Michael guessed that the girl was pale under her yellow make-up, and the hand she raised to her lips shook a little.
“That explains the mystery of the handcuffs,” said Knebworth.
“Did you notice them?” asked Michael quickly. “Yes, that explains the broken link,” he said, “but it doesn’t exactly explain the butyl chloride.”
He held the girl’s arm as he spoke, and in the warm, strong pressure she felt something more than his sympathy.
“Were you a little frightened?”
“I was badly frightened,” she confessed. “How terrible! Was that Bhag?”
He nodded.
“That was Bhag,” he said. “I suppose he’s been hiding in the tower ever since his disappearance. You saw nothing when you were on the top of the wall?”
“I’m glad to say I didn’t, or I should have dropped. There are a large number of bushes where he might have been hidden.”
Michael decided to look for himself. They put up the ladder and he climbed to the broad top of the tower and looked down. At the base of the stonework the ground sloped away in a manner curiously reminiscent of the shell-holes he had seen during the war in France. The actual floor of the tower was not visible under the hawthorn bushes which grew thickly at the centre. He caught a glimpse of the jagged edges of rock, the distorted branches of an old tree, and that was all.