Drummond grinned. “The humorous thing is that I haven’t an idea who the bird is—except that——” He paused, with his eyes fixed on the man’s left thumb. The top joint was crushed into a red, shapeless pulp, and suddenly the meaning of the instrument Lakington had produced from his pocket became clear. Also the reason of that dreadful cry at dinner....
“By God!” whispered Drummond, half to himself, while his jaws set like a steel vice. “A thumbscrew. The devils ... the bloody swine...”
“Oh! quick, quick,” the girl urged in an agony. “They may be here at any moment.” She dragged him to the door, and together they forced the man into the car.
“Lakington won’t,” said Hugh with a grin. “And if you see him to-morrow—don’t ask after his jaw.... Good-night, Phyllis.”
With a quick movement he raised her hand to his lips; then he slipped in the clutch and the car disappeared down the drive....
He felt a sense of elation and of triumph at having won the first round, and as the car whirled back to London through the cool night air his heart was singing with the joy of action. And it was perhaps as well for his peace of mind that he did not witness the scene in the room at The Elms.
Lakington still lay motionless on the floor; Peterson’s cigar still glowed steadily in the darkness. It was hard to believe that he had ever moved from the table; only the bullet imbedded in a tree proved that somebody must have got busy. Of course, it might have been the girl, who was just lighting another cigarette from the stump of the old one.
At length Peterson spoke. “A young man of dash and temperament,” he said genially. “It will be a pity to lose him.”
“Why not keep him and lose the girl?” yawned Irma. “I think he might amuse me——”
“We have always our dear Henry to consider,” answered Peterson. “Apparently the girl appeals to him. I’m afraid, Irma, he’ll have to go ... and at once....”