Free Four Strange Women by E.R. Punshon

as Baird.”

CHAPTER V
MURDER?
    When he had said this Colonel Glynne lifted the receiver again.
    â€œCarry on,” he said unemotionally. “I’ll be with you as soon as possible.” He touched the bell. To Bobby he said:—
    â€œYou are taking it on? Good. Get your hat and coat.” A maid appeared. To her he said:— “Biddle having his supper? Tell him to get the big car round at once. Tell him, urgent. Quick as you can.” To Hannay he said:— “Will you tell the others?”
    Hannay nodded and followed Bobby into the hall. Bobby went across to the small cloakroom where he had seen his hat and coat deposited. When he came out again the general was still there, his hand on the knob of the drawing-room door, and Bobby had the impression that he was afraid, that he dared not enter, that some dark, unknown terror held him in its grip. Bobby began to put on his coat. The general looked at him, and very plainly did Bobby see the fear in his eyes, those eyes that in other days had watched death draw near and been unafraid. He saw how Bobby was looking at him. With an effort he drew himself together, flung open the door and marched in rather than entered. So, Bobby thought, he might have looked and walked had he gone to offer to a triumphant enemy a shameful surrender. Colonel Glynne came from the study, crossed to the small cloakroom, came out again with his hat and coat. He nodded to Bobby to follow him. They stood outside, waiting for the car. The front door the colonel had been careful to close, opened. Becky came out. She said:—
    â€œWhy is General Hannay afraid?”
    Colonel Glynne did not answer directly. He said:—
    â€œThey’ve rung me up from the office. I’ve got to get along.”
    â€œWhat has happened?” Becky said again. “Why does General Hannay look like that?”
    The arrival of the car gave her father an excuse for not answering. To her he said:— “Go back indoors, it’s cold.” To Bobby he said:— “Jump in,” and to Biddle:— “Fast as you like.”
    Becky said:—
    â€œYou’re frightened, too.”
    Then to Bobby’s astonishment she laughed; if, at least, so harsh and bitter, even cruel a sound can be called by the kindly name of laughter. The colonel, as he was taking his place in the car, looked over his shoulder and said:—
    â€œDon’t let any one wait up for me.”
    Biddle started the car. The light of the headlamps fell full on the girl as she stood there, heedless of her father’s injunction to go back indoors, her light, yellowish hair making in the bright rays of the car lamps a kind of halo about her small and angry face. Bobby did not soon forget the impression she made as she stood there, the tragic intensity of her pose, the stamp of despair upon her features. As a lost soul turned from the closed door of Paradise she stood without her father’s house and he saw her lift her arms in a gesture he did not understand but that had in it something of a wild abandonment. Then the light of the car lamps swung on and again the darkness took her.
    â€œDoes she know what’s scaring her father and Hannay?” Bobby asked himself. “Is it frightening her, too?”
    Biddle was obeying to the full the colonel’s order to drive fast. At a reckless speed they swung along and, as Bobby guessed, by side roads that avoided traffic controls. They came into Midwych, the suburbs, first. At cross roads they had to wait a moment or two. Near by was a large public-house. At the door a woman was singing. One or two of those passing in or out gave her money. Bobby, deep in his own thoughts, would hardly have noticed a sight so common, so much too common, had he not happened to catch a word or two and recognized a modern version of Gruffudd ap Maredudd’s famous lament for the death of Gwenhwyvar of Anglesey. Bobby’s acquaintance with Welsh was