"Drop it," Balmayne said rudely. "What's the good of that theatrical nonsense? If something is not done at once our plans are utterly ruined. Don't stand there like a tragedy actress, but suggest something."
"But what can I suggest? This thing has taken me utterly by surprise. The only thing is to carry that thing back into the street and lay him down where you found him. A policeman saw him leave the house. It will be thought that he had a fit in the street, and we shall not be suspected."
"And meanwhile the policeman on the beat has been at least twice past the spot where the body ought to be," Balmayne sneered. "People in fits don't get out of the way and then come back again."
"True," the Countess exclaimed. "I had not thought of that. Wheel your motor into the courtyard of the Corner House before a policeman comes this way, and carry him back into the house."
There was nothing else to do, and Balmayne complied, muttering. The autocar was disposed of, and Balmayne, breathless and dripping under the weight of his burden, staggered back into Lytton Avenue Gardens again. Once the little green gate was closed he could breathe more freely. But the perils and dangers of the night were not over yet.
The unconscious form of Maitrank was cast carelessly on the grass. Balmayne wiped his heated forehead. The moon came out from behind a ragged bank of cloud and fell on the face of the sleeping capitalist. It was so white and still that he might have been dead already.
The white, still face looked up, the murderous dark one looked down. Balmayne kicked the body in a sudden spurt of passion.
"You miserly old dog," he growled. "A nice dance you are leading us. I wish I knew what on earth to do with you."
The Countess gripped his arm convulsively.
"Kill him," she said in a hoarse whisper that thrilled Hetty. "That is a sure and easy way out of the peril. We can prove that he left the house, nobody can prove that he ever returned. I have my jewels back; there is nothing that we can be traced by. And the secret dies with him."