“Courage!” he murmured. “It is the hour!”
Jack Knebworth was pacing the road when the police car came flying back from Chichester.
“He’s not there, hasn’t been to the station at all,” said the driver breathlessly as he flung out of the car.
“He may have gone into Longvale’s house.”
“I’ve seen Mr. Longvale: it was he who told me that the Captain had gone into Chichester. He must have made a mistake.”
Knebworth’s jaw dropped. A great light suddenly flashed upon his mind. Longvale! There was something queer about him. Was it possible——?
He remembered now that he had been puzzled by a contradictory statement the old man had made; remembered that, not once but many times, Sampson Longvale had expressed a desire to be filmed in a favourite part of his own, one that he had presented, an episode in the life of his famous ancestor.
“We’ll go and knock him up. I’ll talk to him.”
They hammered at the door without eliciting a response.