“Bhag _could_ use the sword, then? Penne told me he did, but I thought he was lying.” “Oh, yes, he could use the sword. Gregory taught him everything.” “What is Penne to you?” Michael asked the question bluntly, and she coloured. “He has been a friend,” she said awkwardly, “a very good friend of mine—financially, I mean. He took a liking to me a long time ago, and we’ve been—very good friends.” Michael nodded. “And you are still?” “No,” she answered shortly, “I’ve finished with Gregory, and am leaving Chichester to-morrow. I’ve put the house in an agent’s hands to rent. Poor Mr. Foss!” she said, and there were tears in her eyes. “Poor soul! Gregory wouldn’t have done it, Mr. Brixan, I’ll swear that! There’s a whole lot of Gregory that’s sheer bluff. He’s a coward at heart, and though he has done dreadful things, he has always had an agent to do the dirty work.” “Dreadful things like what?” She seemed reluctant to explain, but he pressed her. “Well, he told me that he used to take expeditions in the bush and raid the villages, carrying off girls. There is one tribe that have very beautiful women. Perhaps he was lying about that too, but I have an idea that he spoke the truth. He told me that only a year ago, when he was in Borneo, he ‘lifted’ a girl from a wild village where it was death for a European to go. He always said ‘lifted.’” “And didn’t you mind these confessions?” asked Michael, his steely eye upon her. She shrugged her shoulders. “He was that kind of man,” was all she said, and it spoke volumes for her understanding of her “very good friend.” Michael walked back to Jack Knebworth’s house. “The story Penne tells seems to fit together with the information Mendoza has given us. There is no doubt that the woman at the top of the tower was the lady he ‘lifted,’ and less doubt that the little brown man was her husband. If they have escaped from the tower, then there should be no difficulty in finding them. I’ll send out a message to all stations within a radius of twenty-five miles, and we ought to get news of them in the morning.” “It’s morning now,” said Jack, looking toward the greying east. “Will you come in? I’ll give you some coffee. This news has upset me. I was going to have a long day’s work, but I guess we’ll have to put it off for a day or so. The company is bound to be upset by this news. They all knew Foss, although he was not very popular with them. It only wants Adele to be off colour to complete our misery. By the way, Brixan, why don’t you make this your headquarters? I’m a bachelor; there’s a ’phone service here, and you’ll get a privacy at this house which you don’t get at your hotel.” The idea appealed to the detective, and it was at Jack Knebworth’s house that he slept that night, after an hour’s conversation on the telephone with Scotland Yard.