“That’s no damned business of yours,” he snarled. “Here’s some money.” He thrust some notes into her hand.
“What have you done?” she whispered in horror.
“I’ve done nothing, I tell you,” he stormed. “But they’ll take me for it. I’m going to get to the yacht. You’d better clear before they come.”
She was collecting her hat and gloves when she heard the door close and the key turn. Mechanically he had locked her in, and mechanically took no heed of her beating hand upon the panel of the door.
Griff Towers stood on high ground and commanded a view of the by-road from Chichester. As he stood in the front of the house, hoping against hope that he would see the ape, he saw instead two lights come rapidly along the road.
“The police!” he croaked, and went blundering across the kitchen garden to the gate.
CHAPTER XXXVII
AT THE TOWER AGAIN
Adele went flying down the drive, intent only upon one object, to escape from this horrible house. The gates were closed, the lodge was in darkness, and she strove desperately to unfasten the iron catch, but it held.
Looking back toward the oblong of light which represented the tower door, she was dimly aware of a figure moving stealthily along the grass that bordered each side of the roadway. For a moment she thought it was Gregory Penne, and then the true explanation of that skulking shape came to her, and she nearly dropped. It was Bhag!
She moved as quietly as she could along the side of the wall, creeping from bush to bush, but he had seen her, and came in pursuit, moving slowly, cautiously, as though he was not quite sure that she was legitimate prey. Perhaps there was another gate, she thought, and continued, glancing over her shoulder from time to time, and gripping the little pistol in her hand with such intensity that it was slippery with perspiration before she had gone a hundred yards.