“There’s our car,” said Mabel.
“Then get it ready at once,” said Sinclair abruptly. “Ask questions afterwards.” Sanders, who had not said a word after his last rebuff, sprang to his feet. “I’ll go and see to it.”
“Good. Can you drive? No, the chauffeur must do that. I will go, no, no, that won’t do, I must telephone.”
“I’ll go,” said Sanders quietly. “If you’ll tell me where to go.”
Sinclair looked doubtful. “It’s dangerous your dealing with a man who will stick at nothing. Have you a revolver?”
“Yes,” said Sanders blushing at the recollection which it conjured up, of the night he had unworthy suspicions of Mabel.
“Can you shoot? You are dealing with a crack shot.”
“I’m pretty useful,” said the other.
“Then go.” Sanders went without a word.
“The telephone, in the hall isn’t it?” he rushed out and seized the instrument. “Hullo, Trunks. Scotland Yard priority call. Superintendent Sinclair,” he said, and hung up the receiver.