“But Susan Dangle was at our house for several weeks. She could be identified.” “How would that help? She would of course admit being there, but would deny everything else. And you couldn’t prove anything. Why, the gang would point out that it was Susan’s presence at your house that had suggested the whole story to you.” Cheyne shook his head. “I’m not so sure of that,” he declared. “There would be a good deal of corroborative evidence on my side. And then there was Blessington at the hotel at Plymouth. He could be identified by the staff.” “That’s true,” she admitted. “But even that wouldn’t help you much. He would deny having drugged you and you couldn’t prove he had. No, the more I think of it the better their position seems to be.” “Well, then, what’s the alternative?” She shook her head and for a moment silence reigned. Then she went on: “I’ve been thinking about the gang since you told me the story—it’s another point, of course—but it occurs to me they must have had a fine old shock on the morning after your visit.” Cheyne looked up sharply. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Why, they must have been worried to death to know what had happened to you. Your dead body wasn’t found—they’d soon have heard of it if it had been. And no information was given to the police about the affair—they’d soon have heard of that too. And you haven’t struck at them. Probably they’ve made inquiries at Dartmouth and found you haven’t gone home. They’ll absolutely be scared into fits to know whether you’re alive or dead, or what blow may not be being built up against them. Though they richly deserve it, I don’t envy them their position.” This was a new idea to Cheyne. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he returned, then he laughed. “Yes, it didn’t work out quite as they wanted, did it? But I expect they know all about me. Don’t you think that under the circumstances they would have gone round making discreet inquiries at the hospitals?” “Well, that is at least something to be done. First job: find out if possible if anyone asked about you at the Albert Edward. If that fails, same question elsewhere.” “Right: that’s an idea. But it is not enough.” Cheyne shook his head to give emphasis to his remark. “We must do something more. And the only thing I can think of is to get into that house again and see what I can find. I’ll risk the police.” Miss Merrill was evidently thrilled, but not converted. “I shouldn’t be in too great a hurry,” she counseled. “How would it do if we went out there first and had a look around?” “I don’t see that we should gain much by looking at the outside of the house.” “You never know. Let’s go as soon as it gets dark tonight. If we see nothing no harm is done.” Cheyne was not averse to the idea of an excursion in the company of his new friend, and he readily agreed, provided Miss Merrill gave her word not to run into any danger.