“For Miss Paula?” His funny hair seemed to be a forest of notes of exclamation. “Of course I can, sir, for Miss Paula.”
“Right! I knew you would. Come down here a minute, and I’ll give you directions. This is very secret, mind. If you should meet even Miss Paula herself, remember you’re not to show a sign you’re the wiser.”
I laid the trappings of mystery on very thick, enough to make the souls of a dozen lads lick their lips. I explained how a message might be delivered at the House later on to-night that would make it necessary for Miss Lebetwood, and perhaps Miss Mertoun, to leave without word or warning to anyone by the eleven o’clock train. Secrecy and haste were the points I stressed. He fell into the plot with so much spirit that I felt a little ashamed of the deception I was practising. With eagerness that ran before my suggestions, he promised to be at New Aidenn station when it opened for the 9.40 train, and to purchase with money I gave him two tickets for London available by the late express. He would leave the tickets for me in the mail. We went into the armoury and agreed on a definite spot. He would also secrete two ladies’ bicycles, property of the Clays, beneath the bush opposite the third oak tree on the left-hand side of the drive after passing the gate-house. We went over that complex direction again and again.
Yes, in these days of the many-tentacled police, the telegraph, and the radio, I was planning for Paula Lebetwood an escape by flight. With two hours’ clear start, for I would see that the telephone did not function and that the shaky bridge should go down behind the pursued, I could almost guarantee scot-freedom. For of course those tickets would not be used for getting to London, not when the express connected at Leominster with fast trains running both north and south. To what destination I would direct the fugitives, I had better not say, but it was one which would afford a refuge almost before the wires were singing with the alarm for her capture.
At that moment Aire slipped in from the darkness through one of the french windows. His head was bare, his clothing was somewhat dishevelled, and he seemed to lack for breath. His mouth was set, with its thin blue-whitish lips drawn back from the teeth. He stared at us some time before speaking; then his voice, the first time I had known it to be so, was instinct with fear.
“Bannerlee, seen Maryvale?”
“I’ve just returned with Miss Lebetwood. What makes you ask?”
“He’s—gone.”
“He’ll come back.”
“I’m sure he will. Come in here, Bannerlee.”