"You haven't heard from her, then, since she went out yesterday
afternoon?" he asked, with sinking heart.
"No, sir!"
"What time did she go?"
"Directly after an early lunch. It must have been about two o'clock."
Quest hurried away. So after all there was some foundation for this queer
sense of depression which had been hovering about him for the last few
days!
"Scotland Yard," he told the taxi-driver.
He thrust another cigar between his teeth but forgot to light it. He was
amazed at his own sensations, conscious of fears and emotions of which he
would never have believed himself capable. He gave in his card, and after
a few moments' delay he was shown into the presence of one of the chiefs
of the Detective Department, who greeted him warmly.
"My name is Hardaway," the latter announced. "Glad to meet you, Mr. Quest.
We've heard of you over here. Take a chair."
"To tell you the truth," Quest replied, "my business is a little urgent."
"Glad to hear you've got that fellow Craig," Mr. Hardaway continued.
"Ridiculous the way he managed to slip through our fingers. I understand
you've got him all right now, though?"
"He is safe enough," Quest declared, "but to tell you the truth, I'm
worried about another little affair."
"Go on," the other invited.
"My assistant, a young lady, Miss Lenora Macdougal, has disappeared! She
and I and Professor Ashleigh left the steamer at Plymouth and travelled up
in the boat train. It was stopped at Hamblin Road for the Professor and
myself, and Miss Macdougal came on to London.
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