Slowing down, the chauffeur called over his shoulder that they were just coming into Gatehouse. Julius bade the Russian direct them. His plan was to drive straight up to the house. There Kramenin was to ask for the two girls. Julius explained to him that Little Willie would not be tolerant of failure. Kramenin, by this time, was as putty in the other’s hands. The terrific pace they had come had still further unmanned him. He had given himself up for dead at every corner.
The car swept up the drive, and stopped before the porch. The chauffeur looked round for orders.
“Turn the car first, George. Then ring the bell, and get back to your place. Keep the engine going, and be ready to scoot like hell when I give the word.”
“Very good, sir.”
The front door was opened by the butler. Kramenin felt the muzzle of the revolver pressed against his ribs.
“Now,” hissed Julius. “And be careful.”
The Russian beckoned. His lips were white, and his voice was not very steady:
“It is I—Kramenin! Bring down the girl at once! There is no time to lose!”
Whittington had come down the steps. He uttered an exclamation of astonishment at seeing the other.
“You! What’s up? Surely you know the plan——”