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Updated: May 15, 2025
"Very well, then, Julian," he decided, "there is nothing more to be said upon the matter. Miss Abbeway, you will allow me to escort you to your room. Such further explanations as you may choose to offer us can be very well left now until the morning." "You will find that the whole blame for this unconventional happening devolves upon me," Julian declared.
"I do not trust either of these men. That fiend Bright has a poisonous gas with him in a pocket cylinder. I am convinced that they meant to murder Julian." The two newcomers turned towards the couch and exchanged amazed greetings with Julian. Fenn threw his mask on to the table with an uneasy laugh. "Miss Abbeway," he protested, "is inclined to be melodramatic.
I met Miss Abbeway on my way down to the sea, and when she told me that she was coming to call on you, I asked leave to accompany her." "You're very welcome, sir," was the cordial response. "It's an honour which I scarcely expected." Julian found chairs for every one, and Mr. Stenson, recognising intuitively a certain state of tension, continued his good-humoured remarks.
"Go to Hell, and do as you're told!" was the fierce reply. "Put your best men on the job. I must know, for all our sakes, the name of the neutral whom Miss Abbeway sees to-night and with whom she is exchanging confidences." Bright left the room with a shrug of the shoulders.
"Straight along the top of this ridge for about three quarters of a mile, sir, to the entrance of the harbour there." "And then?" "I have a petrol launch," Julian explained, "and I shall land you practically in the dining room in another ten minutes." "Let us proceed," Mr. Stenson suggested briskly. "What a queer fellow Miles Furley is! Quite a friend of yours, isn't he, Miss Abbeway?"
Miss Abbeway said she was coming down this afternoon to put new plugs in." "Then it's been there all the time since yesterday afternoon?" Julian persisted. "The young lady wished it left there, sir. I could have put a couple of plugs in, in five minutes, and brought her up to the house, but she wouldn't hear of it." "I see, Fellowes." "Any luck with the geese last night, sir?" the man asked.
"There'd be plenty of work for her in Russia just now," Cross observed. "No person of noble birth," Julian reminded him, "has the slightest chance of working effectively in Russia to-day. Besides, Miss Abbeway is half English. Failing Russia, she would naturally select this as the country in which she could do most good." Some retort seemed to fade away upon the other's lips.
"Are there any guests at the Hall who motored here, do you know?" Julian asked. "Only the young lady, sir," the man replied, "Miss Abbeway. She came in a little coupe Panhard." Julian frowned thoughtfully. "Has she been out in it this morning?" he asked. The man shook his head. "She broke down in it yesterday afternoon, sir," he answered, "about halfway up to the Hall here." "Broke down?"
"If we do not succeed within the next twenty-four hours, I shall give you an order to see him. I don't mind confessing," he went on confidentially, "that the need for the production of that document is urgent, apart from the risk we run of having our plans forestalled if it should fall into the hands of the Government." "I presume that Miss Abbeway has already done her best?"
"We got a message from you, Miss Abbeway, a little time ago," Furley remarked. "It was countermanded, though, just as we were ready to start." "Yes!" she assented. "I am sorry. I telephoned from Julian Orden's rooms. It was there we made the great discovery. Listen, all of you! I have discovered the identity of Paul Fiske." There was a little clamour of voices. The interest was indescribable.
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