“How was I to stop her?” replied the sergeant, in resentment at the imperative tone in which the detective spoke. “I didn’t get home from Staveley last night until nearly ten o’clock and after looking in here I went straight to bed. The station-master told me about an hour ago that she had gone. She came along just before the train started, and he put her in a carriage himself. He thought it a bit strange, so he mentioned it to me when I was down on the station this morning. I rang up Inspector Murchison in order to let you know, but he told me you’d left for here.”
“She’s gone to warn Brett—she’s in London by now,” said Gillett. “The question is how did she get to know that I was coming over to see her this morning and expose the tissue of lies in her statement to you. How did she get to know that the game was up? You’ve said nothing to anybody, Westaway, about the conversation that took place last night at Sir George Granville’s house?”
“Of course I’ve said nothing,” replied Sergeant Westaway. “She had gone almost before I got back here last night.”
“It beats me,” said Gillett. “Who could have warned her?”
He picked up the telephone book off the office table, and turned its leaves hurriedly. When he had found the number he wanted he took up the telephone and spoke into the receiver.
“Double one eight Staveley, and be quick. Is that Sir George Granville’s? Is Mr. Crewe in? Yes, at once please. Is that you, Mr. Crewe? It’s Gillett speaking. The girl has gone—cleared out. I cannot say: I’ve no idea. What’s that you say? Oh, yes, I’ll telephone to Scotland Yard and tell them to keep a look out for her, but I am afraid it won’t be of much use—she’s had too long a start. But it’s now more necessary than ever that we should act quickly if we hope to lay our hands on the man. I think the first thing to be done is to make a thorough search of the cliff road for the actual spot where the job was done. Oh, you have? By Jove, that’s good! I’d be glad if you’d come with me then, because it’s on your theory that it was done away from the house that I’m working——”
Police Constable Heather entered the office at this point with a message for his superior officer. Sergeant Westaway, divided by anxiety to hear the telephone conversation and a determination that his subordinate should not hear it, imperiously motioned Constable Heather away. But as Constable Heather misunderstood the motion and showed no inclination to depart, Sergeant Westaway hurriedly led him out of the office into the front garden, heard what he had to say, and dismissed him with the mandate that he was on no account to be interrupted again. He then returned to the office, but the telephone conversation was finished, and Detective Gillett was seated in the sergeant’s office chair, looking over a document which Sergeant Westaway recognized as Miss Maynard’s statement.
“Crewe’s going to drive us along the cliff road this afternoon to see if we can locate the spot where Lumsden was shot,” said the detective, restoring Miss Maynard’s statement to his pocket-book and looking up. “I’ve arranged to meet him the other side of the cutting at the top of the farm, and we will drive back along the road in his car.”
“Did Mr. Crewe express any opinion as to who—who had warned Miss Maynard to take to flight?” asked Sergeant Westaway eagerly.
“That was not a matter for discussion through the telephone,” responded Gillett curtly. “I’ll talk it over with him this afternoon. I’ll call for you here, at two o’clock. I’ve several things to do in the meantime.”