Still, if I returned, what could I do? Sylvia and her companions had driven away—whither was a mystery.
The Criminal Investigation Department had already issued an official description of the persons wanted, for while I had been at the police-office the inspector had been closely questioning the man Cross and Miss Hammond.
Already the police drag-net was out, and the combined police forces of Europe would, in an hour or two, be on the watch for Sylvia and her mysterious companions.
So far as the United Kingdom was concerned sixty thousand officers, detectives and constables would be furnished with a complete description of those who had held that secret consultation. The tightest of tight cordons would be drawn. Every passenger who embarked at English ports for abroad would be carefully scrutinized by plain-clothes men. Every hotel-keeper, not only in London, but in the remote villages and hamlets would be closely questioned as to the identity and recent movements of his guests. Full descriptions of Sylvia and her friends would be cabled to America, and the American police would be asked to keep a sharp look-out on passengers arriving on all boats from Europe. Descriptions would also be sent to the police head-quarters in every European capital.
In face of that, what more could I do?
The situation had become unbearable. Sylvia’s unaccountable action had plunged me into a veritable sea of despair. The future seemed blank and hopeless.
Just before eight o’clock I strolled back to the police-office and reported myself, as it were. The superintendent expressed himself perfectly satisfied with the replies he had received from London, and, with apologies, gave me leave to depart.
“Inquiry is being made along the roads in every direction from here,” he said. “We hear that the three men and the woman called at the Bell, at Barnby Moor, and had some breakfast. Afterwards they continued northward.”
“Barnby Moor!” I echoed. “Why, that’s near Doncaster.”