A few moments later we heard a car pull up, and a heavy-booted man entered the hall of the hotel. The door of our room opened, and a thick-set, clean-shaven man of about forty glanced in inquisitively, almost instantly shutting the door again.
Next second May Cranston sprang to her feet with blanched face and terrified eyes.
“That’s Hedley!—old Bethmeyer’s secretary! If he’s recognized me, then the game is up,” she whispered hoarsely.
“But did he?” queried Houston, who sat next to her. “I don’t think he noticed anybody. He simply saw that this was a private party and withdrew. He’s evidently gone to the bar.”
“He’s on his way to Frenbury from London, no doubt,” said the girl.
“Don’t go farther if you think there’s any risk,” Madame urged.
“But it must be done, and to-night!” the girl said. “Remember I leave Liverpool to-morrow evening if there’s trouble, and you—my mother—have got to see me off!”
“I’ll go into the bar and watch him,” I volunteered, and rising, I went to a kind of pigeon-hole which gave access to the bar, and through which I could see into the room beyond. The man whom Miss Cranston had recognized as Hedley was smoking a cigarette and calmly drinking a whisky-and-soda. Afterwards I walked to the door and saw that the car was turned towards London, a reassuring fact which I reported to my companions.
“Then he’s going away from Frenbury, and won’t be at home to-night!” cried the American girl gleefully.
When he had gone we drove nearly to Petersfield, and it was considerably past midnight when, on our return, we descended that long hill which leads from Hindhead. Then, after turning off the main road for some time, we came to a narrow lane which led into a dark wood, where Houston suddenly stopped me and ordered me to switch out the lights.