nodded. At any moment, now, the door in front of them might open. There was not a moment to lose.
With the knowledge that there were no obstructions or unforeseen obstacles of any kind on the stairs, they were able to go down more quickly than they had ascended. Nevertheless, they took care to avoid undue noise.
‘Do you think we’ll be able to work the lift?’ inquired Steve, as they came to the end of the third and last flight of stairs.
‘We’ll have to,’ was the reply. ‘Mind that bottom step!’
‘You can see quite clearly when you get used to the light,’ said Steve, when they stood in the passage again.
‘Yes.’ Paul Temple paused. ‘Now come on, Steve,’ he urged. ‘We must hurry.’
They had to cover little more than a hundred yards, and both felt that they would be safer when they were back in the house again. It was dangerous to sprint along the slippery passage, but nevertheless, Temple broke into a sharp trot, with Steve close behind him. The faint, flickering light of his torch, added to the rays from the oil lamp in the passage, helped them to cover the distance fairly quickly. It was not long before they were back at the lift.
‘Here we are!’ exclaimed Steve breathlessly, but at the same time, relieved.
Then they noticed the panel was closed. In sudden fear, Temple began to struggle with it. It yielded to his efforts.
‘Ah!’ he exclaimed. ‘That’s got it.…Hurry, Steve!’
He bundled her unceremoniously through the opening and quickly climbed in himself. It was the work of another instant to close the panel again.
They had solved the secret of the lift. The panel was at the same time entrance and operating switch. Once again they heard the hum of the electric motor, and after a second or two, they felt the lift slowly moving.
‘It’s working!’ exclaimed Steve a little nervously. ‘We’re going up!’
Paul Temple nodded. ‘I hope Boris Karloff hasn’t missed us,’ he said grimly.
At last, the slow upward movement ceased and, of its own accord, the panel opened.
Paul Temple looked cautiously out into the drawing-room.
‘Is—the room empty?’ inquired Steve softly.
‘Yes.’
The room was just as they had left it. In all probability their absence had not even been noticed. Paul Temple stepped through the opening and turned round to assist Steve.
‘Careful!’ he warned. He paused and looked round. ‘Now how do we close this panel from the…Oh, the statue, Steve!’
‘I’ll do it.’ Steve walked quickly over to the little statue she had discovered, gave it a twist, and to her satisfaction saw the panel close.
‘Good!’ exclaimed Paul Temple.
‘Now what…?’ she asked. ‘Are we going to wait here, or—’
‘No. I think we’ve seen enough of Ashdown House for the time being. I’ll get hold of this butler fellow and tell him we’re not waiting.’ He looked round. ‘Is that a bell push?’ he asked, pointing to the wall by the fireside, where Steve was standing.
‘Yes. I’ll ring.’
She pressed it. Then they sat down in two of the armchairs the room boasted and tried desperately hard to look both very bored and very innocent. At last they heard footsteps in the hall outside.
‘He’s coming!’ said Temple softly.
The door opened, and Snow Williams appeared.
‘You rang, sir?’
‘Yes,’ said Temple with such a perfect air of indifference that Steve had difficulty in keeping her face straight. ‘We’ve, er, decided not to wait for Dr. Milton. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to give him my kind regards?’
‘Certainly, sir.’ Snow led the way to the door without any apparent suspicions. ‘Good night, sir! Good night, Miss!’
Steve and Temple drank in the fresh air greedily. Both felt glad to be outside again. As they walked slowly over to the car neither of them spoke. Both seemed to have far too much to think about. Paul Temple folded a rug over Steve’s knees, made sure she was comfortable, then pressed the self-starter. After two or three turns, the engine was firing, and he slipped the gear lever into position. A few moments later, they were shooting down the drive towards the main road which would take them back to Bramley Lodge.
After a mile or so, Paul Temple suddenly came to a standstill beside the road and switched off his headlamps. Steve looked round at him in surprise.
‘Why have you stopped?’ she asked.
‘Because I want to have a chat with you, young lady!’ he replied.
‘Oh, Mr. Temple!’ said Steve flippantly and with a laugh.
‘Steve,’ he said very soberly, ‘I’m worried.’
‘Worried?’ she echoed, now serious again; ‘Why?’
‘I’m worried because you’re mixed up in this affair. These people are dangerous. They’ll stop at nothing. You’ve got to watch yourself, Steve. You’ve got to watch yourself.’
‘Don’t worry…I will!’ she said reassuringly. ‘You’re very sweet!’ she added gently.
‘Ever since that incident in your flat…with the record…I’ve been very anxious for you.’ There was urgency in Temple’s voice. ‘Can’t you go away for a little while, Steve. Perhaps—’
‘No,’ she replied decisively. ‘No, and even if I could – I shouldn’t. This is my affair, Paul – my affair more than anyone else’s – the Knave of Diamonds killed my brother, remember—’
Her knuckles were clenched and Temple noticed the row of white spots where the bones were forced against the skin. Her lips were pressed firmly together. Paul Temple realized that his passenger could be a very determined little person when she chose.
‘But Steve—’
‘But that isn’t everything,’ she continued firmly. ‘The whole affair is much deeper than that, Paul…much deeper.’ For a few moments, she sat in silence, her face set in a deep frown. ‘From the very beginning of the Cape Town–Simonstown robberies eight years ago,’ she continued thoughtfully, ‘I knew, and hated, the name of Max Lorraine. I knew that sooner or later…I should have to face him. Please believe me, Paul, when I say—’
Again Temple interrupted her. ‘Steve, listen!’ he said suddenly. ‘We agreed that it would be Paul Temple versus Max Lorraine. You heard them talking in that room at the inn: and you know the type of people we’re up against.’ He paused expressively. ‘Steve, for my sake – you’ve got to keep out of this!’
‘But Paul—’
He
