“No, she’s in the other wing. She’s easy. Twenty years of prison discipline behind her. She won’t kick!” “What did you tell her?” “The yarn you told me, that somebody wanted to get at her, and she had to lie here quietly for a day or two. That housekeeper of mine will look after her, believe me. She had charge of one of my homes in India.” Chesney looked at his watch again. “It is four miles to Whitcomb Aerodrome; you can drive me over.” “Why don’t you take the car?” “Because, you fool, I don’t want the car to be seen. Hurry up!” In five minutes the doctor had harnessed a raw-boned pony to a dilapidated trap. The blue car had been driven into a shed and the door locked, and they were bowling down the road to Whitcomb as fast as the ancient animal could pull them. A quarter of a mile short of the aerodrome Chesney got down. “Those two women are not to meet----” “They’re not likely,” interrupted the other. “And you’d better keep to the house.” “What about money?” asked the doctor. Chesney took a pad of notes from his pocket and passed two to the man. “And try to cut out the booze for the next week. You’ve got a chance of making big money, Tappatt, but you’ve also got a chance of being pinched. If Dorn so much as smells the end of the trail, he’s sure to have you before you realise you’re suspected.” Tappatt grinned. “On what charge?” he asked. “They both came of their own free will, didn’t they? I don’t pretend they’re certified.” “They may want to go away of their own free will,” said the other significantly. He walked rapidly along the road through the big gates of the aerodrome and crossed the field towards a two-seater scout that had been drawn out of its hangar and was attended by three men. “Good morning. I’m Mr. Stone,” he said. “Is this my machine?” “Yes, sir. You’ve got a good morning for your trip.” Praye looked at the frail machine dubiously. “Will that make Paris in one trip?” The aerodrome manager nodded. “Two hours and fifty minutes,” he said. “Maybe shorter. You’ll have a following wind.” He helped the passenger into a heavy leather coat. The pilot had already taken his place, and, when Praye had been strapped and gloved and received his final instructions, the propellers turned with a roar, and the machine, running lightly along the grass, swept up into the blue sky and was soon a speck of white above the eastern horizon. Chapter Twenty-two When Michael Dorn left the police station he hurried his car to Charlotte Street. At such an early hour of the morning there was no sign of life in this thoroughfare. He expected to be kept waiting before there came an answer to his knocking. But had he known something of old Mackenzie’s habits, he would not have been surprised at the promptitude with which his signal was answered.