"Paris to Pau by air," he said, "in four and a quarter hours. Think of it. Clean across France in a bit of an afternoon. You'll all have to do it: it's simply glorious." He crossed to my sister's side and kissed her hand. "Don't look so surprised," he said, laughing. "It really is me. I didn't dare to wire, in case we broke down on the way. And now where's Jill?"
We continued to stare at him in silence.
* * * * *
It was Berry—some ten minutes later—who hit the right nail on the head.
"By George!" he shouted. "By George! I've got it in one. The fellow who sent that wire was Leslie Trunk."
"Leslie?" cried Piers. "But why——"
"Who knows? But your cousin's a desperate man, and Jill's in his way. So are you—more still, but, short of murder itself, to touch you won't help his case. With Jill in his hands…. Well, for one thing only, I take it you'd pay pretty high for her—her health."
Piers went very white.
For myself, I strove to keep my brain steady, but the thought of Adèle—my wife, in the power of the dog, would thrust itself, grinning horribly, into the foreground of my imagination.
I heard somebody say that the hour was a quarter past seven. I had my watch in my hand, so I knew they were right. Vainly they repeated their statement, unconsciously voicing my thoughts….