“The game was now in my hands, and I knew I could play it. I drove to a different place altogether, some miles from London. I had, fortunately, plenty of money with me. We stayed at an hotel for the night. Next morning we came up to London and took up our quarters in a small inn at Hampstead.”
“What did you do with the car?” asked Wingate.
“We left it at a garage close to the hotel where we stayed the first night, promising to come back for it in a couple of hours. There, no doubt, it is still.”
“And the next step when you got to London?” was Wingate’s next question.
“Owing to the cessation of the drugs, Mr Monkton’s faculties were swiftly restored. He was weak and ill from his long confinement, but he could think clearly. His first impulse was to come home at once. I dissuaded him from this till he had gone to Smeaton and sought his advice. I felt also it was imperative to get rid of Stent and Bolinski in case they meditated further mischief. It happened that the means were in my power, means which I should not have used except in an extreme case. Information in my possession, which I placed at the disposal of Scotland Yard, enabled the authorities to arrest them on a criminal charge. That you have heard, or will hear.”
She paused a moment, and Sheila spoke.
“You drove up to Chesterfield Street the other night with a companion.”
“Your father. He was longing to come back, and to humour him I suggested we should come for a few minutes as far as the house.”
“And the portrait of Lady Gladys that was sent me? That was my father’s idea, of course. And to make sure, you sent that young woman to tell me what to do. But I had guessed before she came.”
“That young woman was a friend of mine, who knows nothing about the general circumstances. I simply made use of her for this particular purpose.”