Ralph Ravenspur was in his room smoking and gazing into space. As Geoffrey entered he motioned him into a chair. He seemed to be expected.
"Well?" Ralph said. "You have something to say to me. You look surprised, but I know more than you imagine. So Tchigorsky is in danger, eh? Well, he has been in danger ever since he and I took this black business on. We are all in danger for that matter. Marion does not know what to do."
"Uncle, you know there is some tie between Marion and Mrs. May."
"Certainly I do. It is the crux of the situation. And Marion is to be our dea ex machina, the innocent goddess in the car to solve the mystery. But I am not going to tell you what that relationship is."
"Marion hates and loathes the woman, and fears her."
"Fears her! That is a mild way of putting it. Never mind how, I know what Marion was talking to you about on the terrace. Suffice it that I do know. So last night's danger was not ours, but Tchigorsky's."
"So Marion said, uncle."
"Well, she was right. Tell her that Tchigorsky is profoundly impressed and that he is going away; in fact, has gone away. Tchigorsky is never going to be seen at Ravenspur Castle any more. Are you, Tchigorsky?"
At the question the inner door opened and a figure stepped out. It was one of the natives that Geoffrey had seen in the hollow of the cliffs that eventful day. He could have sworn to the man anywhere—his stealthy glance, his shifty eye, his base humility.
"Tchigorsky has disappeared?" Ralph demanded.