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Beale had discovered the plot, and had already moved to counter this devilish plan. And she remembered the man who had come to her room in mistake for van Heerden's and the phial of green sawdust he carried and Beale's look of horror when he examined it. And suddenly she cried with such vehemence that his flood of talk was stopped: "Thank God! Oh, thank God!"
"Come with me," said the doctor, and he walked noiselessly and ascended the stairs, followed more slowly by his heavier companion. A quarter of a mile from Deans Folly a motor-car was halted on the side of a hill overlooking the valley in which van Heerden's house was set. "That's the house," said Beale, consulting the map, "and that wall that runs along the road is the wall the tramp described."
He came up the stairs, walked straight through the open door of the doctor's flat and confronted that calm man as he leant against the table, his hands gripping the edge, a cigar in the corner of his mouth and a smile of quiet amusement on his bearded lips. "Well?" he asked, "did you find her?" "I did not find her, but I am satisfied that you will." Van Heerden's eyes did not falter.
Though he controlled these works and knew half the doctor's secrets, he suspected that the quantity of van Heerden's trust was not greatly in excess of his girl's. "We'll wait," he said again, "there's no hurry and, anyway, I want to see you about old man Heyler." "Von Heyler? I thought you were rid of him?" said van Heerden in surprise, "that is the old fool that Beale has been after.
I believe by staying here I can afford her greater protection and at the same time put a spoke in the wheel of Mr. van Heerden's larger scheme." Kitson pinched his lips thoughtfully. "Perhaps you are right," he said. "Now I want to see this young lady, that is why I have come. I suppose there will be no difficulty?" "None at all, I think," said Beale.
"What do you mean, the bookshelf?" Beale nodded. "Half an hour ago I gave Oliva a book," he said, "that book is no longer there." "But in the name of Heaven how can a book save her?" demanded the exasperated Kitson. Stanford Beale did not answer. "Yes, yes, she's safe. I know she's safe," he said. "If Oliva is the girl I think she is then I see van Heerden's finish."
"Oliva Cresswell!" He made a movement toward her but van Heerden barred his way. She heard Jackson say something in a strangled voice and heard van Heerden's sharp "What!" and there was a fierce exchange of words. The attention of the few people in the palm-court had been attracted to the unusual spectacle of two men engaged in what appeared to be a struggle. "Sit down, sit down, you fool!
"Why?" "Answer me this," she said: "why should I who have never heard of him before until yesterday hear his name mentioned by a perfect stranger?" The smile died away from his face. "Who mentioned him! No, it isn't idle curiosity," he said in face of her derisive finger. "I am really serious. Who mentioned his name?" "A visitor of Doctor van Heerden's.
Beale set his teeth and manoeuvred for a lock grip, but he was badly placed, pressed as he was against the edge of the bench. He felt van Heerden's fingers clawing at his hand and the tube was torn away. Then somebody pulled the revolver from the other hand and there was a scamper of feet. He groped his way through the blackness and ran into the pile of boxes.
He had expected to see him, for he knew that this old German, poverty-stricken and ill-favoured, had been roped in by van Heerden, and Beale, who pitied the old man, had been engaged for a fortnight in trying to worm from the ex-professor of chemistry at the University of Heidelberg the location of van Heerden's secret laboratory. His efforts had been unsuccessful.
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