“An express leaves for Derby in half an hour,” went on Masters. “If we book there, I can ’phone through for a car to meet us and motor us direct to Grimland.”
“Yes! Yes! You arrange,” and Sir John, who had grown as many years old as minutes had passed since he had had the news, sat with his teeth chattering and his limbs trembling.
“A motor car will be waiting for us at Derby,” announced Masters as they took their seats in the train.
At last the whistle sounded, the flag waved, and the great engine snorted violently as it left the station.
Sir John, in his anguish of mind, was unable to sit still; up and down the corridor he walked until the passengers began to pity his white, strained face, and wondered what his trouble could be. Derby at last! Then followed a mad ride to Grimland. Alan was awaiting his Uncle at the pit head; he had not attempted to go to bed since the “Light” had taken Desmond from his side. Silently they gripped hands, and Sir John entered the little office and heard the whole story.
Alan wound up by saying, “Even as I tell the story, it seems almost incredible. As I turned round I saw Desmond in mid-air, with, it seemed, a fiery wire about him—and as I looked he vanished from sight.”
Sir John was determined not to look upon it as witchcraft.
“It’s man’s devilry, I’ll be bound,” said he. “I’ll swear it’s not supernatural. Get all the scientists down—let them make investigations. I’ll pay handsomely, but discover the secret I will.”
The men, when they realized that Desmond had disappeared, were shamefaced, and came to Mrs. Warren’s cottage to offer their sympathy. They tried to atone for their past conduct, by inviting both Alan and his Uncle to stay in Marshfielden. But Alan refused. “No, we’ll stay here,” said he. “Mrs. Warren has made me very comfortable. But perhaps we’ll come and visit Marshfielden, if we may, and do our utmost to discover the perpetrator of this diabolical plot.”
“Aye, do ’ee sur, do ’ee,” said the men, and Alan felt strangely cheered by their friendship.