‘And why not, Mr. Redgrave?’ Bridget demanded, in alarm at the prospect of being left.
‘Because—well, because we had better not,’ said Richard. ‘Four will make too heavy a load for this car.’
‘Juana,’ said Teresa, ‘you will stay here with Bridget. Mr. Redgrave and myself will reconnoitre, find out what we can, and return to you with as little delay as possible.’
‘Very well,’ said Juana, while old Bridget sighed a sad resignation.
In half a minute they had started and were following the car down the road at a pace which would have been dangerous had not Watling Street been deserted at one o’clock in the morning. The moon still shone, but her light scarcely did more than disclose the sides of the road. The electric car was too far ahead to be discerned.
‘Miss Craig,’ said Richard, ‘your suspicions of what may have happened are obviously more serious than you care to admit. We do not know the nature of the adventure upon which we have embarked. Let me beg you to be frank with me. So far as your knowledge goes, has Mr. Craig committed any act, wittingly or unwittingly, which might bring him within the meshes of the law?’
‘Do you mean, do I know whether he has killed Micky, the detective?’
‘No,’ said Richard sharply; ‘I mean no such thing. Go back earlier than the last few days. Go back a few years, and consider. Mr. Craig told me last night that a relative had died and left him a hundred thousand pounds in silver.’
‘Yes,’ said Teresa; ‘that was Great-uncle Andrew, the man who went to Mexico and then turned “queer.” Father has often told me of him.’
‘You believe that you once had a Great-uncle Andrew, who left all this silver to your father?’