“Why – no,” he said, a little unconvincingly. “Did you see me go back?”

“I’m afraid I spied on you,” she said, with a pathetic little smile. “Dick, I’m so worried about you; I wish you wouldn’t go into these places alone.”

“There was nothing to fear,” he said. “I thought I saw something on the floor which gave me a clue to Harry’s fate, but it was nothing – nothing.”

He changed the subject abruptly. She had a feeling that he was not telling her all that he had seen.

Mary and she had dinner alone, and Mr Glover, the butler, free from the restraining presence of Dick Alford, was inclined to be talkative.

“There’s no doubt Mr Alford looks after the policemen. I have had to get a food basket ready – thermos flask and everything the heart can desire. Personally, miss, I don’t believe in pampering the police. They’re only dissatisfied when they go back to their own homes. He won’t have anybody take the basket down to them either. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I’ll take it myself. You have it ready at nine o’clock, put it just outside the servant’s door.’ My own opinion is that they’d be much more pleased with bread and cheese and a bottle of beer. What’s the good of making chicken sandwiches for policemen? And having a bottle of the best wine up from the cellar! It’s a waste of good food!”

Leslie listened, petrified. Now she understood!

The food was not for the police – it was for Harry! Harry, held prisoner in Chelford Abbey – by whom?

48

The bane of life that day had been the London reporters. The Red Lion Inn at Chelfordbury was already filled with them, and not an hour passed that one did not make his way to the house in a vain endeavour to interview the second son. One intercepted him in Elm Drive, and to him, as to the rest, he gave the same reply.

“You boys can’t expect me to tell you any more than I already know,” he said, at bay. “My brother has disappeared, but I believe he is still alive.”

“Who do you think is responsible for these outrages, Mr Alford?” asked the reporter.

Dick shook his head.

“If I knew, it isn’t reasonable to suppose that I should be discussing the matter with you.”

“Is it the Black Abbot?”

“The Black Abbot has nothing whatever to do with this crime,” said Dick shortly. “Unless I credit you with being so foolish as to believe in ghosts, it is unnecessary for me to tell you that there is no such thing as a Black Abbot, and the figure that has been seen in these grounds was somebody masquerading for his own purpose.”

“A practical joke?” suggested the newspaper man.

Dick shook his head.