“Well?” Quest exclaimed. “Well?”
“You can work this guard, if you want to,” Laura went on. “I have seen you tackle much worse cases. He seems dead easy. Then let me in the cell, take my clothes and leave me here. You did it before when you were trying to hunt down those men in Chicago, and not a soul recognised you.”
Quest followed the scheme in his mind quickly.
“It is all right,” he decided, “but I am not at all sure that they can really hold me on the evidence they have got. If they can’t, I shall be doing myself more harm than good this way.”
“It’s no use unless you can get hold of Craig quickly,” Laura said. “He is getting the scares, as it is.”
“I’ll do it,” Quest decided. “Call the guard, Laura.”
She obeyed. The man came good-naturedly towards them.
“Well, young people, not quarrelling, I hope?” he remarked.
Quest looked at him steadfastly through the bars.
“I want you to come inside for a moment,” he said.
“What for?” the man demanded.
“I want you to come inside for a moment,” Quest repeated softly. “Unlock the door, please, take the key off your bunch and come inside.”
The man hesitated, but all the time his fingers were fumbling with the keys. Quest’s lips continued to move. The warder opened the door and entered. A few minutes later, Quest passed the key through the window to Laura, who was standing on guard.
“Come in,” he whispered. “Don’t step over him. He is sitting with his back to the wall, just inside.”
Laura obeyed, and entered the cell. For a moment they were breathless with alarm. A passing warder looked down their avenue. Eventually, however, he turned in the other direction.
“Off with your coat and skirt like lightning, Laura,” Quest ordered. “This has got to be done quickly or not at all.”
Without a word, and with marvellous rapidity, the change was effected. Laura produced from her hand-bag a wig, which she pinned inside her hat and passed over to Quest. Then she flung herself on to the bed and drew the blanket up to her chin.
“How long will he stay like that?” she whispered, pointing to the warder, who was sitting on the floor with his arms folded and his eyes closed.
“Half an hour or so,” Quest answered. “Don’t bother about him. I shall drop the key back through the window.”
A moment or two later, Quest walked deliberately down the corridor of the prison, crossed the pavement and stepped into a taxicab. He reached Georgia Square at five minutes to three. A glance up and down assured him that the house was unwatched. He let himself in with his own key and laughed softly as he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. The house was strangely quiet and deserted, but he wasted no time in looking around. He ran quickly upstairs, paused in his sitting-room only to take a cigar from the cabinet, passed on to the bedroom, threw Laura’s clothes off, and, after a few moments’ hesitation, selected from the wardrobe a rough tweed suit with a thick lining and lapels. Just as he was tying his tie, the little wireless which he had laid on the table at his side began to record the message. He glanced at the clock. It was exactly three.
“I have Craig here in the Professor’s garage, locked up. If our plan has succeeded, come at once. I am waiting here for you.”
Quest’s eyes shone for a moment with satisfaction. Then he sent off his answering message, put on a duster and slouch hat, and left the house by the side entrance. In a few moments he was in Broadway, and a quarter of an hour later a taxicab deposited him at the entrance to the Professor’s house. He walked swiftly up the drive and turned towards the garage, hoping every moment to see something of Lenora. The door of the place stood open. He entered and walked around. It was empty. There was no sign of either Craig or Lenora!…
Quest, recovered from his first disappointment, stole carefully out and made a minute examination of the place. Close to the corner from which Lenora had sent her wireless message to him, he stooped and picked up a handkerchief, which from the marking he recognised at once. A few feet away, the gravel was disturbed as though by the trampling of several feet. He set his teeth. For a single moment his own danger was forgotten. A feeling which he utterly failed to recognise robbed him of his indomitable nerve. He realised with vivid but scarcely displeasing potency a weakness in the armour of his complete self-control.
“I’ve got to find that girl,” he muttered. “Craig can go to hell!”
He turned away and approached the house. The front door stood open and he made his way at once to the library. The Professor, who was sitting at his desk surrounded by a pile of books and papers, addressed him, as he entered, without looking up.
“Where on earth have you been, Craig?” he enquired petulantly. “I have rung for you six times. Have I not told you never to leave the place without orders?”
“It is not Craig,” Quest replied quietly. “It is I, Professor—Sanford Quest.”
The Professor swung round in his chair and eyed his visitor in blank astonishment.
“Quest?” he exclaimed. “God bless my soul! Have they let you out already, then?”
“I came out,” Quest replied grimly. “Sit down and listen to me for a moment, will you?”
“You came out?” the Professor repeated, looking a little dazed. “You mean that you escaped?”
Quest nodded.
“Perhaps I made a mistake,” he admitted, “but here I am. Now listen, Professor. I know this will be painful to you, but give me your best attention for a few minutes. These young women assistants of mine have formed a theory of their own about the murder in my flat and the robbery of the jewels. Hold on to your chair, Professor. They believe that the guilty person was Craig.”
The Professor’s face was almost pitiful in its blank amazement. His mouth was wide open like a child’s, words seemed absolutely denied to him.
“That’s their theory,” Quest went on. “They may be right or they may be wrong—Lenora, at any rate, has collected some shreds of evidence. They hatched a scheme between them, clever enough in its way. They locked Craig up in your garage and got me out of the Tombs in Laura’s clothes. I have come straight up to find your garage open and Lenora missing.”
The Professor rose to his feet, obviously making a tremendous effort to adjust his ideas.
“Craig locked up in my garage?” he murmured. “Craig guilty of those murders? Why, my dear Mr. Quest, a more harmless, a more inoffensive, peace-loving and devoted servant than John Craig never trod this earth!”
“Maybe,” Quest replied, “but come out here, Mr. Ashleigh.”
The Professor followed his companion out to the garage. Quest showed him the open door and the marks of footsteps around where he had picked up the handkerchief.
“Now,” he said, “what has become of your man Craig, and what has become of my assistant Lenora?”
“Perhaps we had better search the house,” the Professor suggested. “Craig? My dear Mr. Quest, you little know—”
“Where is he, then?” Quest interrupted.
The Professor could do nothing but look around him a little vaguely. Together they went back to the house and searched it without result. Then they returned once more to the garage.
“I