"My God!" he exclaimed, snatching up the telephone receiver. "Jocelyn Thew
has done us again!"
"And you let him walk out!" Crawshay groaned.
"We'll find him," Brightman shouted. "Here, Central! Give me Scotland Yard.
Scotland Yard, quick! Johnson, you take a taxi to the Savoy."
Unnoticed, Richard Beverley had risen to his feet and helped himself to
another whisky and soda.
"If you are now convinced," he said, turning towards them, "that I am
carrying nothing more treasonable than the love letters of my best girl, I
should be glad to know what you have to say to me on the subject of my
detention?"
Crawshay for once forgot his manners.
"Damn your detention!" he replied. "Get off and catch your train."
CHAPTER XXVII
On the extreme edge of a stony and wide-spreading moor, Jocelyn Thew
suddenly brought the ancient motor-car which he was driving to a somewhat
abrupt and perilous standstill. He stood up in his seat, unrecognisable,
transformed. From his face had passed the repression of many years. His
lips were gentle and quivering as a woman's, his eyes seemed to have grown
larger and softer as they swept with a greedy, passionate gaze the view at
his feet. All that was hard and cruel seemed to have passed suddenly from
his face.
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