He glanced round. Persons in authority were entering and pushing to the front of the now dense crowd. That surely was the stationmaster, and there was a policeman. Cheyne did not want to be detained to answer questions. He slipped rapidly into the throng, and by making way for those behind to press forward, soon found himself on its outskirts. In a few seconds he was on the platform and in a couple of minutes he was in a taxi driving towards Westminster as fast as a promise of double fare could take him.
He raced into the great building on the Embankment and rather incoherently stated his business. He was asked to sit down, and after waiting what seemed to him interminable ages, but what was really something under five minutes, he was told that Inspector French would see him. Would he please come this way.
Chapter XIII.
Inspector French Takes Charge
Cheyne was ushered into a small, plainly furnished room, in which at a table-desk was seated a rather stout, clean-shaven man with a cheerful, good humored face and the suggestion of a twinkle about his eye. He stood up as Cheyne entered, looked him over critically with a pair of very keen dark blue eyes, and then smiled.
“Mr. Maxwell Cheyne?” he said genially. “I am Inspector French. You wish to consult us? Now just sit down there and tell me your trouble, and we’ll do what we can for you.”
His manner was kindly and pleasant and did much to set Cheyne at his ease. The young man had been rather dreading his visit, expecting to be met with the harsh, incredulous, unsympathetic attitude of officialdom. But this inspector, with his easy manners, and his apparently human outlook, was quite different from his anticipation. He felt drawn to him and realized with relief that at least he would get a sympathetic hearing.
“Thank you,” he said, trying to speak calmly. “It’s very good of you, I’m sure. I’m in great trouble—not about myself, that is, but about my—my friend, a lady, Miss Joan Merrill. I’m afraid she is in terrible danger, if indeed it is not too late.”
“Tell me the details.” The man was all attention, and his quiet decisive manner induced confidence.
Curbing his impatience, Cheyne related his adventures. In the briefest outline he told of the drugging in the Plymouth hotel, of the burglary at Warren Lodge, of his involuntary trip on the Enid, of his journey to London and his adventure in the house in Hopefield Avenue. Then he described Joan Merrill’s welcome intervention, his convalescence in the hospital, the compact between himself and Joan, his visit to Speedwell, and his burglary of Earlswood. He recounted Dangle’s appearance as an envoy, the meeting with the gang, and the explosion at Euston, and finally voiced the terrible suggestion which this latter contained as to the possible fate of Joan.
Inspector French listened to his recital with an appearance of the keenest interest.