It was eleven o’clock before Asbury was called to the telephone, and he obeyed with alacrity.
In ten minutes he was back, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Two calls almost simultaneously. Sir Harold, your wife was seen at Euston station this morning. Be of good cheer! We shall find her. The second item is even more important. Lady Elaine Seabright was inveigled from home at ten o’clock, drugged, and taken to a certain house in King’s Cross by Viscount Rivington and an ex-convict named Bulger.”
Sir Harold started up wildly.
“The lady must be released,” continued Asbury; “and I think that it is quite time to stop the viscount’s little career. Come; you can be of no use here.”
Annesley followed him out of the room almost mechanically—received his hat and overcoat from the attentive Stimson, and the two were driven rapidly in the direction of King’s Cross.
“It will probably be all over when we arrive,” the detective explained. “I issued my orders lest the wily snake gave us the slip. This is a last desperate move on the part of Rivington. His confederate, Lady Gaynor, will be arrested to-morrow upon the charge of obtaining money and jewelry under false pretenses.”
At length the cab pulled up with a jerk, and Asbury jumped out, followed by Annesley, whose blood was boiling with indignation.
A man in uniform was promptly by the side of Asbury, and said:
“A doctor is with her ladyship, and the viscount is dead—shot hisself, sir, and laughed while he did it. Bulger’s locked up!”