“Now perhaps you will be good enough to take the sensible course, and sign this contract of sale,” said Lodwin in a thin voice.
He unfolded the document and handed it to her.
The engine of the green M.G. started off.
“And directly you have signed it, I’ll give you my cheque for the balance,” Lodwin went on.
Gillian didn’t read the contract, but looked at him, and asked :
“Why do you want the farm so badly?”
“I want it for my principals who wish to buy not only this but other property in the neighbourhood,” said Lodwin, so brusquely that it was easy to believe that it was true. “They are aware, as no doubt that young American is aware, that the value of the land in this vicinity will rise sharply in the near future, because of certain road and town planning developments. You may have read of them in the newspapers. My principals know that these developments will in fact take place. They could have offered you the present market value price for your property and so swindled you. They preferred to give a good offer, so that there would be no recriminations in the future. That is the simple reason, Miss Selby. I will go further. There are others who would like to buy this property for the same reason. In short, my principals and others are competing for it. However, mine are far more dependable, and have much more capital. We will never allow ourselves to be out-bidden. I may tell you that I was authorised to go up to fifteen thousand pounds without further consultation with my principals, and I think it unlikely that they would be willing to go seriously higher. I think the price a generous one. Your brother is hardly Likely to object to such a sale, so——”
He rustled the paper as he held it over the little mountain of notes, and at the same time took a fountain pen from his pocket. It was obvious that he did not seriously think that Gillian would refuse, as obviously he believed that the Texan had left because he knew that there was no hope for him.
And Alan certainly wouldn’t complain.
“Allow me to make one further commitment on behalf of my employers,” went on Lodwin. “If you receive a better offer than mine in the next forty-eight hours, we will match the offer, and add five hundred pounds to it. I will write that undertaking on the contract. Allow me.”
He put the document on the table, and then began to write with a bold, flowing hand, using jet black ink from an old-fashioned fountain pen.
He finished, signed the document with a flourish, and handed it to her. At that very moment, a car sounded at the end of this road, the third one in less than an hour. It might be Alan! Gillian pushed the document aside and stepped swiftly to the window. Lodwin followed her, document in hand.
“Were you expecting another caller?” he demanded, sharply.
“No, not yet,” she said, and watched a scarlet car streak along, its top showing above the hedge, the thin hedge itself looking as if it were shielding a river of blood. Then she remembered seeing a car exactly like that before. It came into sight, very fast, and for a moment looked as if it was bound to crash into the house. But it didn’t. It missed Lodwin’s car by an inch, the corner of the cottage by two inches, a rose bed by three inches and the small lawn by about an inch and a half. As it quivered to a standstill, the driving door opened and a tall man climbed out and uncoiled himself; he was startlingly handsome and youthful-looking.
Gillian had seen this man, Rollison, only once before : when she had been to the hospital to see Monty.
She saw Monty now, about to open his door.
She found herself fascinated by Rollison, whom she knew better by his reputation and the soubriquet of the Toff. In a queer way, she felt anxiety lose its sharpness, as if this man was already shouldering troubles for her.
Then she turned to look at Lodwin.
He was not there.
4
DISAPPEARING TRICK
There was Rollison, already half way towards the door, and waving to her. There was Monty, out of the car and hurrying as well as he could in the taller man’s wake. There were the two cars. But there was no sign of Lodwin, although only a second or two before he had been standing there with the document waiting for Gillian’s signature. The pile of money was still there. She went swiftly to the kitchen, but there was no sign of him. She heard the front door open, for she had not locked it, and then Rollison came in, stooping beneath the low lintel of the door, and smiling at her as he greeted :
“Sorry we’re late. Is he back?”
“Is who——” she began, and then realised whom he meant, and felt appalled because in that very moment she had forgotten that Alan had disappeared. She saw the surprise on Rollison’s face at her question, and went on hastily : “No, he isn’t, but I hardly know whether I’m on my head or my heels, so much has happened.”
“Leave it all to the Toff,” boomed M.M.M. from the doorway. Then he inquired, his voice becoming shrilclass="underline" “What’s on? Has it been raining money?”
Gillian said: “I know, I’m absurd, but—well, a man was with me just now, he left it.” She stared up at the ceiling, as if wondering whether Lodwin was upstairs. “Now he’s vanished.”
“What man was this?” asked Rollison.
“The Johnny of the car?” asked M.M.M.
“Yes,” answered Gillian. “He—oh, it’s a fantastic story! I don’t know where to begin, except that—well, he was here. By the window. He wanted me to sign a deed of sale, and offered this as a deposit. Then he saw you, and vanished. I didn’t hear a sound,” she added, aware of M.M.M.’s puzzled glance, and the way Rollison was looking, as if he was trying to read her thoughts.
Then they heard the whine of a self-starter.
On the instant, Rollison swung round.
Men had moved swiftly in this cottage today, but none so swiftly as he moved now. M.M.M. was just behind him, and tried hastily to get out of his way, but failed. They collided. M.M.M. fell back, Rollison lost his balance, and the engine of the car outside roared. Rollison regained his balance, and leaped towards the window, which was open a few inches. He flung it open wide and climbed through, before M.M.M. had picked himself up. The sound of the engine became much louder, and reached a high-powered whine as Rollison disappeared.
“That man is greased lightning itself,” said M.M.M. ruefully. “Let me give you a piece of advice. Gill. Never get in his way. Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s caught the disappearing johnny up, and jumped over the top of the car by now.”
Gillian didn’t speak.
“Here, I say,” said M.M.M. “You look all in, you’d better take it easy.” He limped towards her, while she stared at the window, listening to the car and the sound of running footsteps.
At that moment, Rollison knew that there was no hope of catching the other car. Before he could turn his own round and reach the main road, the first would be several miles away, and might take any one of four different roads. He watched as the car disappeared, listened as the engine faded, as if he hoped to remember the sound, and then bent down and examined the gravel path. There were several wet places where the gravel had worn away, and only dirt was left. Sharply defined in one of these was a tyre mark. He studied this as the girl came hurrying out of the cottage.
In a moment, everything about him seemed to change.
Except for her pallor, this girl was really lovely. One would have to travel a long way to see her equal, and obviously she did not realise just how lovely she was, or how gracefully she moved. The over-critical might have said that she was a little plump, but that was hardly true, and she had a wondrous small waist and a beauteous bosom. Behind her, limping very badly, was Montagu Montmorency Mome.