Under cover of the conflagration the cunning Eurasian had escaped.
Every possible means had been taken to intercept him, and whilst
Gatton, inspired by I know not what hopes, had hastened to the burning
Bell House, I had set out in the police car in pursuit of Dr. Damar
Greefe accompanied by Detective-Sergeant Blythe--upon whom,
apparently, the onus of the fiasco rested.
In despite of these measures, the hunted man had made good his
retreat; and Blythe and I had entered the outskirts of London without
once sighting the car in which Dannar Greefe had fled.
No communication reached me on the following morning, and I found
myself, consumed with impatient curiosity, temporarily out of touch
with Gatton. Then, shortly after mid-day, came a telegram:
"Endeavor induce Sir Eric come to your house eight to-night. Will meet
him there. Gatton."
Welcoming any ground for action--since to remain passive at such a
time was torture--I called at once at Coverly's chambers. He was out.
But I left an urgent written message for him, and in the hope of
finding him with Isobel, hurried to her flat. He had not been there
that day, however; and now I could only hope that he would return to
his rooms in time to keep the appointment. For that Gatton had some
good reason for suggesting the meeting I did not doubt.
Gatton and I were now agreed that Dr. Damar Greefe, if not directly
responsible for the death of Sir Marcus, at least had been an
accessory to his murder.
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