I should hate to pick up the Sunday paper and read about your body being fished out of the river!”

“I shan’t overlook that fact, sir.”

“Good! I am not over-sanguine about the business as it is, but you would certainly be no use to me as a corpse. On the contrary, I should find you a confounded nuisance.” Pulling a slip of paper towards him, the speaker jotted down a telephone number and passed it across the table. “If you have news for me you can ring me up. Don’t say anything over the phone, and don’t on any account come here again unless you have a definite appointment. Is that quite plain?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“Then the only other point is the question of funds. As I have said, this little experiment is entirely unofficial, but at the same time it would be unfair to expect you to dip into your own pocket.” Greystoke unlocked a drawer and produced a small packet of notes. “You had better take ten pounds to cover your immediate expenses. Judging from my own recollections, riverside inns are apt to be a trifle exorbitant in their charges.”

With a word of thanks Owen slipped the money into his pocket, and then, picking up his hat, rose to his feet.

“Very good of you to give me this chance of doing something, sir,” he said quietly. “I only hope I don’t let you down.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I had undergone that experience.” The Captain’s eyes twinkled, and getting up also, he held out his hand. “If it’s any encouragement, though, I have an odd faith in you, Bradwell. I may be superstitious, but I feel that you have been sent along here for this particular purpose.” He paused, “And on the rare occasions when I do get a hunch,” he added, “it generally turns out to be a winner.”

Chapter IV

“More tea?”

“No, thanks.” Mark Craig put down his cup and lighted a cigarette. Then, settling himself back comfortably, he half closed his heavily lidded eyes and contemplated his hostess with a kind of slow, sensuous satisfaction.

It must be admitted that Olga Brandon was well worth inspection. Even the ultra-modern room, with its steel chairs, its glass table and its inevitable cocktail cabinet, did little to detract from the dark, exotic beauty inherited from her Romanian mother, for which only a dream palace out of some opium-inspired romance by Mr. Coleridge would really have provided an appropriate setting. That it should triumph so successfully over the chill bleakness of an up-to-date St. John’s Wood villa was perhaps the finest tribute that could be offered in its honour.

“Well,” demanded Craig, “what’s this latest bit of news that you were hinting at? Anything really useful?”

“I guess so.” Olga smiled complacently. “Like to have the low-down on a new airfield, wouldn’t you, especially if it happens to be on the east coast?”

“A new airfield! Where did you get your information?”

“From a boy I met at a night-club about three weeks ago. He fell for me with a crash, and since then he has been taking me out quite a lot. Seems to have plenty of the needful, so I thought I might as well cultivate him.”

“What’s his name?”

“Forsyth—Desmond Forsyth. Boring as Hell, but right out of the top drawer—Eton and Oxford and all that sort of stuff. His father has got a big place up in Norfolk—owns about half the county, apparently.”

“That must be Sir George Forsyth.” Craig nodded. “I know something about him. Goes in for yacht racing, and used to be a Member of Parliament at one time.”

“Very likely.” Olga shrugged.

“What did this boy tell you?”

“Oh, he was a bit oiled and chucking his money about in the way kids like that do. I asked him whether he could really afford it, and he said that just at the moment he was particularly flush because his old man had pulled off a good deal and sent him along a cheque. Didn’t want to talk about it at first, and that made me curious. I jockeyed him into having two or three more drinks, and then out he came with the whole yarn. Seems that the Air Ministry have taken over some of the family property and stumped up handsomely. Very hush-hush affair, of course, and I wasn’t to breathe a word to a soul. Wouldn’t have mentioned it if he hadn’t known that I could be absolutely trusted.”

“Did you find out the exact site?”

“Think I’m dumb?” Olga laughed. “It’s a three-mile stretch just south of a place called King’s Welcome.