“I’m sure she was,” Reggie said, “and you’re fond of her. That’s why we’re here, you know. You want to help her, don’t you? When was Mr. Loveday going to meet you again?”
Through sobs it was stated that Mr. Loveday had said he would be by the little gate at his usual time that night.
“Well, I don’t want you to see him, Gladys,” said Reggie gently. “You’re to stay indoors like a good girl. Don’t say anything to anybody and you’ll be all right.”
On that they left her, and Reggie, taking Bell’s arm as they crossed the garden, murmured, “I like Gladys. She’s a pleasant shape. This job’s opening out, Bell, isn’t it?”
“It beats me,” said Bell. “What’s the fellow after?”
“He knows something,” said Oxtoby.
“And he’s not quite sure what he knows,” said Reggie. “Well, well. An early dinner is indicated. It’s a hard world. Come and dine with me.”
That night as it grew dark the chauffeur stood by the little gate of Sylvia Sheridan’s garden, an object of interest to three men behind a laurel hedge. He waited some time in vain. He lit a cigarette and exhibited for a moment a large flat face. He waited longer, opened the gate and approached the back of the house.
“Better take him now,” said Reggie. “Loitering with intent. I’ll go down to the station.”
Inspector Oxtoby, with Bell in support, closed upon the man in the kitchen garden.