“Oh, it would take hours to explain, but I will cut it as short as I can. My cousin and Moreno are great friends. Maurice has come over here to help him. I was expecting you to-night, as you will remember. Maurice came round to explain that you had been kidnapped. He was coming on here, as Moreno’s lieutenant, to help the police. I implored him to take me along, to welcome you when you escaped from them. He consented, and here I am.”
Guy clasped her in his arms. “You darling! And where is Mr Farquhar? I would like to thank him.”
Isobel beckoned to a man standing a little way in the shadow. He advanced.
“Maurice, Guy wishes to thank you for all your share in this night’s work.”
The two men exchanged a cordial handshake. Guy muttered his thanks.
“I would like to tell you to drive off straight away,” said Farquhar. “But you must wait a minute or two. There will be a third occupant of this vehicle—our friend Moreno, who is going to pass the night at the house of the Chief of Police. To-morrow he will go to England.”
In the room from which Rossett had been conducted to his friendly guardian, the head of the police was taking the situation in hand.
“Masks off, if you please, gentlemen,” he cried out in stentorian tones.
The men turned hesitatingly to each other. But the levelled revolvers had an eloquence that was very appealing. They tore off their masks and flung them on the floor.
The chief scrutinised them in turn, offering audible comments.