“Did you give her a case to hide?” he asked.

“But of course—didn’t she tell you?” Majendie sounded astonished.

“She did. But I’ve been thinking that was simply flimflam to distract the great gullible while he was led into the love nest.”

“My dear fellow! Do you suggest that she’s one of them?”

“Why not? You gave her the case—all right, but suppose she just handed it to them as they passed on the road?”

“Then why did they come on after me and nearly smash us all to pieces forcing me to stop, and, and, and, dear fellow, rip up the seats and the carpet looking for the case?” Majendie was quite triumphant.

“Of course,” murmured Brett, “the second car. It’s yours.”

They did have only one. She had been truthful in that, thought Brett, avidly seizing the fact. “And that’s why the seat feels bumpy. Did they draw into the wood to strip the car in seclusion, do you know?”

“Yes. One of them, the man Tim, knows the country. So do I, of course. It was Colonel Waring’s place we turned into, by a side drive. Acres of woodland. That glade used to be the site of a Palladian temple of love—odd you should call it a love nest just now—I thought you must know it too. The colonel had it pulled down some years ago. An excellent spot for their purposes. Only two approaches, ours and yours.”

“Yet you can believe that we stumbled into it by chance.”

“But if you’d seen her fight and kick—despite the gun—”

“The what?”

“Yes. I was too cowardly, I fear. I knew someone was coming, so did they, of course. One of them was posted at the main entrance, another at that path. I rather gather he saw a light at some distance. He called the others—there are four—or there were—and one of them went into the trees while he—Tim, it was—waited at the edge. I heard you coming. The path seemed to act as a sound channel, and in the open air, I think, one tends to raise the voice unawares. Then I heard Miss Cole laugh—I didn’t recognise her voice, but I knew I should call out to whoever it was. But as I say, to my shame, I couldn’t do it. The man Geoffrey, you see, pointed the gun at me.”

“Geoffrey!” Brett remembered the familiar third voice.

“So they call him. You think that perhaps you know him?”

“No,” said Brett cautiously. Majendie might or might not be quite ignorant of Geoffrey. “It’s a fanciful name for a thug, that’s all.”

“But you know, they’re an ill-assorted bunch. Two of them I imagine to be typical underworld characters—the one who jumped out and our present driver, Duster, they call him. I don’t know whether—”

“Occupational,” said Brett drily. “He dusted me a little while ago.”

“A professional—slugger? Then thank God he’s with us and not with Miss Cole.”