Gordon’s gesture cut short his questioning.
“I tried to telephone you, but I couldn’t get on, and ever since, that infernal jackass has been keeping guard over the instrument. Is it a crime to kill an amateur detective? I’ve forgotten. I know that in some circumstances murder is justifiable.”
“What has happened?” asked Bobbie again.
For fully three minutes Gordon paced the room, so agitated that he could not steady his voice. His relief at Bobbie’s arrival had brought the inevitable reaction. Presently he grew calmer.
“When I got to the station to meet—you know——”
Gordon winced. He didn’t want to talk about Heloise. The very sound of her name gave him a little pain.
“I found her in a state of terrible fear. You can imagine how I felt when she told me that her husband was watching the barriers and thirsting for my blood! She wanted me to go on and await her, but of course I bolted back; went to the hotel to change, and found that the valet who had my bag and had taken it to the station parcels office, was away for the week-end. I came home, and she must have followed.”
“Heloise?”
Gordon swallowed something.