He turned towards the door, and spoke a few parting words to the landlady.
“Don’t leave her till the doctor comes. Obey whatever instructions he gives promptly. I will see that you are rewarded for your trouble. I will look in again, in two or three hours from now. Please sit up for me.”
He walked a few yards down the street, where a cab was waiting. He entered it, and was driven rapidly towards an obscure portion of the town.
Half an hour later, Isobel was sitting in the drawing-room alone. Her host and hostess had gone on a visit to some friends who lived near. Guy had not been able to see her during the day, as he had been too busily engaged with his official duties. He had sent round a note telling her he would be round in the evening. She was expecting him every minute.
There was a tap at the door. The maid entered with a letter. The gentleman who had brought it was waiting in the hall for an answer.
She recognised the handwriting on the envelope at once as that of her cousin Maurice Farquhar. She tore it open and read the few pencilled words: “I want to see you at once. It is about Mr Rossett.” She rushed out into the hall, and almost pulled him into the room.
“What is it?” she panted in terrified tones. “Something has happened to Guy.”
“Yes, something has happened, but you must be brave and not give way. He has been trapped by the anarchists, but all will be well. Moreno assures me that he has foreseen this, and will save him. I am now on my way to do my share in the rescue.”
“Can I come with you?” pleaded Isobel. “I shall go mad if I stop here.”
For a moment Farquhar hesitated. He had a rooted dislike to women mixing themselves up in dangerous or turbulent scenes. But her pleading eyes overcame his scruples.