Very cautiously Robin dropped on one knee and shuffled forward in this
position until his eyes were on a level with the window-sill. He found
himself looking into a narrow room, well lighted by a second window at
the farther end. It was apparently an office, for there was a high desk
running down the centre and a large safe occupied a prominent place
against the wall.
Jeekes and the man Victor stood chatting at the desk. The yellow-faced
man was grinning sardonically.
“Parrish don’t like your methods, I’ll be bound,” he retorted. “Don’t
you worry about the little lady, Jeekes! Bless your heart, I won’t hurt
her unless ...”
The loud throbbing of a car at the front of the house made Robin duck
his head hastily. The car, he guessed, might be round at the garage any
moment and it would not do for him to be discovered. He got clear of
the window, rose to his feet, and tiptoed round the house by the way he
had come. Then he crossed the drive and regained the shelter of the
laurels. Crawling along until he came level with the porch, he peeped
through.
Mary Trevert was just entering the house.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE METAMORPHOSIS OF MR. SCHULZ
As the girl collapsed, the yellow-faced man, with an adroit movement,
whisked the handkerchief off her face and crammed it into his pocket.
Then, while he supported her with one arm, with the other he thrust at
the door to close it. Without paying further attention to it, he turned
and, bending down, lifted the girl without an effort off her feet and
carried her across the room to the Chesterfield, upon which he laid her
at full length. Then he seized her muff, which dangled from her neck by
a thin platinum chain.
Suddenly he heard the door behind him creak. In a flash he remembered
that he had not heard the click of the lock as he had thrust the door
to. He was springing erect when a firm hand gripped him by the back of
the collar and pulled him away from the couch. He staggered back,
striving to regain his balance, but then a savage shove flung him head
foremost into the fireplace. He fell with a crash among the fire-irons.
But he was on his feet again in an instant.
He saw a tall, athletic-looking young man standing at the couch. He had
a remarkably square jaw; his eyes were shining and he breathed heavily.
He wore a blue serge suit which was heavily besmeared with white
plaster and the trousers were rent across one knee. Straight at his
throat sprang the yellow-faced man.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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