“You don’t have any—what we call the White Slave Traffic—over here, do you?” Quest asked quickly.
“I can’t say that I’ve ever come across any case of it myself, sir,” the old lady replied. “I was housekeeper to the Duke of Merioneth for fifty years, and where we lived we didn’t hear much about London and London ways. You see, I never came to the town house. But since I retired and came up here, and took to reading the Sunday papers, I begin to be thankful that my ways have been country ways all my life.”
“No need to alarm ourselves, I’m sure,” Quest intervened, making his way towards the door. “Lenora is a particularly capable young lady. I feel sure she’d look after herself. I am going right back to the hotel, Mrs. Willet, and I’ll let you know directly I hear anything.”
“I shall be very anxious, Mr. Quest,” she reminded him, earnestly, “very anxious indeed. Lenora was my sister’s favourite child, and my sister—”
Quest had already opened the front door for himself and passed out. He sprang into the taxi which he had kept waiting.
“Clifford’s Hotel in Payne Street,” he told the man sharply.
He lit a cigar and smoked furiously all the way, throwing it on to the pavement as he hurried into the quiet private hotel which a fellow-passenger on the steamer had recommended as being suitable for Lenora’s one night alone in town.
“Can you tell me if Miss Lenora Macdougal is staying here?” he asked at the office.
The woman shook her head.
“Miss Macdougal stayed here the night before last,” she said, “and her luggage is waiting for orders. She left here yesterday afternoon to go to her aunt’s, and promised to send for her things later on during the day. There they stand, all ready for her.”
Quest followed the direction of the woman’s finger. Lenora’s familiar little belongings were there, standing in a corner of the hall.
“You haven’t heard from her, then, since she went out yesterday afternoon?” he asked, with sinking heart.
“No, sir!”
“What time did she go?”
“Directly after an early lunch. It must have been about two o’clock.”
Quest hurried away. So after all there was some foundation for this queer sense of depression which had been hovering about him for the last few days!
“Scotland Yard,” he told the taxi-driver.
He thrust another cigar between his teeth but forgot to light it. He was amazed at his own sensations, conscious of fears and emotions of which he would never have believed himself capable. He gave in his card, and after a few moments’ delay he was shown into the presence of one of the chiefs of the Detective Department, who greeted him warmly.
“My name is Hardaway,” the latter announced. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Quest. We’ve heard of you over here. Take a chair.”
“To tell you the truth,” Quest replied, “my business is a little urgent.”
“Glad to hear you’ve got that fellow Craig,” Mr. Hardaway continued. “Ridiculous the way he managed to slip through our fingers. I understand you’ve got him all right now, though?”
“He is safe enough,” Quest declared, “but to tell you the truth, I’m worried about another little affair.”
“Go on,” the other invited.
“My assistant, a young lady, Miss Lenora Macdougal, has disappeared! She and I and Professor Ashleigh left the steamer at Plymouth and travelled up in the boat train. It was stopped at Hamblin Road for the Professor and myself, and Miss Macdougal came on to London. She was staying at Clifford’s Hotel in Payne Street for the night, and then going on to an aunt. Well, I’ve found that aunt. She was expecting the girl but the girl never appeared. I have been to the hotel where she spent the night before last, and I find that she left there at two o’clock and left word that she would send for her luggage. She didn’t arrive at her aunt’s, and the luggage is still uncalled for.”
QUEST FIGHTS HIS WAY TO THE GIRL HE LOVES.
AS THE PROFESSOR EXPLAINED THE CELLAR’S HISTORY TO QUEST, THE STONE CROSS CLOSED ON THE FRIGHTENED SERVANT.
The Inspector was at first only politely interested. It probably occurred to him that young ladies have been known before now to disappear from their guardians for a few hours without serious results.
“Where did this aunt live?” he enquired.
“Number 17, Princes’ Court Road, West Kensington,” Quest replied. “She had just moved there from Elsmere Road, Hampstead. I went first to Hampstead. Lenora had been there and learnt her aunt’s correct address in West Kensington. I followed on to West Kensington and found that her aunt was still awaiting her.”
A new interest seemed suddenly to have crept into Hardaway’s manner.
“Let me see,” he said, “if she left Clifford’s Hotel about two, she would have been at Hampstead about half-past two. She would waste a few minutes in making enquiries, then she probably left Hampstead for West Kensington, say, at a quarter to three.”
“Somewhere between those two points,” Quest pointed out, “she has disappeared.”
“Give me at once a description of the young lady,” Mr. Hardaway demanded.
Quest drew a photograph from his pocket and passed it silently over. The official glanced at it and down at some papers which lay before him. Then he looked at the clock.
“Mr. Quest,” he said, “it is just possible that your visit here has been an exceedingly opportune one.”
He snatched his hat from a rack and took Quest by the arm.
“Come along with me,” he continued. “We’ll talk as we go.”
They entered a taxi and drove off westwards.
“Mr. Quest,” he went on, “for two months we have been on the track of a man and a woman whom we strongly suspect of having decoyed half a dozen perfectly respectable young women, and shipped them out to South America.”
“The White Slave Traffic!” Quest gasped.
“Something of the sort,” Hardaway admitted. “Well, we’ve been closing the net around this interesting couple, and last night I had information brought to me upon which we are acting this afternoon. We’ve had them watched and it seems that they were sitting in a tea place about three o’clock yesterday afternoon, when a young woman entered who was obviously a stranger to London. You see, the time fits in exactly, if your assistant decided to stop on her way to Kensington and get some tea. She asked the woman at the desk the best means of getting to West Kensington without taking a taxi-cab. Her description tallies exactly with the photograph you have shown me. The woman whom my men were watching addressed her and offered to show her the way. They left the place together. My men followed them. The house has been watched ever since and we are raiding it this afternoon. You and I will just be in time.”
“You’ve left her there since yesterday afternoon? You’ve left her there all night?” Quest exclaimed. “My God!”
Hardaway touched his arm soothingly.
“Don’t