“There can be only one meaning of that will being forged, my dear sir,” answered Shelley. “You recall that it left the money to Miss Arnell. Well, it is just possible that Mr. Baker forged it. Though I don’t think, if he did, he’d be so foolish as to leave the money to her for life only. No.”

“Then who did?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.”

“Why did you think that Miss Arnell would be likely to have disappeared?” asked Henry.

“Because she is a very rich woman. And because her death means that Mr. Moses Moss has a lot of money. That’s why!”

“And you think that Moses Moss is the murderer?”

“It looks very much like it,” Shelley admitted.

Suddenly Henry gazed at Shelley in horror. A chill ran down his spine, and his very blood ran cold in his veins.

“But that means, Inspector,” he said, “that means that there is a possibility that Moses Moss has got hold of Miss Arnell. That means that he may have kidnapped her, and taken her away somewhere.”

Shelley nodded glumly. “It not only means that, my dear Mr. Fairhurst,” he said quietly. “It means that Mr. Moses Moss may well be contemplating another murder.”

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIII

Cunningham on the Trail

Cunningham leaned forward eagerly in his seat at the back of the flying-squad car, peering over the driver’s shoulder at the streaming road ahead. Rain had started, and the streets were muddy mirrors in which the headlamps of passing cars reflected brilliantly.

Soon they were outside Henry Fairhurst’s house at Streatham, and here the trail really began.

“I wonder,” mused Cunningham, “if there is any through route from here to Pinner? Are there any buses which run through, do you think?”

“Yes, Sergeant,” said one of his companions. “I used to go with a girl out this way, and so I know.”

“Splendid,” said Cunningham. “Which way?”

“Out on the main road,” said the other. “First on the right and then second on the left. The buses start out there—it’s the main road, you see.”

“First right, second left,” snapped Cunningham, and the driver obeyed promptly.

“Now what?” asked Cunningham as they got there.

“Here’s the bus,” remarked the constable as a great red giant came lumbering down the street towards them. “If we follow that, I reckon we shall be following the way that the young lady went. Yes—see, it’s South Harrow and Pinner that it goes to.”

Cunningham chafed at the inactivity now forced upon him. Their car, with its great potentialities of speed, crawled along in the wake of the great bus, stopped when the London Transport vehicle stopped, and started again when the passengers had alighted and made their slippery way to the pavement.