A rustling sounded behind him—an intense heat that nearly stifled him; he heard a sudden shriek—a groan.
Once more the “Light” had found its prey. Alan was alone!
“Come at once. Something terrible has happened to Dez. Don’t delay. Alan.”
Such was the telegram that Sir John Forsyth received upon arriving at his office the day after Desmond’s disappearance. The two boys had kept him fully posted with all the news at Marshfielden. But as he always prided himself upon his strong common sense, he laughed with the boys at the suggestion that the “Curse” was responsible for the strange happenings in the little Derbyshire village.
His face blanched as he read the message, and instinctively he thought of the “Curse,” yet put the thought aside as quickly as it came.
Masters, his confidential secretary, almost friend, looked at him pityingly.
“I am going to Marshfielden,” announced Sir John.
“Shall I come with you?” asked Masters.
“Yes, Masters, I shall need you.”