CHAPTER XXX. LOST.

A peculiar grim smile came over the face of the man who called himself Amati. He hesitated no longer, but with a single bound had reached Vera's side, his arm was around her neck and his right hand pressed to her lips before she could utter a sound.

"Be silent," he hissed, "and all will be well with you. Believe me, I wish to do you no harm. You are quite safe with me."

There was nothing for it but to stand there obedient to the speaker's will. Then, from his lips, came the sound like that of a bird startled from its nest in the night. The green door opened, and another man appeared. Almost before Vera knew what was happening she was half led, half carried through the door and deposited in a cab. It seemed to her that her senses were fading away, that there was something peculiarly sweet and faint smelling on the handkerchief which her assailant had pressed to her lips. The cab drove away swiftly, and the lane was left in silence once more.

Meanwhile the evening was passing on, and Ravenspur was anxiously waiting for the moment when it would be time to get away. Walter came into the garden presently, wondering what had become of Vera.

"I have been looking for her, too," Ravenspur said. "That is the worst of a great crush in a great house like this. It is so difficult to find anybody. We must be off in a quarter of an hour from now. What is all this I hear about one of the dogs?"

"Oh, that is true enough," Walter laughed. "It was old Bruno. I suppose he managed to get away from Park Lane. At any rate, he followed us here and I found him holding up some people in one of the drawing-rooms. I thought he might just as well come to the station with us, so I tied him up in the shrubbery. When I went to see if he was all right just now I found the rascal had got away again. He came back when I whistled, but I couldn't get him to come to my side. I suppose he was afraid of getting a thrashing. However, he is lying down quite good in the shrubbery now, so there is no cause for worry. I daresay that it would be rather alarming for some of these women to be suddenly confronted with the dog when they were carrying on a tender flirtation in one of the arbours."

But Lord Ravenspur was not listening. He looked anxious and worried and full of trouble.

"Oh, Bruno will follow the cab right enough," he said impatiently, "and I daresay the other dog is at the station by this time. I wish you would go and find Vera for me. It sounds foolish, I know, but I have an absurd idea that something may happen just at the last moment. It is always the way when one is overstrung."

Walter went off on his errand cheerfully enough. The moments passed, but he did not return, and the feeling of anxiety on Ravenspur's part deepened. Finally, Walter returned, with a face as anxious as Lord Ravenspur's own. He caught the latter's arm almost fiercely.

"I begin to think you are right," he whispered. "I cannot find Vera anywhere. One of her girl friends tells me that she last saw her quite alone going off in the direction of the pathway behind the shrubbery. That was half an hour ago. What she could be doing there I haven't the remotest idea."

A smothered groan escaped Ravenspur's lips.

"I had half expected this," he muttered. "Something of the kind was bound to happen. She has been lured away, or she has been kidnapped. When you come to think of it, it is quite an easy matter in grounds as large as these. It seems quite hopeless to try and fight against these scoundrels. Depend upon it, they have found out our plans in some mysterious way, and have taken this step to thwart them at the last moment. But how did they manage, how could they have communicated with Vera? And what extraordinary allurement did they hold out to her to induce her to go off with strangers in this way? Oh, the thing is maddening!"

"I don't know," Walter exclaimed. "I only know that we are wasting time, and very precious time at that. Now, let me see, what would be the most likely thing to appeal to the sentiments of a young girl like Vera? I should say something to do with her mother. That, you may depend upon it--a letter from her mother. We can very soon see whether my suspicions are right or not. I'll go out into the hall at once and interview the footmen."

A group of idle, lounging footmen were loafing in the hall. Walter went straight to the point.

"Which of you gave Miss Rayne a letter just now?" he demanded. "And who brought it? Come, speak out!"

The strong, determined voice was not without its effect. One of the footmen came forward and murmured that he had taken the letter and delivered it to Vera.

"It was about half an hour ago, sir," he explained. "No, I don't know the man who brought it. He looked like a small tradesman, or respectable clerk. All he told me was to give the letter to Miss Rayne and see that she had it at once."

"And you were to give it to her when she was alone?"

"Well, yes, sir," the man admitted. "The messenger did say that. You see, there was nothing strange--"

"Oh, of course not," Walter said impatiently. "You were to give it to Miss Rayne when she was alone, and you had a handsome tip for your pains. Was not that so?"

The man's face testified to the fact that Walter's shot had hit the mark, but the latter did not remain there a single moment longer. He had not lost sight of the fact that a cross-examination of a servant would probably have led to a deal of idle gossip, in which Vera's name would have been mixed up; and besides, the footman was obviously an innocent party, and had told everything that he knew in connection with the letter and its delivery.

"It is just as you feared," Walter said, when he reached Ravenspur's side. "A respectably-dressed man came here half an hour ago and left a letter for Vera, which was to be delivered to her when she was alone. The thing was done, and that is how the mischief began. I feel quite sure that I am right, and that that letter came, or purported to come, from Vera's mother. The poor child would naturally go off, thinking no evil. You may depend upon it that that scoundrel Silva is at the bottom of it all. He cannot strike you in one way, so he has made up his mind to deal the blow in another direction. There is no time to be lost."

"But how on earth did they find out our plans?" Ravenspur groaned. "All the servants are to be trusted."

"I've got it," Walter said suddenly. "Don't you recollect that blind organ-grinder that Vera was so interested in? He was hanging about Park Lane all day. Those sort of people have regular beats, and he has never been seen there before. He saw all that baggage going away, and drew his own conclusions. It would be an easy matter to have the stuff followed to Waterloo Station, and find all about the special train from the porters. But what are we going to do? Are we going to raise an alarm?"

"Not yet," Ravenspur said hoarsely. "Don't let us have any scandal as long as we can possibly avoid it. I'll go out with you and we'll make another search of the grounds first. We may find some sort of a clue, and if we do we can follow it up without anybody being any the wiser. Lady Ringmar will simply think that we went off without saying goodbye, and there will be an end of the matter as far as she is concerned. Now come along."

The two slipped out into the grounds again and made a rapid search of the garden. In the shrubbery they found the great hound, Bruno, patiently waiting there. Apparently he seemed to think that his time for punishment was past, for he crept up to Walter's side and rubbed his great, black muzzle against his knee.

"Here's an inspiration," Walter exclaimed. "If Vera went away at all, she must have gone by the back gate. We will put Bruno on the scent, and if--Hallo, what's this?"

The dainty white cambric, with its fringe of lace, caught Walter's eye. He withdrew the fragment from under the dog's collar and held it up to one of the points of electric flame.

"Here is a clue with a vengeance," he exclaimed. "This is Vera's handkerchief. Depend upon it, this is a signal to us that the dog must have been with her at the time she went, and she must certainly have gone voluntarily, or the dog would have made short work of the person with whom Vera departed. She took this way of letting us know she had gone, and most assuredly she must have gone by the back gate. What a lucky thing it was that the dog came here tonight. Let us put him on the scent at once."

"Your suggestion is an inspiration," Ravenspur muttered. "But we can't go quite like this, you know. Run back to the house and get our coats and hats. Don't be long."

Walter was back in a minute or two with the wraps. Then he laid his hand on the dog's collar and led him down the path at the back of the shrubbery. The great beast appeared to know exactly what was wanted of him, for, after throwing up his head and giving vent to a long-drawn howl, he placed his muzzle on the ground and scratched furiously at the door. When the road was reached, at length, the dog tore along at a furious rate, so that the silk scarf twisted round his collar tired Walter's arms terribly.

Still, that did not matter, as they were making good progress now. They went on and on, passing street after street, until the dawn came, and they were in a distant suburb. Before an attractive-looking house, the blinds and shutters of which were closely drawn, Bruno paused and threw up his head.

"This is the place right enough," Walter whispered. "Be careful. If we are seen everything is spoilt."