Desmond never admired Maurice Strangwise more
than in that moment. All eyes now turned questioningly towards
the new arrival. As for Desmond he drew back as far as he dared
into the shadow. He knew he was in the direst peril; but he was
not afraid for himself. He was crushed to the ground by the
sickening feeling that he was going to be beaten, that the gang
were going to slip through his fingers after all... and he was
powerless to prevent it.
He guessed at once what had happened. Bellward must have escaped
from custody; for there was no disguise about this pale,
flustered creature who had the cowed look of a hunted man in his
eyes. He must have come to the Mill House to get his motorcycle;
for he surely would have known that the villa would be the first
place to which the police would follow him up.
Desmond saw a little ray of hope. If--it was a very big
if--Bellward's flight were discovered promptly, the police might
be expected to reach the Mill House very soon behind him.
Bellward must have come straight there; for he had not even taken
the very elementary precaution of shaving off his beard. That
made Desmond think that he must have escaped some time that
evening after the barbers' shops were closed.
With thumping heart, with bated breath, he waited for what was to
come.
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