"What on earth do you mean?" asked Mercia irritably.
"Well, if you must have it in so many words, miss. did he come home last night?"
"Mr. Notting hill, you are too perfectly ridiculous for words. Is it your usual procedure to ring up complete strangers at ludicrous hours of the morning and inquire if the owner of the house has been out all night?" Mercia's tone was sarcastic to the point of being politely chilly..
"Miss, if only you knew how urgent it was you wouldn't stand there being snappy like that." There was a whine almost of apprehension in the throaty voice. "will you please answer me?" he added earnestly. "Did he come home safe and sound last night?"
"Mr. Lyall didn't go out last night," snapped Mercia sharply.
"Didn't he? You can take my word for it, lady-----he did!"
Mercia whitened. she felt her skin prickle all over with a sudden horrible feeling of dread. There was something in this extraordinary person's manner, in his voice, in the very gravity he infused into his words, that sent a crawling sensation of fright through her. It was blatantly obvious that this coarse spoken illiterate of Notting Hill knew a great more about her father than was natural.
"But----but Mr. Lyall retired at ten o'clock last night," she said trying to reassure herself. "I saw him go to his room, saw him myself. The house was locked up for the night less than half an hour afterwards. And Mr. Lyall would never dream of going out after the household had retired. You are quite wrong."
"But am not , miss. I'm right. And I'm only asking you for his own good."
"What business is it of yours, anyhow?"
"That's a thing I can't tell you. But Mr. Lyall knows me all right. And I've been worried out of my life about him ever since midnight. Couldn't get a wink of sleep all night. I've been ringing him since five o'clock this morning. Lady, will you please go up and see if he got home all night?"
"Certainly not," said Mercia firmly. "You're mad."
She was about to hang up the receiver whit a snap when the voice cut in desperately: "Then will you take him up a message for me?"
"I've already told you I will. What is it?"
"You just say this lady: "The gent from Notting Hill gives you his kindest respect and hopes you will ring him up urgent."
"Very well I will tell him that. Will you hold the line?"
"No lady, I won't. I'll ring him up again myself in a couple of minutes---- that is, provided you swear not to phone the police till after I've been through."
Mercia Did not answer. She hung up the receiver with a hand that shook like a leaf in the wind. The devil's of horror and fright were yelling aloud in her brain, the sick terror of some unnameable catastrophe palsied her thoughts.
She gazed for a moment at the mute telephone with fear filled eyes and her face slowly draining ashy white. Then picking up the skirt of her kimono, she raced up the stairs fleet footed like a young deer. Turning to the right she darted along the landing to her father's bedroom door.
White delicate knuckles beat a hurried tatta-tat-tat on the panel. Her left hand was clutched to her heart and her silk gown ruffle rose and fell to the heaving of her breast..
There was no answer and she knock again, rapidly, desperately. Still no sound came from inside the room. She turned the handle and pushed open the door.
The room was stark empty. The bed had not been slept in. There was not a dent in the white smoothness of the bed linen; not a hair brush was out of place. His pyjama case still lay in a neat black oblong across the creamy fullness of the pillows.
She ran half in panic out of the room towards her mother's door, but as she reached the head of the stairs the telephone bell pealed out a loud metallic summons from the study.
She ran down the stairs to it, took up the receiver and breathed a nervous Little "Yes?"
"That's you lady?" It was the same voice , apprehensive now beyond all doubt.
"Yes, miss Lyall speaking. you----are----the Notting Hill gentleman?"
"That's me, miss. Well, what's the news? cough it up quickly. Mr. Lyall wasn't in his room, was he?"
"N-no, he wasn't." Mercia scarcely knew how she got the words out.
"And he hadn't been to bed all night?"
"No---he----he must have gone out after-----after we had all gone to bed." Then she burst out desperately: "Oh, won't you please tell me what all this mystery is about? There is something dreadful, something horrible, behind all this secrecy who are you? Why did you ring up at this hour of the morning? Why do you make all these extraordinary inquiries as to my father's whereabouts? What have his movements to do with you? please---please tell me something. Can't you see I'm nearly distracted?" The words came tumbling out of her mouth, almost chasing one another off her lips in her anxiety to hold her mysterious Inquisitor to the telephone. She had a vague horror that, having discovered all he wanted to, he might hang up his receiver and leave her stranded, struggling for light like a gaffed fish struggles for water.
"Steady lady. Not so fast. This here business hasn't got nothing to do with me. I ain't got nothing to do with it and don't you start getting notions like that into your head. You play straight with me and I'll play straight with you. if you take my tip you'll keep your mouth shut about me ringing up and keep it shut tightest when the police come round. You-----"
"The---the police?" gasped Mercia, ramming the receiver desperately against her ear, for her informants voice was dangerously faint. it was almost as though, in fear of being overheard by listening ears at the exchange, he were talking with his face averted from the mouthpiece.
"Yes lady, the police. They will be along at Greydene before you've finished breakfast---- you mark my words. And when they start making their back alley inquiries you just forget that any such person as me ever rang you up. I ain't nothing to do with this job, see? I'm out of it; well out of it. I washed my hands off it before it started. I knew Mr. Lyall had bitten more than he could chew when he started monkeying about with that man. And I told him so. see? Don't forget that, lady when the police begin asking you questions. You just forget me; you get the idea into your head that the Notting Hill gent never existed, and that he had no connection with this business---- none at all."
"But this is not true!" cried Mercia. "You are connected, you do know what has happened. otherwise, why do you ring up from a public call box? why do you refuse to give me your name? how do you know that my father was out at all last night? How do you know that the police will be calling here? Answer me!"
"hay, forget it. You'll find out soon enough. I'm through. I've talked to much already."
"But you shall answer me! Exchange, don't cut us off!