And then the long weary day dragged on. Mrs Meade did not seem to be inclined for further conversation, and they knew that sooner or later Dr Whitby and the man who had driven him must return, and the red-leather wallet be identified. What would happen then they could only conjecture, but since Dawlish was already prejudiced against Abbershaw he was not likely to be unmoved when he discovered the story of the burning of the papers to be true.
But it was Meggie’s position that chiefly disturbed Abbershaw. Whatever they did to him, they were not likely to let her return to civilization knowing what she did about them. The others, after all, so far as Dawlish knew, realized little or nothing of the true position. Campion had succeeded in convincing them that he was no more than the fool he looked, and they knew nothing of his disclosures to Abbershaw and Prenderby.
The chances, therefore, were against them releasing the girl, and Abbershaw’s brain sickened at the thought of her possible fate. Escape was impossible, however, and there was nothing in the room that could in any way be manufactured into a weapon. The window, even had it been large enough to permit a man’s climbing through it, looked out on to a sheer drop of seventy feet on to the flags below.
There seemed nothing for it but to settle down and wait for Dawlish to make the next move.
As the morning passed and then afternoon without any change, save for a few martial and prophetic hymns from Mrs Meade, their spirits sank deeper than ever; and it grew dark.
Clearly Whitby had not yet returned, and Abbershaw reflected that he might quite possibly have experienced some trouble with the cremation authorities, in which case there were distinct chances of the police coming to their rescue. He wondered, if that occasion should arise, what Dawlish would do – if he would remove Meggie and himself, or simply make a dash for it with his own gang, risking detection afterwards.
On the face of it, he reflected, as he considered what he knew of the man, both from what he had heard and his own experience, the chances were against Meggie and himself being left to tell their story. The prospects looked very black.
And then, quite suddenly, something happened that set his heart beating wildly with new hope, and made him spring to his feet with Meggie at his side, their eyes fixed upon the door, their ears strained to catch every sound.
From inside the room where Mrs Meade had fortified herself, there came an extraordinary sound.
A gentle scraping followed by a burst of shrill indignation from the old woman herself, and the next moment, clear and distinct, a slightly nervous falsetto voice said briskly, ‘It’s all right, my dear madam, I’m not from the assurance company.’