a policeman? If we tried to explain he'd only think we were mad."
"You're right, miss," broke in Joe. "This 'ere's a job wot's got to be done quick, an' the sooner we get to it the better."
"Come along then," returned Nancy. "I'm ready."
She led the way out through the scullery door and, pulling open the iron gate, turned to Joe, who had followed closely on her heels.
"You give the orders," she said, "and I'll do whatever you tell me."
The light of the street lamp was shining full upon her face, and Joe paused for a moment to inspect her admiringly.
"You got some sense, you 'ave," he observed, "and guts too."
"I hope so," said Nancy. "Anyhow, I've got the revolver, and that seems to me to be almost as useful."
With a chuckle Joe swung on to the pavement, and, turning to the left, headed eastward in the direction of Flood Lane.
"It's this way, miss," he continued, after a short pause. "Seein' as 'ow we're workin' in the dark in a manner o' speakin,' it ain't no use makin' plans, not till we reach the 'ouse. The first thing we gotter do is to get inside. It don't sound like an easy job, but then, yer never knows."
"How many of them do you think there are?" asked Nancy.
"I bin watchin' the place for two days, an' I ain't seen no one except 'Spike' Cooper an' this 'ere Jake 'Udson. I reckon I can 'andle them easy enough so long as they don't start usin' their knives. If they does—well, that's where that gun o' yourn may come in 'andy."
"Shall I give it to you?" suggested Nancy.
Joe shook his head. "No," he replied. "I likes to 'ave me 'ands free. You stick to it, miss, but don't you begin pluggin' 'oles in 'em, not unless I tips you the orfice. We don't want no inquests, not if we can get 'old of the doctor withaht."
They turned into Flood Lane and, passing rapidly down the narrow and evil-smelling thoroughfare, emerged on the broad stretch of waste land that bordered the river bank.
"That's where we gotter go to," said Joe, pointing across to the black outline of the warehouse. "There's a way over right enough, but I guess we'd better stick to the road. If any one 'appens to be looking out they're less likely to see us."
He struck off to the right, and, keeping well under the shadow of the opposite wall, guided Nancy cautiously forward until they reached the muddy road which ran parallel with the river. Crossing this, he gained the broken pavement on the farther side, and continued his advance until they were within a few yards of the warehouse.
"It's the second 'ouse you come to from 'ere," he whispered. "I bin thinkin' it over, an' if you ain't afraid, miss, it seems to me the best plan's for you to go on a'ead, an' knock at the door. If they sees you alone they may open it jest to find out wot yer after."
"What shall I say?" inquired Nancy.
"Don't you say nothin'. I'll be 'anging arahnd close be'ind, and before they shuts it again I'll 'ave me foot inside. We'll do the talkin' then."
Nancy nodded, to show that she understood, and, walking on bravely through the gloom, pulled up in front of the suspected dwelling. A glimmer of light in the front room revealed the presence of a dilapidated knocker. She drew in a long breath, which seemed to steady her throbbing heart, and then, stepping forward, gave a couple of sharp raps.
Almost at once she became conscious that someone was inspecting her from inside the window. The scrutiny must have lasted for several seconds, then the face was suddenly withdrawn, and a moment later she could hear the approach of shuffling footsteps.
After another pause the door began to open. It went back slowly until there was a space of about six inches, and through the gap a pair of suspicious eyes peered out at the visitor.
"Well," demanded a croaking voice, "wot d'yer want 'ere?"
Even if Nancy had been prepared with a reply she would have had no time to deliver it. Silently as a tiger Joe leaped forward out of the darkness, and, bringing every ounce of his weight to bear at the right moment, hurled himself against the panel. There was a shrill cry and the sound of a heavy fall as the door crashed inward, then Nancy found herself clutching the railings and staring at the vague outline of two figures who seemed to be scuffling furiously on the floor of the passage.
She was recalled to action by the voice of Joe.
"I got 'er," he gasped triumphantly. "Come along in, miss, an' shut the door."
Snatching out her revolver, Nancy stepped across the threshold, and with commendable coolness proceeded to carry out his instructions. The task only occupied her a moment, but by the time she had finished, Joe was on his feet again, swearing softly to himself and sucking vigorously at his left thumb. "Bit me to the bone, the 'ell-cat," he observed. "And I 'andled 'er gently, too, jest 'cos she 'appened to be a woman." He paused, and, bending forward, listened intently. "Darned if it don't seem as if she was alone in the 'ouse," he added.
Nancy advanced to where he was standing, and in the flickering candle-light which came out through the open door of the room looked down at the prostrate figure on the ground. It was that of a gaunt, middle-aged woman, clad in a dirty dressing gown, with dishevelled hair streaming over her face and neck. A rolled-up handkerchief had been thrust into her mouth, and her wrists were tied together by the scarf which had formerly decorated Joe's neck. Out of her bloodshot eyes she glared up malevolently at the pair of them.
Nancy drew back with a shudder. "I hope she isn't much hurt," she faltered.
"'Urt?" repeated Joe indignantly. "It's me wot's 'urt, not 'er. Got 'er teeth in while I was tyin' 'er up an' 'alf gnawed me blinkin' thumb off!" He rummaged in his pocket, and, after a moment's search, produced a stray length of cord.
"What are you going to do?" asked Nancy.
"Tack her feet together and lock 'er in the room," was the answer. "I'm goin' over this 'ouse from top to bottom, an'——"
"Look! Look!" With a horrified expression in her face Nancy was pointing down toward the floor. Joe's eyes followed the direction of her finger, and a sudden oath escaped his lips.
"Blood!" he cried. "An' wet blood, too!"
He stepped into the room, and, snatching up the candlestick from the table, hurried back with it into the passage.
"Do you see?" whispered Nancy. "There's a trail of it—all along up to the door." She put her hand to her breast and fought back the numbing fear that seemed to be clutching at her heart.
With blazing eyes Joe turned on the prostrate woman.
"You she-devil!" he roared, shaking his fist. "If any 'arm's come to the doctor through you an' your filthy mates, I'll rip the skin off all three of yer."
Before the word had left his lips Nancy was already at the farther door.
"Quick, Joe!" she cried piteously. "Quick! Bring the candle."
In two strides the prize-fighter was beside her.
"You stand back," he commanded hoarsely, and, thrusting the candlestick into her hands, gripped hold of the knob.
As the door swung open Nancy raised the light. Its faint gleam flickered round the sordid room, disclosing the damp and peeling wallpaper and litter of empty whisky bottles which lay about the floor.
Joe's glance travelled swiftly from one corner to another. "There's no one 'ere," he muttered. "We'd best try the floor above."
Nancy caught him by the sleeve. "Listen," she cried tensely. "What's that?"
From below came an unmistakable sound—the steady but muffled splash of running water.
For a second they both stood there motionless, then, with a sudden exclamation, Nancy pushed her way past and stumbled blindly forward toward the trap-door.
"Joe," she gasped, "he's down there! I know it. I feel it." She sank on her knees, and setting the candle on the floor beside her, began tugging desperately at the iron bolt.
Recovering from his momentary amazement, Joe hurried to her assistance.
"'Ere," he growled, "let me get at it."
He seized hold of the rusty stanchion, and with a vicious jerk wrenched it backward. Another heave and the heavy flap rose slowly into the air, revealing a black, yawning gap and the top rungs of an iron ladder.
Stretched out at full length on her face, Nancy thrust the candle over the edge. The light gleamed upon a rush and eddy of chocolate-coloured water, and then suddenly a frantic cry broke from her lips.
"Colin! Colin!"
With a violent imprecation Joe pushed her on one side.
"'Old on," he roared down the trap. "I'm comin'."
He swung himself through, and dropping with a loud splash into the swirling waters, scrambled desperately toward the opposite corner, where a man's head and shoulders were just visible in the gloom. Another minute and he would have been too late, for even as he reached the spot a fresh torrent surged in through the opening, and with a choking sob Colin swayed forward and collapsed.
Keeping his own feet with difficulty, Joe clutched hold of the drowning man and dragged him to the surface. In doing so he made the discovery that Colin's arms were lashed to his sides, and the full nature of the task that confronted him flashed grimly across his mind.
As a veteran boxer, however, the power to think quickly and coolly in moments of danger had practically become an instinct. He realized instantly that there was only one chance of escape for both of them, and that was to cut through the cords before the incoming water rose above their heads.
Swinging his half-conscious companion round, he propped him against the wall. Then, freeing one hand, he dragged out the clasp-knife which he always carried in his pocket, and wrenched open the blade with his teeth.
As he did so, Colin by great effort managed to force a few words from between his chattering teeth.
"There's another on—round my feet. Cut that too if you can."
"Right you are!" shouted Joe encouragingly. "Keep it up, doctor, and I'll 'ave you loose in a couple o' shakes."
With feverish haste he accomplished the first part of his task, and then, taking a deep breath, plunged his way down through the water until his fingers encountered the second cord. One vicious slash severed the wet strand, and, uncoiling it as rapidly as he could, he struggled back to the surface, puffing and gasping for air.
Quick as he had been, there was scarcely a second to spare. The water was already up to his chin, and Colin, although his legs and arms were now free, was far too numbed and exhausted to make more than the feeblest efforts on his own behalf.
Summoning every ounce of his strength, Joe lifted the latter bodily in his arms. Then with swaying steps he stumbled forward in the direction of the trapdoor, where the little yellow flame of the candle which Nancy was holding flickered and gleamed above their heads.
"Get 'old of the ladder, guv'nor," he panted. "Get 'old of it some'ow and I'll shove yer up."
Colin heard, and with blue and stiffened fingers caught desperately at the rungs.
At the same moment he glanced up toward the trap, and there, sharply illuminated in the candle-light, he saw Nancy's face bending down toward him.
With something between a sob and a laugh she stretched out her hand.
"Stop as you are now," came Joe's voice. "I'm goin' to stoop down so as you can get on top of me. All you've gotter do is to keep yerself stiff."
There was a splash, and a second later Colin's ankles were encircled in a powerful grip. Then his feet were resting on Joe's shoulders, and inch by inch he felt himself hoisted upward, until Nancy's fingers closed tightly round his wrists.
Another heave from below and the upper half of his body was through the trap. He thrust out a hand to steady himself, and as he did so a sudden wave of giddiness overcame him, and he sank sideways into Nancy's arms.