othing to
conceal, Dr. van Heerden, I don't see why you should object."

"I don't object," shrugged the doctor, "search by all means. Where would
you like to start? Here?"

He pointed to three upright cases which stood at the end of the room
nearest the door.

"You will see nothing very pleasant here, they are anatomical models
which have just arrived from Berlin. In fact, I have been trading with
the enemy," he smiled. "They are screwed up, but I have a screwdriver
here."

Beale hesitated.

"There is only another room," the doctor went on, "my bedroom, but you
will not find her there."

Beale twisted round like lightning.

"Her?" he asked. "Who said Her?"

"I gather you are looking for Miss Cresswell," said the doctor coolly.
"You are searching for something, and you ask me when I saw her last.
Who else could you be looking for?"

"Quite right," he said quietly.

"Let me show you the way." The doctor walked ahead and turned on the
light in the inner bedroom.

It was a large apartment, simply furnished with a small steel bed, a
hanging wardrobe and a dressing-chest. Beyond that was his bath-room.

Beale was making a casual survey of this when he heard the door of the
bedroom click behind him. He turned round, jumped for the door, turned
the handle and pulled, but it did not yield. As he did so he thought he
heard a mutter of voices.

"Open the door!" he cried, hammering on the panel.

There was no answer. Then:

"Mr. Beale!"

His blood froze at the wild appeal in the tone, for it was the voice of
Oliva Cresswell, and it came from the room he had quitted.

He smashed at the panel but it was made of tough oak. His revolver was
in his hand and the muzzle was against the lock when the handle turned
and the door opened.

"Did you lock yourself in?" smiled the doctor, looking blandly at the
other's pale face.

"Where is the girl, where is Miss Cresswell?" he demanded. "I heard her
voice."

"You are mad, my friend."

"Where is Miss Cresswell?"

His hand dropped on the other's shoulder and gripped it with a force
that made the other shrink. With an oath the doctor flung him off.

"Hang you, you madman! How should I know?"

"I heard her voice."

"It was imagination," said the doctor. "I would have opened the door to
you before but I had walked out into the passage and had rung Miss
Cresswell's bell. I found the door open. I suppose you had been in. I
just shut the door and came back here."