“Where did you leave Miss Arnell?” Shelley asked.

“She went home to Pinner, and I said I would ring her up when you had told me what you thought about this business of the forgery.”

“What’s her number?”

Henry told him, and Shelley drew the telephone towards him, and rapidly got through to the number required. After holding the receiver for a few minutes, obviously listening to the ringing at the other end, he quietly replaced it on its hook, and picked up another ’phone.

“Send me Sergeant Cunningham, a flying-squad car, and half a dozen plain-clothes men,” he said.

“I don’t understand, Inspector,” Henry objected.

“You’ll understand soon enough,” snapped Shelley. “No time to waste.”

Now Cunningham entered, and Shelley, in sharp, staccato tones, gave him his orders.

“You remember Miss Arnell’s house at Pinner?” he said.

Cunningham nodded.

“Well, somewhere between there and Streatham,” his chief told him, “I think Miss Arnell has disappeared. See if you can get on her trail.”

“Disappeared?” Cunningham looked completely amazed.

Shelley looked at Henry again.

“Did she go by bus?” he asked.

Henry nodded. In this atmosphere of brisk efficiency it seemed unnecessary to say anything. And in any case Shelley had said that it was urgent, and he did not want to waste time.

“Follow the bus routes, and see if you can find any account of a young lady resembling Miss Arnell being picked up by a car,” Shelley went on. “If you can’t trace her any other way, see if you can find a bus leaving Streatham at—what time would it be, Mr. Fairhurst?”

“Eight o’clock,” murmured Henry, completely mystified by all this bustle, and not understanding this turn of events at all.

“Eight o’clock. Right. Got that, Cunningham?” asked Shelley.

“Yes, sir,” Cunningham answered dutifully.

“Take the car I’ve ordered, and the half-dozen men. And hurry. She’s in real danger. I’ll never forgive myself if…if…” He paused, and Cunningham rapidly left the room.

“What do you think has happened to her, Inspector?” asked Henry.

“I don’t know. Wish I did,” answered Shelley. “It’s the vague things like this that cause the trouble.”

Now he picked up the ’phone again, and spoke rapidly.

“See if you can spot any traces of forgery in that photostat of the will of Professor Arnell, Mac,” he said. “There are some documents by the man in the file in Room 126. I’m pretty sure it’s a forgery, but it’s as well to get confirmatory evidence, if I can.”

“But what,” asked Henry, when the detective had replaced the telephone receiver on its hook once more, “is the meaning of it, Mr. Shelley?”