Albert Terrace appeared even more peaceful and respectable than usual as Colin turned in at the farther end and came to a standstill in front of Mr. Medwin's house.
"This is the place, Joe," he said quietly. "Now you're quite clear in your own mind about what we've arranged?"
Joe nodded. "I got it, guv'nor. You ask whether 'e's at 'ome, an' if 'e is, in we goes. Then it'll be my job to shove it across the butler."
"That's right," said Colin. "I'm trusting you to look after the two servants until I've finished with Medwin."
"I'll look after 'em," grunted Joe. "There won't be no trouble in that quarter, you taike my word for it."
They got out of the car, and, leading the way up the path, Colin pressed the electric bell.
After a brief delay they heard the sound of steps inside, and the next moment Medwin himself opened the door. For an instant he stood gazing dumbly at his two visitors, then with a sudden expansive smile he stepped forward and held out his hand.
"Why, bless my soul!" he exclaimed. "This is a very pleasant surprise. What an extraordinary bit of luck that I happened to be at home."
"Isn't it!" said Colin genially. "I was just saying to Joe that it was a hundred to one that we shouldn't find you." He paused. "Oh, by the way, may I introduce you? This is an old friend of mine, Mr. Joe Bates. I've brought him along because we both want to ask your advice."
With a deferential gesture, Joe raised his finger to his forehead.
"'Ow d'ye do, sir," he remarked. "Pleased to meet yer."
"I hope we haven't called at a very inconvenient time," continued Colin. "The matter is rather an urgent one, and I felt that I should like to have your opinion on it."
"You needn't apologize, my dear boy," returned Mr. Medwin graciously. "If I can be of any assistance to you I shall be only too pleased." He moved back, making room for them to enter. "I have to be my own butler to-day, because both my man and his wife are out for the afternoon. I send them to a matinée every now and then, just to keep them in a good temper."
Colin and Joe stepped into the hall, the latter, who was the last to enter, closing the door carefully behind him.
"I think the study will be the best place for us," continued their host. "Perhaps you'd like a whisky and soda or a glass of port first, though?"
Colin declined politely, and, still radiating good nature, Mr. Medwin ushered them into a small room on the left, where a bright fire was burning in the grate.
"I use this as a kind of annex to my office," he added. "A large number of my clients are Kensington people, and so sometimes it's very convenient to be able to see them here."
"It's very convenient for us," said Colin. "As a matter of fact, we were particularly anxious to find you alone."
The other, who was in the act of pulling forward a chair, glanced up sharply at the change in his visitor's voice.
Colin took a step forward.
"I've got several things to say to you, Medwin, but before I start, just get this fact plainly into your head. If you attempt to call out or to make the least noise, I'll smash your face to a jelly."
There was a moment of dead silence, then very slowly Medwin stepped back to the fireplace and moistened his lips.
"Have you gone mad?" he demanded.
"Sit down," said Colin curtly.
He pointed to the chair, and with a face from which every vestige of colour had suddenly departed, the lawyer silently obeyed his instructions. Joe moved softly toward him across the room, a formidable and menacing figure in the gray afternoon light.
It was Colin who was the first to speak.
"What have you and Fenton done with Miss Seymour?"
Medwin, who by an amazing effort seemed to have recovered some of his self-possession, looked up with an expression of blank amazement.
"I have never heard of Miss Seymour," he answered. "In fact, I haven't the remotest notion what you're talking about."
Colin came a step nearer. "Haven't you?" he said. "Then perhaps I'd better explain."
He thrust his hand under Medwin's chin, and, jerking up his face, stared down into his eyes.
"Now, you damned liar," he said, "listen to me. You know as well as I do who Miss Seymour is. You have known it ever since you broke into the Red Lodge and opened the Professor's desk."
He released his hold and, gripping Medwin by the collar, shook him backward and forward as a dog shakes a rat.
"My God, I'd kill you where you sit if I didn't want an answer to my question. You've not only tried to rob and ruin this girl, but if it wasn't for you and Fenton the Professor would be still alive."
He flung back the half-throttled man with such force that the woodwork of the chair cracked and splintered beneath his weight.
Joe, who had been looking on with silent approval hauled the victim unceremoniously to his feet.
"Nah, cocky," he said, "where's the young laidy? Spit it aht quick."
Choking and gasping for breath, Medwin retreated toward the sofa.
"You're making some terrible mistake. I know nothing about it, on my honour."
"Your what?" Colin laughed unpleasantly. "I don't know if you're really under the impression that you can bluff this out, Medwin, but if you are, you're making the mistake of your life."
He put his hand in his pocket, and, pulling out a coil of whipcord, which he had stopped to purchase on his way down, tossed it across to Joe.
"Lay him on the sofa," he said, "and tie up his feet and hands. If he makes the slightest sound, give him a punch in the mouth."
Joe moved forward with alacrity, and, turning to the fireplace, Colin picked up a small ornamental poker which was standing against the hearth, and thrust it deliberately into the hottest part of the fire. Then, lighting himself a cigarette, he stood looking on in silence, while with swift efficiency Joe proceeded to carry out his instructions.
"That will do," he observed at last, "Now, Medwin, you can take your choice. You will either tell me at once where Miss Seymour is, or else I shall burn the truth out of you with that poker."
Trussed and helpless, Medwin gazed across at him from the sofa.
"For God's sake think what you're doing," he whispered. "Can't you see that the whole thing's a ghastly blunder? I swear to you on my oath that I have never even heard of either of the people you have mentioned."
"In that case," said Colin, "it's rather curious that you keep a photograph of Fenton on your dining room mantelpiece."
He stooped down, and, drawing out the poker which was now a glowing red, advanced relentlessly toward the sofa.
Two little beads of perspiration broke out on Medwin's forehead and trickled down into his eyes.
"Stop!" he gasped. "Stop! You young devil, I believe you mean it."
Colin laughed again. "Shove something in his mouth, Joe. We don't want the whole street to hear him squealing."
By a violent effort Medwin managed to wriggle himself up into a sitting position.
"It's all right, Gray," he said quietly. "You needn't go any further. I know when I'm beaten."
He sank back against the cushions, and with a queer half-incredulous expression, stared up into Colin's face.
"I am not often mistaken in my judgment of people," he said, "but I seem to have blundered pretty badly with regard to you."
"Answer my questions," said Colin. "Where's Miss Seymour?"
"She's at Fenton's cottage in Essex, close to South Ockendon. It's a small white house called 'The Firs,' on the right hand of the road, just before you reach the village."
Colin walked to the desk and wrote down his directions on a blank sheet of paper.
"Why have you taken her there?"
"It was Fenton's idea," said Medwin slowly. "He has a boat lying in the Thames close by, and he thought that if he could persuade her to go for a short cruise she might change her opinion about the impossibility of marrying him."
With his fists clenched Joe started forward, but before he could strike Colin thrust him back.
"Leave him alone, Joe," he said harshly. "It's the truth we want, no matter what it is." He turned to Medwin, who was watching them with surprising coolness. "Do you know what his plans are exactly?"
"He means to take her on board as soon as it's dark. Where he will go then depends chiefly on the weather. I believe he has some idea of trying to reach Holland."
"What, by himself, in mid-winter?"
"Oh, he's not alone," returned Medwin. "He has two old acquaintances of yours with him—Cooper and Hudson. In the course of their varied lives they have both served before the mast."
For a moment Colin remained silent, his eyes fixed steadily upon the lawyer's face.
"I don't know whether you're telling me the truth, Medwin," he said. "If you're not, heaven help you. I'll find you again, no matter where you try to hide, and I'll tear your lying tongue out of your throat with my own fingers."
Medwin nodded. "Yes," he said, "I can quite believe you would, but, fortunately, such an unpleasant proceeding won't be necessary. As I told you before, I know when the game's up."
Colin replaced the poker in the grate, then, crossing to the desk, on which stood a portable telephone, he unhooked the receiver and asked for Marsden's number. The lawyer watched him curiously.
"Hullo!" came the Inspector's voice.
"This is Gray. I'm speaking from Albert Terrace. I've got the information I wanted."
"You mean you know where the girl is?"
"Yes. She's at a cottage in Essex, close to South Ockendon. Fenton means to take her on board his boat as soon as it's dark."
"Who told you this?"
"Medwin. I had to use a certain amount of persuasion, but I think it's true."
"What have you done to him?"
"He's all right. He's lying on the sofa listening to what I'm saying. We've tied him up, and we propose to leave him here."
"How about the servants?"
"Both out at the theatre. They're not likely to be back until half-past five."
"Sounds as if you'd made a pretty tidy job of it," was Marsden's comment. "You'd better come back here as quickly as possible and pick me up in the car. If what he's told you is right, the sooner we have a look at this cottage the better."
"We're starting now," replied Colin. "We'll be with you in a quarter of an hour."
He rang off, and, picking up his hat from the chair, turned to Medwin.
"This is your last chance," he said. "You know what to expect if you've sent me on a false errand."
"You can make your mind quite easy," returned the other. "You'll find Miss Seymour at the cottage, and I have no doubt she will be delighted to see you. You're exactly the sort of primitive young savage that appeals to women."
Joe stepped forward pleadingly. "Let me give 'im one, doctor—only just one. That'll learn 'im to call you names."
"No," said Colin. "Leave him alone. He'll have all he deserves by the time we've finished with him."
He walked toward the door, and, with one reluctant glance at the smiling and half-prostrate figure on the sofa, Joe followed him out into the hall.
* * * * * * * * *
Two men muffled up in long coats, who were waiting just inside the entrance, stepped forward at once as the car came to a standstill again at the main gate-way of the Yard.
From, under the peaked cap of the former the sharp eyes of Inspector Marsden travelled swiftly and approvingly over its two occupants.
"Well, you don't waste much time, doctor," he observed. "I will say that for you."
"I'd have been here a lot sooner if it hadn't been for the usual cursed jam in Piccadilly," returned Colin viciously.
As he spoke he leaned over and swung open the back door of the car.
"Just a minute," said the Inspector quietly. "Before we start I'd like to hear a few more details about this interview of yours with Medwin. We don't want to go chasing down into Essex unless——"
"I'll give you the facts," interrupted Colin. "If you don't think they're good enough to act on you can leave it to Joe and me."
In a few blunt words he described the scene which had taken place in the study, the two detectives standing silently beside the car, and Joe nodding his head at intervals as though to confirm the truth of the story.
"I can't swear that he hasn't invented the whole thing," finished Colin, "but, all the same, I'm pretty certain there's something in it. Whatever else Medwin may be, he isn't a fool. He knows perfectly well I meant what I said, and in my opinion he's had the sense to chuck up the sponge in order to save his own skin."
"The guv'nor's right, mister," broke in Joe earnestly. "'E's a lyin' swine, this bloke, but 'e didn't fancy the idea of 'avin' 'is tongue torn out, you could see that by 'is faice."
Marsden laughed grimly. "I daresay you could!" He turned to Colin. "I'm shocked and surprised that you should have taken the law into your own hands in this way, but, between ourselves, I believe you've done the trick." He jerked his head toward the back of the car. "Jump in, sergeant. We can make use of the doctor's information even if we don't approve of his methods."
As he spoke he seated himself alongside of Colin, while the sergeant, a heavily built individual with a chin like the toe of a boot, clambered up obediently into the tonneau. Directly he was on board Colin thrust in his clutch, and the next moment they were spinning up the broad roadway in the direction of Waterloo Bridge.
"I suppose I made it plain that this isn't going to be any sort of a picnic," said Colin, with a side glance at his companion. "According to Medwin, we've got Cooper and Hudson to tackle as well as Fenton, and I should think it's a hundred to one that they'll all three be armed."
"Cooper will for a certainty," replied the Inspector, "and what's more, he won't hesitate to shoot. However, I took the precaution of slipping a Smith and Webley into my pocket, and I told Bentley to do the same. If Mister Cooper prefers a bullet to a rope, he can damned well take his choice."
"I only hope Medwin doesn't get away," said Colin, with some feeling. "He's tied up all right at present, but his servants will be back before we're through with this job, and directly they've set him loose he'll probably try to do a bolt."
"He may try," returned the Inspector, "but he won't get very far. I've sent down two of our best men to watch the house, and, no matter where he goes, they'll stick to him like his shadow."
He paused for a moment as Colin swerved round a cluster of startled pedestrians, and then added with a dry smile: "We don't want to waste any time, doctor, but you might just keep it in mind that I'm a married man, with three children dependent on me."
"I won't smash you up," replied Colin. "I may seem to be driving fast, but I've got too much at stake to play the fool."
He cut across the broad space at the corner of Farringdon Street, and, leaving the river on his right hand, plunged into one of the long warehouse-lined streets which lead through the heart of the city. The short day was already closing in, and the tall buildings on either side were a blaze of electric light.
"I don't know if you're in any doubt about the way," said the Inspector. "You had better consult Bentley if you are. He's an Essex man himself, and knows every inch of the country."
"I think I can find it," was Colin's answer. He slowed down a little and glanced back over his shoulder. "We go through Barking and Rainham, don't we?"
The sergeant, who was sitting up stiffly alongside of Joe, nodded his head.
"That's right, sir. It's practically a straight road from there to South Ockendon."
They drove on silently through the crowded streets, the Inspector making no further attempt to talk, and Colin devoting his whole attention to the strenuous work of avoiding the traffic.
After negotiating the apparently interminable length of the Commercial Road and the East India Dock Road, they made their way through the squalid region of East Ham and emerged at last into the historic if evil-smelling neighbourhood of Barking.
Then, bit by bit, the houses began to give place to stunted hedges and low-lying fields, while a little distance away on the right the red and green lights of the steamers passing up and down the Thames flashed out mysteriously in the gathering dusk.
Two miles of rapid driving brought them to the straggling village of Rainham, and, checking his speed a trifle as they ran through the main street, Colin swung out on to a lone stretch of country road, where except for one or two farm carts and an occasional belated cyclist, they seemed to be the only travellers.
He had covered about another three miles when, with a sudden movement, the sergeant leaned over from the back.
"We're getting pretty near now, sir," he observed. "If your information's right, the house we want ought to be somewhere about here."
Colin slackened down, and as he did so the bent figure of an old man, with a pitchfork over his shoulder, suddenly loomed into view out of an adjoining gateway.
"Here's someone who'll probably be able to help us," said Marsden. "Just pull up a moment, and we'll ask him."
They came to a standstill alongside the stranger, who blinked at them suspiciously from under his shaggy eyebrows.
Marsden leaned over and addressed him with a friendly nod.
"Good evening, uncle," he said. "I wonder if you can tell us whether there's a house called 'The Firs' anywhere around this neighbourhood."
With considerable deliberation the veteran unshipped his pitchfork.
"Whoy, yees, mister," he replied. "There be a 'ouse o' that name sure enough. There aren't no one there though, not as I knows on."
"That doesn't matter," said the Inspector. "We only want to have a look at the outside of it."
"You don't 'ave to go far for that," was the encouraging reply. "You'll find it on the right-'and side of the road soon as you've passed the nex' turnin'."
"I suppose you don't happen to know who owns the place?" inquired Marsden.
"Well, I 'ave 'eard that it's a rich gen'leman in London. Party o' the name o' Fenton. 'E don't use it much though, an' that's a fact; only comes down 'ere for an odd day or two now an' then."
"Just when he wants a breath of fresh air, eh?" suggested Marsden genially. "Well, I'm much obliged to you, uncle. Perhaps you'll get yourself a drink when the pubs open."
He produced a shilling, which the old man readily accepted, and, with a slight pressure of his foot on the clutch, Colin again set the car in motion.
"Don't hurry," whispered Marsden. "Drive us slowly past the place and then stop. If any one's inside there's pretty sure to be a light in the windows."
Following his instructions, Colin proceeded noiselessly along the road, which curved away to the left about a hundred yards from where they had halted. As he rounded the bend a dark cluster of trees sprang into view a short distance ahead of him, and the next moment he was able to make out the roof and chimneys of a small house, which appeared to stand a little way back from the road.
"That's our mark," observed Marsden, with a grunt of satisfaction. He turned round in his seat and addressed the sergeant. "You hop out here, Bentley, and have a look at it from this side. We'll come back and meet you at the front gate."
With surprising quickness for so heavy a man, the sergeant stepped nimbly over on to the running board, and, just as they reached the shelter of the trees, dropped down into the roadway.
Driving on slowly, Colin passed the head of a narrow lane which turned off to the right. Beyond it a high wooden paling fronted the main road, broken in the centre by a couple of dilapidated iron gates, one of which was standing partly open. Farther back, behind a straggling shrubbery of laurels, the yellow gleam of a lighted window shone out into the garden.
"Someone's at home, evidently," muttered the Inspector. "Take us on as far as the end of the paling and pull up there. I'd like to know exactly how the land lies before we start work."
Contenting himself with a nod, Colin continued his way along the fence until he suddenly arrived at a closed gate leading into a ploughed field, from which an untrimmed hedge ran up at right angles, forming the boundary of the adjoining property. There was a piece of level grass at the side of the road, and, guiding the car on to this, he stopped the engine, and then, bending forward, switched off the headlights.
"You and Bates stay here for a moment," whispered Marsden. "Keep still and don't talk to each other. I'm just going along to have a squint through the hedge."
Getting out of the car, he climbed carefully over the gate, and moved up the field with the stealthiness of a poacher, until his burly figure was gradually lost to sight amid the shadows of the bushes.
He reappeared again after an absence of several minutes, and both Colin and Joe leaned eagerly forward from their seats as he clambered back and dropped lightly down beside them.
"Everything's in darkness this side of the house," he announced, "and, as far as I can see, there's no way of getting out of the garden. We'd better make tracks for the front gate and hear what Bentley's got to report."
Leaving the car as it was, the three of them stole silently back under the shelter of the fence, and came to a halt beneath the branches of a draggled-looking holly tree which overhung the drive.
After a brief wait they were joined by the sergeant, who emerged furtively from the side turning and advanced on tiptoe to where they were standing.
"I've found another entrance down the lane," he informed them. "It leads to a yard at the back, where there's a big shed that looks like a garage."
"A garage, eh?" rejoined Marsden. "Well, I guess somebody will have to keep an eye on that side of the house while the rest of us find some way of getting in at the front." He paused for a moment, and then added quietly: "We'll take a look at the job first, and make up our minds exactly how we're going to tackle it. Unless we can drop in on 'em unexpectedly it's likely to be a pretty awkward business."
Followed by the others, he started cautiously forward up the drive, and, skirting the edge of the shrubbery, came out on to a neglected strip of grass, which at some remote period had evidently been a tennis lawn.
Facing them was the house, an old-fashioned two-storey residence, with a tumble-down verandah half covered in ivy. From the French windows in the centre a broad patch of light streamed out hospitably through the drawn blinds.
Marsden's gaze travelled thoughtfully from one end of the building to the other.
"There's only one way to do it," he said, in a low voice. "We shall have to smash in the window and trust to luck." He turned to the sergeant. "We may nab the lot of them if we're quick enough, but we can't count on that, not when we've an old hand like Cooper to deal with. You'd better slip round to the yard again, Bentley, and keep a watch on the back door."
His assistant nodded. "Very good, sir. It won't take me more than a couple of minutes. I'll give you a whistle as soon as I'm ready."
He disappeared promptly and silently, and, stepping back to where Colin and Joe were hiding in the shadow, the Inspector stooped down beside them.
"I think the simplest plan will be for one of us to tackle the window," he said. "I'll do that, and you two get ready to rush in the moment it's open."
"Supposing we can't force it?" whispered Colin. "Some of these windows have a bar across on the inside."
"In that case we must break the glass and get in as best we can. If Cooper looks like making trouble, keep out of the way and leave him to me."
He produced a heavy Service revolver, and, having clicked open the breech, proceeded to examine it with some care.
With his hands clenched and his heart beating fiercely, Colin started out across the lawn, waiting for the signal. The feeling that ever since the morning Nancy had been a prisoner in one of those rooms, and at the mercy of such a scoundrel as Fenton, filled him with an apprehension that was almost unbearable. Even if they were in time to save her from the worst fate of all, heaven knew what hardships and misery she must have been through during the last eight hours. His nerves tingled with a savage longing to be face to face with the man who was responsible for her sufferings, and, crouching there in the darkness, he swore a bitter oath to himself that, whatever else happened, Fenton should not escape.
Suddenly, through the silence of the garden, a low whistle sounded clearly from the back of the house. Colin was on his feet instantly, but before he could take a step forward both he and Joe were checked by a quick movement from their companion.
"I'll go first, doctor," whispered the Inspector. "You two keep close behind, and follow me in directly I smash the lock."
Stooping low, and holding the revolver in his left hand, he set off at a rapid pace across the lawn. It was only about twenty yards from the bushes to the house, and in less than half a dozen seconds all three of them were in front of the verandah.
Without pausing in his stride, Marsden made straight for the French window. It consisted of two fragile-looking doors with a large pane of glass in each, and, using his shoulder as a battering ram, the detective hurled the full weight of his fourteen stone against the strip of woodwork in the centre.
The other two, who were immediately behind him, heard a splintering crash and a tinkle of broken glass. Then in the blaze of light that streamed out through the gap they saw Marsden stumble forward on to his hands and knees, and, like a scene on the stage, the whole interior of the room suddenly leaped into view.
No theatre, indeed, could have provided a more dramatic spectacle than the one which met Colin's eyes as he dashed for the opening. A couple of men, whom he recognized instantly as Cooper and Hudson, had sprung to their feet beside an overturned card table, and were standing as though rooted to the spot with amazement and terror.
It was only for the fraction of a second, however, that the tableau remained unbroken. As Colin darted in past the Inspector, Cooper, who was the farther away of the two, seemed instinctively to recover his wits. With a movement as quick as a panther's he dived back behind his companion, and, taking a flying jump over the fallen table, raced headlong for the door.
His flight seemed to act on the deserted Hudson like the breaking of a spell. A foul oath burst from his lips, and, grabbing one of the overturned chairs by its nearest leg, he hurled it with all his force straight in the face of Colin.
The latter, who saw it coming, jerked up his arm just in time. It struck against his elbow and crashed down on to the floor, tripping up Joe as he attempted to dodge past in pursuit of the fugitive.
Staggered himself by the blow, Colin recovered almost instantly. One stride brought him within reach of his assailant, and, ducking under a clumsy swing, he smashed home a terrific right flush on the point of the jaw. It was a punch that would have floored ninety-nine men out of a hundred, and Mr. Jake Hudson was one of the unfortunate majority. He went down as though struck by a coal hammer, the back of his head landing with a loud thud against the edge of the table.
Brief though the delay had been, it had enabled "Spike" Cooper to achieve his object. He was through the door and had slammed and locked it behind him before the Inspector and Joe were able to gain their feet. It was Colin, indeed, who was the first to reach it, and he was already wrenching vainly at the handle when the two others rushed up to his assistance.
"Wait a minute," rasped the Inspector, who was evidently not in the best of tempers. "Let me blow in the lock, then we shall have a better chance."
Levelling his pistol, he emptied a couple of shots into the keyhole, the powerful bullets smashing and splintering the woodwork in every direction. As the second report died away they heard a scurry of footsteps outside, followed almost immediately by the unmistakable bang of another door.
Pocketing his pistol, the Inspector gripped hold of the knob with both hands, and, as he jerked it violently toward him, the shattered bolt snapped and yielded. One more pull, and they stumbled over the threshold into a dimly lighted hall, where, framed in a doorway opposite, stood, or rather swayed, the slender figure of a girl.
A low cry escaped Colin's lips, and, breaking from his companions, he sprang forward and caught her in his arms.
"Nancy! Nancy darling! Thank God, we've found you!"
As he uttered the words the sound of two pistol shots rang out from the back of the house, and with a stifled oath the Inspector hurried toward them.
"Which is the way through into the yard?" he demanded.
Nancy pointed across toward a door on the right.
"There!" she gasped. "But it's locked. I heard them lock it and bolt it. You can only get round by the garden."
"Come with me, Bates," snapped the Inspector. "You stop here, doctor, and take care of the girl."
He ran toward the sitting room, followed by Joe, while Nancy, who had momentarily straightened herself as she answered his question, sank weakly back again against Colin's shoulder.
Lifting her in his arms, he carried her to a small couch which was standing against the wall.
"Tell me, Nancy," he whispered, "tell me. Are you hurt?"
With a gallant effort she smiled up reassuringly into his face.
"No," she said. "I am only tired out and a little faint. I—I've been through a good deal since this morning, Colin."
He sat down beside her, taking her hands in his.
"They brought you a forged letter from Penwarren, didn't they? The girl who lives next door to you told us something about it."
She nodded. "I suppose it was foolish of me to be taken in, but it looked to me just like his handwriting. It said that he had suddenly discovered the truth about my father and mother, and that he had come up to town especially to see me. I went off in the car almost without thinking."
"Where did they take you to?"
"Some house close to Kensington High Street. There was another man there besides Major Fenton—a horrible middle-aged, smiling man—and when they got me inside they held me down and drugged me with a hypodermic syringe. I think it must have been opium they gave me. Anyhow, the next thing I remember is waking up with a frightful headache, and finding myself locked up alone in that room."
With great difficulty Colin managed to steady his voice. "How long ago was that?" he asked.
"It seems ages, but I think it must have been about the middle of the day."
"And when did Fenton come back?"
"Just as it was growing dark. He had been down to the river to get the yacht ready, and had left one of the men here to look after me. He told me exactly what he meant to do—that he was going to take me away on the boat and keep me there until—until——" Her voice faltered.
"I know," said Colin quickly. "I've had the whole story from Medwin!"
"The whole story! Oh, Colin, what does it mean? Why should he——"
"You shall hear everything in a minute," he interrupted. "Just tell me first what happened when we broke into the house."
"It was all over so quickly," said Nancy. "He was in there talking to me and threatening me when he suddenly heard a tremendous crash, and one of the others—the man they call Spike—rushed into the room and shouted out something about the police. Before I could——" She stopped abruptly. "Listen!" she exclaimed. "They're coming back."
There was a sound of voices and steps on the verandah outside, and, letting go Nancy's hands, Colin jumped to his feet.
He walked across to the sitting-room door, where the sight which met his eyes caused him to hurry forward with a sudden exclamation of dismay. The Inspector and Joe were coming in through the window, carrying between them the limp, unconscious body of Sergeant Bentley.
Marsden glanced round, his usually stolid face flushed and contorted.
"They've shot him, doctor—shot him down like a dog and got away in the car. They must have had it standing ready in the garage."
As he spoke, he and Joe lowered their burden gently on to the thick rug which lay just across the window, and the next instant Colin had dropped on his knees, and was bending forward over the prostrate figure.
To an untrained eye the spectacle was a ghastly one, for the man's face was covered with blood, which had trickled down from a broad gash in his forehead. His pulse was still beating, however, and after feeling it for a few moments, and then closely examining the injury, Colin looked up with a little gesture of relief.
"It's not as bad as it appears," he announced. "The bullet must have struck him sideways and glanced off the outside of his temple. He's only stunned."
"Only stunned!" repeated the Inspector. "Well, in that case he can stop here with Bates and Miss Seymour, while you and I go after the others. If they once get on board that boat we may have the devil's work in catching them."
Colin started up immediately, but before he could speak he was interrupted by Nancy, who had followed him into the room.
"I can tell you where the yacht's lying," she said. "I heard them talking about it. It's in some small creek just this side of Thames Haven."
The Inspector wheeled round sharply on Colin. "Do you know the way?" he demanded. "Do you think you can overtake them?"
"I expect I can," replied Colin, "unless Nancy would rather I stayed with her."
She shook her head decisively. "I shall be all right with Joe," she said. "I want to see those two men punished for trying to kill you."
"You'd want it still more if you knew what we do, miss," said the Inspector drily.
He rummaged in the sergeant's pocket, and, pulling out a pair of light steel handcuffs, snapped them round the wrists of the still unconscious Hudson.
Colin turned to Nancy. "You might bathe this poor fellow's wound, and bandage him up with a clean handkerchief. If he comes round before we get back, make him lie perfectly still on the sofa."
She nodded quietly, and with an approving grunt the Inspector offered her his hand.
"Thank you, miss," he said. "You're a fine young lady, and I couldn't be more pleased to see you safe, not if you were my own daughter." Then, as if half embarrassed by this outburst, he added brusquely. "Come along, doctor! They've got a good start already, and we're only wasting time talking here."
He strode toward the window, and, just pausing to press a kiss on Nancy's fingers, Colin followed him out into the garden.
They made their way rapidly across the lawn and down to the front gate. The moon, which was almost at its full, had already risen, its silver beauty lighting up the roadway as plainly as though it were daytime.
The Inspector glanced up into the sky with some gratitude.
"We shall be able to see where we're going, at all events," he observed. "How far do you think the river is from here?"
"It must be about ten miles to Thames Haven," was Colin's answer. "There's no other place they could have left the yacht—not this side of Canvey Island."
"Ten miles!" echoed the other. "Well, if Fenton knows anything about driving it's going to be a pretty close business."
Breaking into a run, they hurried along the road to where they had left the car, and with a sharp jerk of the handle Colin set the engine in motion. Followed by the Inspector, he scrambled into his seat, and a few seconds later he had backed hastily along the oak paling, and swung round into the side turning which ran southward across the marshes.
It was not a route that any one who was fond of his life would have selected deliberately for the purposes of fast driving. Narrow and winding, with a thick coating of mud plastered over its surface, it presented such obvious dangers that even the most foolhardy of motorists would have been forced to recognize the advisability of caution.
Caution, however, was the particular virtue which Colin felt least able to afford. Unless he could make up his lost ground on the more difficult stages of the journey he could certainly abandon all hope of success, for on an open and moonlit road Fenton's progress would probably be as fast as his own.
With a full appreciation of the chances that he was taking he therefore let out the car to a pace which in any other circumstances he would never have attempted. Bumping over patches of loose stone, and splashing through pools of water, he held resolutely on, regardless of risk, while all the time immediately ahead of him two broad and recently imprinted tire marks stretched away encouragingly through the mud.
Whatever the Inspector's private emotions may have been, it must be admitted that he faced the ordeal with masterly restraint. Once or twice, as they skidded violently round a blind corner, he caught hold of the side door with a spasmodic grip, but except for this instinctive movement he maintained an expressionless calm which certainly did credit to the self-discipline of the Yard.
For the first three miles Colin needed all his skill and luck to avoid disaster; then, as they drew farther out into the lonely marshland which borders the north bank of the Thames, the conditions gradually improved. The east wind, which blows perpetually over that desolate region, had already begun to dry up the surface of the road, while with nothing but an occasional cowshed or a few leafless trees to obstruct the view, the chances of running headlong into some unforeseen death trap were reduced to much more comforting proportions.
Suddenly, with an abrupt movement, the Inspector pointed ahead, to where a broad shaft of yellow light streamed out against the sky.
"What's that?" he demanded, putting his lips close to Colin's ear.
"Mucking Lighthouse," was the answer. "There are some powder works away to the right, and the creek they're making for is just between the two."
At a furious pace the car leaped forward along the deserted road, the telltale track of the fugitives still standing out plainly in the glare of the head lamps. Colin was much too occupied with the wheel to indulge in any further attempt at conversation, while sheltering his eyes from the wind with one hand, and grasping the back of the seat with the other, the Inspector stared out in front of him in grim silence.
Rounding a slight curve between two low banks, they emerged into a long stretch of almost perfectly straight roadway, and at the same moment a simultaneous shout burst from both their lips. There in the moonlight, not more than half a mile away, they could see the dark outline and gleaming tail lamp of another car, travelling swiftly in the same direction as themselves.
"There they are!" roared the Inspector. "Keep her going, doctor! Keep her going, and we've got 'em!"
With an inward prayer that his tires would stand the strain, Colin drove down the accelerator to its extreme limit. The well-tuned engine responded to his call, and with the wind rushing in their faces, and the whole chassis quivering and rocking beneath them, they surged on recklessly in pursuit of their escaping quarry.
Any doubt as to the respective pace of the two cars was settled in the next minute. Slowly but surely the distance between them lessened, until in the bright moonlight it was possible to make out the bare head and broad shoulders of "Spike" Cooper as he crouched in the seat alongside the driver, staring back over the swaying tonneau.
"Look out for that devil!" shouted the Inspector. "He'll start shooting directly we're close enough."
Clutching his own pistol in his hand, he leaned forward over the dashboard, his eyes glued on the motionless figure ahead.
Nearer and nearer they drew, the mud and gravel flying from beneath their wheels, the roar and throb of the engine seeming to beat time to the mad rhythm of the chase.
Suddenly, with a warning cry, Marsden raised his weapon. There was a simultaneous spurt of flame from both cars, and with a vicious thud something buried itself in the padded seat just beside Colin's shoulder.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
A second bullet ripped its way along the front mud guard, and then, with a kind of stupefying and unimaginable abruptness, the end came.
Colin was just conscious of a shower of sparks from beneath the steel-studded tires as the car in front of him swerved violently across the road.
By some instinctive movement his hand shot out toward the brake lever, and almost at the same second came a deafening and appalling crash that seemed to strike him in the face like a blow from a fist.