danger!”
Tommy nodded abstractedly. He was thinking. In a moment or two, he said:
“I say, Julius, what do they want her for, anyway?”
“Eh? I don’t get you?”
“What I mean is that I don’t think it’s their game to do her any harm,”
explained Tommy, puckering his brow with the strain of his mental processes.
“She’s a hostage, that’s what she is. She’s in no immediate danger, because if
we tumble on to anything, she’d be damned useful to them. As long as they’ve got
her, they’ve got the whip hand of us. See?”
“Sure thing,” said Julius thoughtfully. “That’s so.”
“Besides,” added Tommy, as an afterthought, “I’ve great faith in Tuppence.”
The journey was wearisome, with many stops, and crowded carriages. They had
to change twice, once at Doncaster, once at a small junction. Ebury was a
deserted station with a solitary porter, to whom Tommy addressed himself:
“Can you tell me the way to the Moat House?”
“The Moat House? It’s a tidy step from here. The big house near the sea,
you mean?”
Tommy assented brazenly. After listening to the porter’s meticulous but
perplexing directions, they prepared to leave the station. It was beginning to
rain, and they turned up the collars of their coats as they trudged through the
slush of the road. Suddenly Tommy halted.
“Wait a moment.” He ran back to the station and tackled the porter anew.
“Look here, do you remember a young lady who arrived by an earlier train,
the 12.50 from London? She’d probably ask you the way to the Moat House.”
He described Tuppence as well as he could, but the porter shook his head.
Several people had arrived by the train in question. He could not call to mind
one young lady in particular. But he was quite certain that no one had asked him
the way to the Moat House.
Tommy rejoined Julius, and explained. Depression was settling on him like
a leaden weight. He felt convinced that their quest was going to be
unsuccessful. The enemy had over three hours’ start. Three hours was more than
enough for Mr. Brown. He would not ignore the possibility of the telegram
having been found.
The way seemed endless. Once they took the wrong turning and went nearly
half a mile out of their direction. It was past seven o’clock when a small boy
told them that “t’ Moat House” was just past the next corner.
A rusty iron gate swinging dismally on its hinges! An overgrown drive thick
with leaves. There was something about the place that struck a chill to both
their hearts. They went up the deserted drive. The leaves deadened their
footsteps. The daylight was almost gone. It was like walking in a world of
ghosts. Overhead the branches flapped and creaked with a mournful note.
Occasionally a sodden leaf drifted silently down, startling them with its cold
touch on their cheek.
A turn of the drive brought them in sight of the house. That, too, seemed
empty and deserted. The shutters were closed, the steps up to the door
overgrown with moss. Was it indeed to this desolate spot that Tuppence had been
decoyed? It seemed hard to believe that a human footstep had passed this way for
months.
Julius jerked the rusty bell handle. A jangling peal rang discordantly,
echoing through the emptiness within. No one came. They rang again and
again–but there was no sign of life. Then they walked completely round the
house. Everywhere silence, and shuttered windows. If they could believe the
evidence of their eyes the place was empty.
“Nothing doing,” said Julius.
They retraced their steps slowly to the gate.
“There must be a village handy,” continued the young American. “We’d
better make inquiries there. They’ll know something about the place, and
whether there’s been anyone there lately.”
“Yes, that’s not a bad idea.”
Proceeding up the road, they soon came to a little hamlet. On the outskirts
of it, they met a workman swinging his bag of tools, and Tommy stopped him with
a question.
“The Moat House? It’s empty. Been empty for years. Mrs; Sweeny’s got the
key if you want to go over it–next to the post office.”