She simpered and blushed slightly. “I’ve an appointment with a friend,” she admitted, wondering whether the swain would protest too strongly if she accepted the invitation.
“Bring him also,” said Carshaw. “I assume it’s a ‘he.’”
“Oh, that’ll be all right!” she cried.
So in the deepening gloom the automobile flared with fierce eyes along the quiet road to Gateway House, and in its seat of honor sat the hotel maid and her young man.
“That is the place,” she said, after the, to her, all too brief run.
“Is this the only entrance?” demanded the chief, as he stepped out to try the gate.
“Yes. The high wall runs right round the property. It’s quite a big place.”
“Locked!” he announced. “Probably empty, too.”
He tried squinting through the keyhole to catch a gleam of interior light.