‘My dear Nesta! Who? I don’t think I know the gentleman.’
‘He tried to kidnap Ogden in 1906, when we were in New York. At least, the police put it down to him, though they could prove nothing. Then there was a horrible man, the police said he was called Buck MacGinnis. He tried in 1907. That was in Chicago.’
‘Good gracious! Kidnapping Ogden seems to be as popular as football. And I thought I was a pioneer!’
Something approaching pride came into Mrs Ford’s voice.
‘I don’t suppose there’s a child in America,’ she said, ‘who has had to be so carefully guarded. Why, the kidnappers had a special name for him–they called him “The Little Nugget”. For years we never allowed him out of our sight without a detective to watch him.’
‘Well, Mr Ford seems to have changed all that now. I saw no detectives. I suppose he thinks they aren’t necessary in England. Or perhaps he relied on Mr Broster. Poor Reggie!’
‘It was criminally careless of him. This will be a lesson to him. He will be more careful in future how he leaves Ogden at the mercy of anybody who cares to come along and snap him up.’
‘Which, incidentally, does not make your chance of getting him away any lighter.’
‘Oh, I’ve given up hope now,’ said Mrs Ford resignedly.
‘-I- haven’t,’ said Cynthia.
There was something in her voice which made her companion turn sharply and look at her. Mrs Ford might affect to be resigned, but she was a woman of determination, and if the recent reverse had left her bruised, it had by no means crushed her.
‘Cynthia! What do you mean? What are you hinting?’
‘You despise amateurs, Nesta, but, for all that, it seems that your professionals who kidnap as a matter of course and all the rest of it have not been a bit more successful. It was not my want of experience that made me fail. It was my sex. This is man’s work. If I had been a man, I should at least have had brute force to fall back upon when Mr Mennick arrived.’
Mrs Ford nodded.
‘Yes, but–‘
‘And,’ continued Cynthia, ‘as all these Smooth Sam Fishers of yours have failed too, it is obvious that the only way to kidnap Ogden is from within. We must have some man working for us in the enemy’s camp.’
‘Which is impossible,’ said Mrs Ford dejectedly.
‘Not at all.’
‘You know a man?’
‘I know -the- man.’
‘Cynthia! What do you mean? Who is he?’
‘His name is Peter Burns.’
Mrs Ford shook her head.
‘I don’t know him.’
‘I’ll introduce you. You’ll like him.’
‘But, Cynthia, how do you know he would be willing to help us?’
‘He would do it for me,’ Cynthia paused. ‘You see,’ she went on, ‘we are engaged to be married.’
‘My dear Cynthia! Why did you not tell me? When did it happen?’
‘Last night at the Fletchers’ dance.’
Mrs Ford’s eyes opened.
‘Last night! Were you at a dance last night? And two railway journeys today! You must be tired to death.’
‘Oh, I’m all right, thanks. I suppose I shall be a wreck and not fit to be seen tomorrow, but just at present I feel as if nothing could tire me. It’s the effect of being engaged, perhaps.’
‘Tell me about him.’
‘Well, he’s rich, and good-looking, and amiable’–Cynthia ticked off these qualities on her fingers–‘and I think he’s brave, and he’s certainly not so stupid as Mr Broster.’
‘And you’re very much in love with him?’
‘I like him. There’s no harm in Peter.’
‘You certainly aren’t wildly enthusiastic!’
‘Oh, we shall hit it off quite well together. I needn’t pose to -you-, Nesta, thank goodness! That’s one reason why I’m fond of you. You know how I am situated. I’ve got to marry some one rich, and Peter’s quite the nicest rich man I’ve ever met. He’s really wonderfully unselfish. I can’t understand it. With his money, you would expect him to be a perfect horror.’
A thought seemed to strike Mrs Ford.
‘But, if he’s so rich–‘ she began. ‘I forget what I was going to say,’ she broke off.