Before that interval had elapsed, Bobby meant to have found Moira if she were in the Grange.
After he had left Frankie in Brook Street, he started to put his plans into operation. He judged it wise to give the Mews a wide berth. For all he knew, a watch might be being kept on it.
As Hawkins, he believed himself to be still unsuspected. Now Hawkins in turn was about to disappear.
That evening, a young man with a moustache, dressed in a cheap dark-blue suit, arrived at the bustling little town of Ambledever. The young man put up at an hotel near the station, registering as George Parker. Having deposited his suitcase there he strolled out and entered into negotiations for hiring a motorcycle.
At ten o'clock that evening a motor-cyclist in cap and goggles passed through the village of Staverley, and came to a halt at a deserted part of the road not far from the Grange.
Hastily shoving the bicycle behind some convenient bushes, Bobby looked up and down the road. It was quite deserted.
Then he sauntered along the wall till he came to the little door. As before, it was unlocked. With another look up and down the road to make sure he was not observed, Bobby slipped quietly inside. He put his hand into the pocket of his coat where a bulge showed the presence of his service revolver.
The feel of it was reassuring.
Inside the grounds of the Grange everything seemed quiet.
Bobby grinned to himself as he recalled bloodcurdling stories where the villain of the piece kept a cheetah or some excited beast of prey about the place to deal with intruders.
Dr Nicholson seemed content with mere bolts and bars and even there he seemed to be somewhat remiss. Bobby felt certain that that little door should not have been left open. As the villain of the piece, Dr Nicholson seemed regrettably careless.
'No tame pythons,' thought Bobby. 'No cheetahs, no electrically-charged wires - the man is shamefully behind the times.' He made these reflections more to cheer himself up than for any other reason. Every time he thought of Moira a queer constriction seemed to tighten around his heart.
Her face rose in the air before him - the trembling lips - the wide, terrified eyes. It was just about here he had first seen her in the flesh. A little thrill ran through him as he remembered how he had put his arm round her to steady her.
Moira - where was she now? What had that sinister doctor done with her? If only she were still alive.
'She must be,' said Bobby grimly between set lips. 'I'm not going to think anything else.' He made a careful reconnaissance round the house. Some of the upstairs windows had lights in them and there was one lighted window on the ground floor.
Towards this window Bobby crept. The curtains were drawn across it, but there was a slight chink between them.
Bobby put a knee on the window-sill and hoisted himself noiselessly up. He peered through the slits.
He could see a man's arm and shoulder moving along as though writing. Presently the man shifted his position and his profile came into view. It was Dr Nicholson.
It was a curious position. Quite unconscious that he was being watched, the doctor wrote steadily on. A queer sort of fascination stole over Bobby. The man was so near him that, but for the intervening glass, he could have stretched out his arm and touched him.
For the first time, Bobby felt, he was really seeing the man.
It was a forceful profile, the big, bold nose, the jutting chin, the crisp, well-shaven line of the jaw. The ears, Bobby noted, were small and laid flat to the head and the lobe of the ear was actually joined to the cheek. He had an idea that ears like these were said to have some special significance.
The doctor wrote on - calm and unhurried. Now pausing for a moment or two as though to think of the right word - then setting to once more. His pen moved over the paper, precisely and evenly. Once he took off his prince-nez, polished them and put them on again.
At last with a sigh Bobby let himself slide noiselessly to the ground. From the look of it, Nicholson would be writing for some time to come. Now was the moment to gain admission to the house.
If Bobby could force an entrance by an upstairs window while the doctor was writing in his study he could explore the building at his leisure later in the night.
He made a circuit of the house again and singled out a window on the first floor. The sash was open at the top but there was no light in the room, so that it was probably unoccupied at the moment. Moreover, a very convenient tree seemed to promise an easy means of access.
In another minute, Bobby was swarming up the tree. All went well and he was just stretching out his hand to take a grip of the window ledge when an ominous crack came from the branch he was on and the next minute the bough, a rotten one, had snapped and Bobby was pitchforked head first into a clump of hydrangea bushes below, which fortunately broke his fall.
The window of Nicholson's study was farther along on the same side of the house. Bobby heard an exclamation in the doctor's voice and the window was flung up. Bobby, recovering from the first shock of his fall, sprang up, disentangled himself from the hydrangeas and bolted across the dark patch of shadow into the pathway leading to the little door. He went a short way along it, then dived into the bushes.
He heard the sound of voices and saw lights moving near the trampled and broken hydrangeas. Bobby kept still and held his breath. They might come along the path. If so, finding the door open, they would probably conclude that anyone had escaped that way and would not prosecute the search further.
However, the minutes passed and nobody came. Presently Bobby heard Nicholson's voice raised in a question. He did not hear the words but he heard an answer given in a hoarse, rather uneducated voice.
'All present and correct, sir. I've made the rounds.' The sounds gradually died down, the lights disappeared.
Everyone seemed to have returned to the house.
Very cautiously, Bobby came out of his hiding place. He emerged on to the path, listening. All was still. He took a step or two towards the house.
And then out of the darkness something struck him on the back of the neck. He fell forward... into darkness.
CHAPTER 27 'My Brother was Murdered'
On Friday morning the green Bentley drew up outside the Station Hotel at Ambledever.
Frankie had wired Bobby under the name they had agreed upon - George Parker - that she would be required to give evidence at the inquest on Henry Bassington-ffrench and would call in at Ambledever on the way down from London.
She had expected a wire in reply appointing some rendezvous, but nothing had come, so she had come to the hotel.
'Mr Parker, miss?' said the boots. 'I don't think there's any gentleman of that name stopping here, but I'll see.' He returned a few minutes later.
'Came here Wednesday evening, miss. Left his bag and said he mightn't be in till late. His bag's still here but he hasn't been back to fetch it.' Frankie felt suddenly rather sick. She clutched at a table for support. The man was looking at her sympathetically.
'Feeling bad, miss?' he inquired.
Frankie shook her head.
'It's all right,' she managed to say. 'He didn't leave any message?' The man went away again and returned, shaking his head.
'There's a telegram come for him,' he said. 'That's all.' He looked at her curiously.
'Anything I can do, miss?' he asked.
Frankie shook her head.
At the moment she only wanted to get away. She must have time to think what to do next.
'It's all right,' she said and, getting into the Bentley, she drove away.
The man nodded his head wisely as he looked after her.
'He's done a bunk, he has,' he said to himself. 'Disappointed her. Given her the slip. A fine rakish piece of goods she is.
Wonder what he was like?' He asked the young lady in the reception office, but the young lady couldn't remember.
