Date: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00
Description: Characteritic English adventure-thriller of the early 1930s, taking place entirely in England. A young man is abducted in error from a railway station in the countryside, and from there on the action continues unabated. This edition is from the serial, as publuished in the Brisbane Courier Mail in 1934/5, checked against the Maitland Daily Mercuty for a few missing lines. 52,000 words.

THE GIRL IN THE CAR

Ottwell Binns

1934

Contents

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

Chapter 13

_______________________

Chapter 1

THE local train, infinitely leisurely in its going, slowed down, bumped a little, and then came to a standstill In the rainy night. Awakened out of the half doze into which he had fallen, Roy Huntley stretched himself, stood up, and moved by a quite mild curiosity, lowered the window and thrust his bare head into the rain, wondering why the train should have pulled up at that point.

Two hundred yards or so away the oil lamps of the little country station gleamed brightly In the wet, and outside the station the sidelights of a car shone like stars. He marked the latter with approval.

'Judson must have got my wire, after all,' he murmured. A second. later the snap of a catch in the next compartment attracted his attention. He turned his head quickly, and saw the door swing open. Then a tall man, holding a small suit-case jumped out to the permanent way. Stretching a long arm the man closed the door behind him, and hurried towards the side of the track where a wooden fence served as boundary between the railway and an apple orchard.

As he watched the man go, Huntlev laughed to himself.

'A bilker. Travelling without a ticket.' He laughed again, watched the man, now a mere shadow, vault the orchard rail, and then as the engine whistled, and the train gave a preliminary jolt he drew in his head, put on his hat, and took from the rack his own small suit-case in preparation for leaving the train. As the latter came to a standstill, Huntley, stepping on to the platform, found himself the only passenger for this particular station.

A solitary official hurried forward and collected his ticket, remarking with a cheerfulness which Mark Tapley might have envied:—

'A wet night, sir.'

'Nasty!' agreed Huntley, and moved towards the entrance to the little station.

As he did so, the engine whistled again, the train rumbled on, and the station official anxious to be gone promptly began to extinguish the lamps. The first one to go out happened to be that which lighted the gate, and Huntley found himself groping for the exit. He discovered it by stumbling down the three steps to the station yard, and as he began to walk towards the waiting car a man emerged from the shadows.

'That, you, Jud?' he began, but the man whom he addressed whistled sharply. A second man materialised suddenly to the wet darkness, and almost before he realised the new-comer's presence, Huntley found himself gripped right and left and jerked towards the saloon, where a third man stood by the open door.

His protesting question was cut to half by a hand which clamped itself over his mouth. That made him really angry; and realising there was something wrong, he began to struggle. Managing to dislodge the muffling hand he shouted for help. He heard heavy feet pounding along the wooden platform, then one of toe men who held him shouted to his fellow at the saloon door.

'Dot him one, Jim.' He saw the third man leave the door, and received the 'dot' in the form of a fist behind his left ear, which had the effect of rattling his wits and putting him temporarily out of action.

He was dimly conscious that he was being thrust into the saloon. As dimly he was aware of a voice shouting protestingly, then more clearly he heard a rougher voice raised threateningly.

'Keep off, you blamed fool!'

'My God!' cried a panic-stricken voice that proclaimed stark fear, the reason for which was not apparent. Then he found himself seated in the saloon with two of his assailants one on either hand, and three seconds later the vehicle began to move forward. One of the men laughed to his fellow.

'Done it, Carroll, as neat as ninepence.'

Roy Huntley, his rattled wits steadying a little, felt that it was time to register a fresh protest.

'Look here,' he said, 'what's the meaning―'

'Shurrup!' broke in the man whom his fellow had addressed as Carroll. The injunction was as peremptory as it was brief, but Huntley disregarded it.

'If you think I'm going to suffer this outrage quietly you're mistaken―'

'No we ain't! Show a glim, Carroll.'

A flashlight turned straight in his eyes half-blinding Huntley, then something hard was thrust against his ribs. The beam of light dropped to the point where the pressure was evident and the man spoke again.

'See that, you sheep!'

Huntley dropped his eyes to the point where the beam was focused. Something bright gleamed in the light and a moment later he realised that the hard thing against his ribs was the muzzle of a pistol, and with the realisation he understood the reason for the fear of the official who had hurried to his help and then had failed him.

Then the man whose hand held the pistol spoke again ferociously.

'Now you know!... You sit quite, or by the living jingo I'll turn you into mutton.'

Huntley realised that it was expedient to obey, protesting no more, he sat still as a stone image wondering what on earth all these harsh preliminaries indicated. That the three men were making some ridiculous mistake seemed quite certain, and suddenly he stumbled on the truth. That man who had left the train surreptitiously had not been bilking the railway company, he had been avoiding these men whom he must have known or guessed were awaiting his arrival.

But who was the man? Who were these ruffians whom he had successfully avoided? What did they want with the fellow who had escaped their attentions? Above all, what was to happen to himself?

He stared straight in front of him considering these questions without finding an answer to any of them, and presently a fifth question was added to the list. Where were these men taking him? It might be possible, he thought, to find an answer to that particular question if he were sufficiently observant; and to that end he watched the road closely.

The saloon, with all lamps burning, was travelling at a great pace. A broad fan of light illumined the full width of the road which was bowered in trees and had the aspect of a tunnel through which the car was racing.

The road was deserted. Now and again a rabbit silvery-grey and almost ghostly In the glare hopped across the road, and once a great white owl, blinded by the light, floated towards the car, and missed the screen by a hair's breadth. But no pedestrian appeared, and save for the saloon there was no vehicular traffic. The avenue opened out, and a few minutes later a cross-roads appeared with a signpost like a gaunt white skeleton in the strong light. The saloon flashed by the latter at a speed which made it quite impossible to read the lettering, and raced on between high banks topped with hazel bushes, which features— being characteristic of half the roads in the country— told Huntley nothing.

A descent appeared. The saloon took it at a speed which proved that the driver was not troubled by nerves, and they went roaring up the ascent beyond at a rate which revealed the car to have a high-powered engine. The crest of the hill was a hump. It was impossible to see anything that might be approaching from the farther side, and that there might be something coming the other way never appeared to enter the driver's head, for be kept the crown of the road, and swept over the hump at top speed.

It was then the thing happened.

On the farther side of the crest a small car presented itself on its own side of the road, leaving ample room for any other vehicle to pass. But the saloon held the dead middle of the road, and the other car was so close on that it was impossible for the driver of the saloon to swerve in time to avoid an accident.

Huntley had a swift vision of a girl's face behind the windscreen of the other car— a face that in the glare was very white with eyes wide with fear. He heard the brakes screech as they were hastily applied, and through the screeching caught the sound of Carroll's voice hoarse with apprehension.

'My God! We're for it.'

Then the clash came. There was a harsh, grinding din, a sound of rending wood, a crash of splintering glass. Something was thrown forward against the saloon window nearest Huntley, and the pane gave like paper. The saloon lurched at the impact, skidded half-way round, but kept the road, whilst the smaller car, wrecked, was flung half-way up the bank, hung there for a second, and then toppled back into the road where it lay upon its side. A second later the man, Carroll, had the rear door of the saloon open and was stepping out into the road.

Huntley made to follow him but the man on the other side jerked the pistol against his ribs.

'You sit still, Laundy! You don't come under any insurance!'

Huntley, noting his new name, sat still, and watched the driver of the saloon leave his wheel and follow Carroll Into the road. The sound of their harsh voices was clearly audible through the patter of the rain. They were, it seemed, examining the damage suffered by the saloon utterly regardless of the wrecked car and of the girl who had been driving it, and who was still somewhere in the wreckage.

'Off lamp gone, wing like a crumpled salmon-can, running-board Just kindling wood!' announced Carroll's voice.

'Turn that torch on to the radiator.'

There was a flash of Carroll's lamp, and after a moment or two his voice sounded again.

'Radiator's O.K., but the wing stay has gone phut.'

'That doesn't matter a tinker's curse! Wheel and axle seem all right. I reckon we'll be able to tool along as far as the boss's place? What about that other car? There was a girl driving or I'm mistook.'

'Girl it was! Saw her face In the headlight. Scared stiff she was—'

Through the broken window Huntley saw Carroll move and flash his torch on the wrecked car. Then the man spoke again hoarsely, and with brutal terseness.

'Girl's there. Just crumpled up. Looks a goner. No good wasting time, and anyhow, quick or dead, she ain't our business. Best hop along, Swanny. You don't want to be run in for manslaughter.'

'Well, I'm not hankering.'

'Then make sure that the saloon is a going concern. You never know. A jolt like that may have busted something internally.'

The driver climbed back to his seat and started the engine. As Huntley's ears told him, it ran sweetly enough. Then the driver straightened the saloon out, and tested the steering gear.

'O.K.!' he announced. 'Hop in, Carroll.'

Carroll hopped in, and was in the act of closing the door when Huntley, forgetful of the pistol, and horrified at the brutal callousness of the trio, leaped to his feet. :

'You fiends!' he cried. 'You're never going to leave that girl ? '

The reply to his unfinished words was a sharp blow on the back of the head with the butt of the pistol. He felt the blow. There was a flash before his eyes like that of a bursting star, and he crumpled up on the leather seat like a sack suddenly emptied of its contents. The man who had dealt the blow laughed harshly.

'That'll keep his nibs quiet for a bit, I guess.'

'Yes,' answered Carroll; 'saves a peck of trouble.'

The saloon began to move forward slowly at first, the driver evidently making certain that no vital injury had been sustained. Then he accelerated. The engine began to purr— steady, sustained, subdued note, which proclaimed perfect running, and the vehicle swept on through the rain and darkness, with Huntley still sagging in unconsciousness between his captors.

He came to himself with the sound of a new voice in his ears.

'You fly-brained idiots! You've brought the wrong man!'

At the words he half opened his eyes. He was no longer lying in the saloon, but in a large room with shaded lamps, lying on his back on a thick-piled carpet, with a big, stout man in evening dress standing close beside him. He. felt very sick, and there was a mist before his eyes which made his vision a little uncertain, but he had an impression of a strong bearded face, very ruddy, the eyes of which, shaded by heavy, dark glasses he was unable to make out. So much he saw before deciding that it might be expedient to close his eyes again and maintain a semblance of unconsciousness. Then he heard the man Carroll cry in consternation.

'Mean to say that ain't Laundy?'

'No more than I am.'

'But he was the only guy who stepped off that train. And he measures out all right. A six-footer, we were told to look for, carrying a number one size suit-case, and―'

'He's not the man, I tell you!' broke in the stout man, harshly.

'Well!' Carroll's voice had a sudden hot note of truculence. 'He was the only posy there was to gather, an', not knowing his physog, we ain't to blame. And who the blazes is he, anyway?'

The stout man disregarded the question. 'Was there another car at the station?'

'No. Ours was the only pebble on the beach.'

'You saw nothing of the girl, then?'

'Girl!' The word came from Carroll explosively. Then he cried out like a man to whom a revelation his been vouchsafed.

'My stars! That was her!'

'You saw her then?'

The stout man's voice was harsh with wrath. 'She was at the station. You fools 'Steady, boss!' Interrupted Carroll. 'She wasn't at the station. But I'll take my affidavy that we met her on the road. It never entered my nut till this very minute. If you'll just listen to me I'll put you wise.''

The man gave a terse account of the accident and of the girl who had been left in the wrecked car, ending with a comment that rang with conviction. 'If that wasn't the Laundy girl I'll eat my hat. Must have been. We know she was due to meet him, and I guess she was just late in getting to the station. There wasn't another car about and the one we smashed up— the only one we met, mind you— was going that way with a girl at the wheel. The facts just shout, boss.'

'Maybe! But they don't tell us where Laundy is. And that is the thing that matters, Carroll. I wonder if this fellow knows anything.'

'Give him a reviver an' ask him, said Carroll. 'That's the way to find out.'

'All right. There's brandy over there and glasses. Just get a nip. We may learn something if we've luck.'

Huntley, lying quite still, rapidly considered his course of action. In a moment he was bound to revive. The brandy unless he swallowed naturally, was certain to make him splutter, and after that any pretence of insensibility would be in vain. And there was that girl to think of. If he could get away he might still be able to help her if she were not dead. The man who had left the train surreptitiously would scarcely be waiting still, and it could do no harm to tell the ruffians what had happened. He made up his mind swiftly, and when the man began to pour the brandy into his mouth he spluttered and coughed with convincing naturalness.

'Good stuff, boss!' laughed Carroll. 'Regular corpse-lifter! Do I give him the lot?'

'Yes!'

The glass was thrust to his lips again, and he swallowed the contents, then opened his eyes and, sitting upright, looked round with assumed bewilderment. The bearded man in the glasses gave him no time to ask questions.

'You look surprised, my friend.' he said suavely. 'I do not wonder. There has been a little error and an apology is due to you. Under a misapprehension you have been brought here instead of another man, for whom you were mistaken. But the matter shall be rectified as far as possible. There is a little thing, however, in which you can assist us: and for your own sake I hope you will.'

'Just the answer to a simple question. When you got out of the train it Newton-Porcorum you were the only passenger to alight at that station?'

'The only one at the station,' answered Huntley, stressing the last three words.

'Jumping Jehoshaphat!' cried Carroll. 'Mean to say some guy slipped out when the train pulled up outside the station?'

'There certainly was a man who got out. I saw him. I thought he was bilking the company―'

'Bilking Hades!' shouted Carroll. 'He was diddling us. Where did he go?' 'Oh, across the line and over a fence into an orchard.'

'What make of a guy was he?'

'Tall— as tall as I am. He had a suitcase―'

'Laundy! Boss, that was our man. I guess he watched us snap this bird here, an' laughed in his sleeve at us. But he'll be waiting for his sister. He can't get away from that hole at this time o' night! If the boys and I take the other car we'll scoop him yet.'

'Then go, for heaven's sake, and don't make such a confounded mess-up this time.'

'Don't worry, boss. It gets my rag to think of that fellow grinning at us whilst we made a bloomer. We'll get him if he's above ground. Swanny, get out the other car. Sharp!'

There was a movement at the other end of the room, and looking round Roy Huntley saw the man who had driven the saloon going towards the door. Then Carroll spoke again.

'What about this bird here?'

The man whom he addressed, turned, and considered Huntley. The dark glasses hid his eyes, but there was a cold calculating look on his face which made Huntley shiver. Then the man jerked his hand, and he and Carroll moved out of earshot and talked together in low tones. Presently Carroll returned.

'Get up, my beauty.'

Huntley staggered to his feet, and watched the room apparently gyrating, whilst he rested a hand against the wall for support.

'No kick left!' Carroll laughed brutally. 'Just as well. It'll save trouble. Now listen to me, mister. We're going to give you a lift down the road, an' turn you loose— that's the boss's idea, though it ain't mine. But what he says goes. You won't be hurt unless you get fresh; an' if you do that you'll be hurt so bad you'll never be hurt again. You get me? All right! Right about face. I'm going to bandage your peepers. Tain't healthy for you to be seeing too much.'

Huntley looked doubtfully at the man with the glasses, who reassured him in the suave tones he had previously used.

'That is quite right, though expressed a little crudely. You have nothing to fear but the little inconvenience. I am afraid you will have a wet walk; but God makes the weather— not I... But a word of advice is not unseasonable. If you are wise you will forget your little visit here and all the... er... preliminaries, Mr. Huntley.'

'You know my name?' cried Huntley in surprise.

'Easily acquired knowledge,' laughed the other genially. 'It is on the tag attached to your case... Ah! There is the car. I am afraid we must part.'

'Right about,' growled Carroll. 'Sharp's the word.'

There seemed nothing else for it. Huntley faced the wall, and the man promptly bandaged his eyes. A second later the handle of his suit-case was thrust into his hand.

'Here's your grip. You'll not be leaving that,' said Carroll. 'Now step out. I'll be the blind man's dog.'

He stepped out, and was guided out of the house to a terrace, where the soft purr of an engine proclaimed the waiting car. He was led to it, and once more found himself seated between two of his captors, and by reason of his bandage in complete darkness. The car began to move. He wondered if he dare slip the bandage and obtain a glimpse of his surroundings, but as it he had read his thoughts, In the same moment Carroll's voice spoke harshly.

'No hanky-panky, Mister what's your-name, or as sure as God made little apples you get it.'

The hard thrust against his ribs which he had previously experienced was renewed, and that grim threat was not to be ignored. He remained quite still, and made no effort to loosen the bandage. The pace of the car accelerated. A minute and a half later it turned sharply to the right, the unexpected swerve throwing him against one of the men; and he guessed that the car had swung through a gateway into the high road.

The speed increased. Neither of his guards spoke, and, other than the swish of the wheels on the wet road and the purr of the engine, the only sound was the patter of heavy rain on the roof. A considerable time elapsed, and he was trying to calculate the number of miles they must have travelled, when one of the men at his side gave a sharp whistle. The car slowed down and came to a standstill. Then a door was opened; the pistol was jabbed against his side, and Carroll's voice gave the order.

'Out you get! Mind the step.' He stumbled out to the road, then again caught Carroll's jibing voice. 'So long, ba-ba! A pleasant walk.'

A door crashed heavily. He heard the car move off, and in the same second he tore the bandage from his eyes and looked round.

In the driving rain the only visible thing was the red tail-light of the car gleaming like a ruddy star. It gave him his direction, and facing the rain he began to follow the receding car. His head ached intolerably, the driving rain chilled him to the bone, and he felt utterly exhausted, but he tramped steadily on, spurred by a single thought— that girl.

He did not know whether she was in front or behind him, but the thing to do was to get help. There would be a house somewhere, the inmates of which, would respond to the call of humanity and...

Unexpectedly he found himself walking uphill. The rise was a steep one and, remembering that it was at the crest of such a hill the accident had befallen, a sudden excited anticipation stirred in him. Despite the incline his pace quickened, and when he reached the crest he stared breathlessly through the rain and darkness. A shadow on the wet road caught his eyes.

'The car.'

He ran towards it. Just as he reached it he saw something else— a smudge of white against the dark background of the bank. He looked more closely, and made out the outlines of a feminine figure reclining there, with pale face turned upward towards the weeping sky.

In a flash he divined the truth. Here was the girl for whom he had been so greatly concerned. She must have revived and crawled out of the wreckage of the car; then, overborne, have thrown herself on the slope of the bank, and again lapsed into unconsciousness, or—

A sharp fear that she was dead assailed him. Hurriedly he stretched a hand and touched the pale cheek. As he did so the girl gave a little start, her eyes opened and stared fearfully into the darkness. Whereat, infinitely relieved, Roy Huntley cried in heartfelt gladness. 'Alive! Thank God. Alive!'

Chapter 2

AS ROY HUNTLEY cried the words which voiced his relief, the girl's dark eyes turned to him wonderingly. A moment later she gave a little inarticulate cry and tried to lift herself from the bank. To Roy Huntley's ears the cry seemed burdened with fear, and he hastened to reassure her.

'Don't be afraid. I am a friend and I am here to help you. There was an accident you know.'

The girl moved again at that, and cried, a little hysterically: 'Yes, yes! A big car―' Her voice broke and she shivered violently, sagging back again to the bank. Huntley, with a fear that she had suffered some injury that was not apparent to him, spoke quickly, his voice tense with concern. 'You are hurt?' he asked. 'Tell me, I must get help from somewhere.'

The girl recovered a little at the words, and answered brokenly: 'No bones... but my head— is hurt, I think... and I feel dizzy... and sick.'

He found the words reassuring. The dizziness and sickness and even the shivering were no more than was to be expected after the physical shock she must have suffered, and he answered her soothingly: 'That is natural after so bad a crash. May I look at your head? It may need bandaging.'

The girl made no demur. She had lost her hat, and her hair, worn long, had broken from its fastenings and was soaked with the rain. In the darkness it was not easy for him to see anything; but presently his fingers found a bump at the back of her head. As he touched it the girl gave a little cry of pain, and even in the darkness he could see a stain on the light-coloured woolly which she wore.

'There is a bruise and, I am afraid, a cut— nothing worse, I hope, Miss Laundy.'

As, without thought, he gave her the name which had been in his mind from the beginning, the girl started violently, half lifted herself from the bank.

'Steady!' he cried, but the girl lifted herself higher. 'My name!' she broke out challengingly. 'How do you know—'

Her voice failed, choked by the stress of emotion, but from the white face the dark eyes stared at him almost hostilely, and he made haste to reassure her. 'I learned it by accident. I will tell you presently. Just now you must trust me. Believe me, I am your friend. You must let me bind your head and then I will help you to some place where you can rest.'

'Rest! I have no time for that— I must get to— to Newton-Porcorum, quickly.'

'I am afraid that will not be very easy,' he answered quietly. 'Your car is wrecked, and this is a rather lonely road, with little traffic on it at this hour. But we may find a house, and perhaps a vehicle of some kind ? '

'I can walk!' interrupted the girl. 'I must go at once. There is... someone waiting for me.'

'I know,' he said quietly. 'Your brother.'

'How do you know that?' The girl's voice was suddenly stronger, and the challenging note was there again.

Huntley sensed the hostility behind the challenge, and answered quickly: 'By accident, Just as I learned your name. Perhaps I had better clear things up at once. I was in that car which smashed you up. The men to whom it belonged were no friends of mine. They were complete strangers to me, and a little while back as I stepped out of the station at Newton-Porcorum, they hustled me into their car.'

'Hustled you?'

'Kidnapped me, to be precise, mistaking me for another man who, I gathered later, was your brother―'

'Ah! Then Archie is safe. Thank God!'

Huntley hoped that he might be and refrained from expressing any doubt. 'If Archie is your brother―'

'He is. I was to have met him and was on my way. I was a little late owing to having to change a wheel, which was not easy in the dark―' She broke off and asked sharply: 'Those men who kidnapped you were at the station?'

'They certainly were.'

'They were waiting for Archie?'

'Well, they were not waiting for me, and in the car they gave me the name of Laundy.'

'But how could they know?' cried the girl in a startled half-whisper, which, as Huntley recognised was not addressed to himself.

'If you mean how could they know that you were to meet your brother at Newton-Porcorum, I'm afraid I cannot tell you.'

'No one knew, but myself. How... Did you see Archie?'

'I saw a man leave the train before we reached the station, a tall man with a suit-case.'

'Then he got away!' cried the girl, exultantly. 'But he will be waiting for me somewhere; and wondering where I am. I must let him know, somehow. Perhaps you will go?'

'Not and leave you here in the rain and darkness,' he said firmly. 'If you feel able we will go forward together, until we find shelter for you. Your brother, if he is worthy of your anxiety, would never forgive me if I left you, whilst I went to look for him. I should not forgive myself either. If you will allow me I will bandage that cut, and then we will start.'

He made a bandage from a silk handkerchief, binding up the wound in her head as well as he could for her long hair, then picking up his suit case he thrust it in the hedge, and spoke tersely. 'Now, if you are ready.' He helped her to her feet, and a second later caught her as she staggered, and as he held her she spoke a little despairingly.

'I feel... very dizzy. I don't know— if I can walk.'

'Wait!' he said. 'The dizziness will go. There is bound to be some reaction after the shock. You are sure you have suffered no other injury?'

'Bruises! Everywhere— from the soreness. But they are nothing. If you will let me take your arm―'

He gave her the arm at once, and they began to walk forward through the rain, slowly. They has gone but a little way when she gave a lurch, and the hand on his arm clutched sharply.

'I am afraid walking is too much for you,' he said, with quick concern.

'No, no!' she cried, whisperingly, 'We must keep on.'

'Then I must give you more support.' Without asking permission, he put his arm round her waist, holding her firmly. 'That will be better, I think. And you must not mind.'

The girl made no demur, and they moved forward again. For a time neither of them spoke. Huntley was wondering what was the meaning of the coil into which he had stumbled, and hoping that she would give him her confidence, when rather unexpectedly she broke silence.

'If any one were to see us―' she said, but did not finish the sentence. With no key to her thought, Huntley chose to treat the words lightly, and answered with a little laugh.

'He would probably jump to a wrong conclusion.'

'How? You mean―'

'He would mistake us for a pair of lovers strolling in the rain,' he explained with another laugh.

'Oh!' she whispered, as if the thought had not occurred to her. Then she herself forced a laugh. 'For a pair of lunatics, you mean.'

A second later she added, inconsequently: 'I hope Archie has found shelter. He suffers from malaria, and chills are bad for him.'

Roy Huntley made no reply, but stared ahead in the wet darkness wondering what was happening at the station. Had Archie Laundy waited there for the coming of his sister? If so, what had befallen? He visioned a solitary man waiting a little impatiently in the rain, watching a car driving up the cul-de-sac to the station, and moving forward eagerly to meet it.

In that case Carroll and the other brace of ruffians would gather him like a wayside flower as they had gathered him, almost without a struggle. But there was a chance that the man would be on his guard. If he had been lingering in the neighbourhood of the station he must have observed the little affair which had resulted in his own abduction, almost certainly have heard the porter shouting as he ran down the platform, and from what he had witnessed he would take warning and not be easily trapped. He found what consolation he could in these reflections, from which he was recalled by a question from the girl.

'What happened when those men found they had made a mistake?'

'Well, naturally, they were not pleased.'

'But they let you go, and gave Archie up?'

'They certainly turned me loose.' he answered evasively, 'and I had you in mind. As soon as I was free I set out to help you.'

His evasion was not successful. The girl marked it, and asked with swift directness: —

'You do not think they gave Archie up?'

'No,' he answered quietly. 'There is a thing I have not told you yet. Those men have gone back to the station to look for your brother!'

'Dear God I' she whispered tragically. 'If they should find him!'

'I hope they won't.'

'But if he waited―' She broke off abruptly as, far down the straight reach of road, there came the bright gleam of headlamps through the rain.

'A car!' she cried. 'We may get help. Perhaps we can persuade the driver to take us to the station.' Huntley considered the distant headlights without any uplifting hope. Help might be available, but he thought it likelier that there were Carroll and his friends returning.

'We must be careful,' he said. 'That car may hold the men who went after your brother.'

'But we must stop it,' she cried. 'I must know the truth. If they have got him we must get him away.'

Knowing Carroll and his companions for the ruffians that they were, Huntley thought that what she suggested was more heroic than wise, and temporised a little.

'But you must remember, Miss Laundy, there are three men. and they are armed.. We shall be rather helpless if―'

The girl stopped and stamped a little foot on the wet road.

'I tell you we must stop them,' she cried. 'I must know if they have got Archie. And if they have we must save him.'

As Huntley recognised, she was beyond reasoning with. Anxiety for her brother made her indifferent, not merely to mundane considerations, but to her own safety and his. That there were grave risks in interfering with the purpose of ruthless scoundrels who not only would resent such action, but would have cause to fear others knowing it, was clear. Yet the girl meant to take the risks, and he could not let her do it alone.

'Well if we must―' he began, very conscious of the folly of the thing proposed.

'We must,' she cried again. 'If you will not help me, I shall do it myself.'

'Oh! I am with you,' he answered, a little harshly, 'to the last ditch.'

He looked down the road. The advancing car was much nearer, and travelling at a good pace. The glare of the headlights in the rain was dazzling, and glancing at the girl, for the first time he saw her face quite clearly. It was very pale, tense with anxiety, stamped with desperate resolution, but, all wet with rain as it was, amazingly lovely. Even in that moment when other things should have claimed his attention that was the thing of which he was vividly conscious. Then the dark eyes met his own. They were shining with appeal, and stirred him beyond anything he had thought possible.

'Dear heaven,' he whispered impulsively, 'how beautiful you are!'

A second later he was all compunction. He saw the white face flush swiftly, and thought that his impulsive tribute had been misunderstood.

'Forgive me!' he cried swiftly. 'I did not mean to hurt you.'

'Forgive ? ' For one second he saw a flash that was very like mirth in her eyes, but it was swamped immediately by desperate anxiety. She blinked in the strong light of the advancing car; then she cried, 'You must stop it! You must!'

'I will try,' he answered, not boastfully.

He halted in the very middle of the road. If that car were driven by Swanny, he thought that it would be safer to try to stop Juggernaut itself. That famous vehicle, if inevitable in its doings, was slow, whilst Swanny drove a car at more furious speed than ever Jehu, reincarnated in a speeding age, would have dared.

'You stand aside,' he commanded. 'Well in the bank. I may have to leap.'

'But—' she began protestingly, and he broke in almost angrily. 'For God's sake, do what I tell you!'

His tone impressed her. She stepped aside unwillingly, and almost on the middle of the road he awaited the oncoming car. With the latter still a hundred yards away he took off his hat and began to signal to the driver when he could not see. In a moment he would know if it were Swanny.

The headlights lit the whole high road. The girl as well as himself would be perfectly visible to all in the car; and any driver with the least humanity would at least stop to Inquire what was the matter. The car came on without any sign of slackening speed. He waved his hat in violent signal, feeling as he had once felt in the Lado enclave when, with a jammed rifle in his hand, he faced a charging bull elephant. The jam had remedied itself In the nick of time, and it had been the elephant that had gone down, but here there could be no question as to the victim if...

He could not see the face of the man behind the windscreen, but from the nature of the hoot he had no doubt that the man was Swanny, and that he did not mean to stop. The klaxon shrieked again. The headlights were blindingly bright. If he waited longer...

He heard the girl scream as he leaped. Then the car swerved violently, and as he swung round to observe it he had a vague impression of struggling men, and heard a voice shout wildly:

'Janet — Janet!'

The car, after slipping into the stretch of bordering grass on the left of the high road, found the tarred macadam again, and raced on.

Momentarily blinded by the glare from the car's lamps, he turned to look for the girl. In the darkness he could not see her, but he caught her voice, strained and despairing.

'You heard? Archie called me, Those evil men have him. They were fighting as they went by. Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?'

Then he saw her face in the darkness; not clearly as he had seen it in the light from the car's lamps, but a white blur in the blackness. She was in depths of despair, and he strove to minimise what had happened.

'You saw―' he began.

'No. I heard. I cannot be mistaken. It was Archie. He must have seen me—Dear God! What shall I do?'

Roy Huntley understood the reason for her extreme apprehension. Whatever was behind the affair, her brother was now in the hands of his enemies, and, as his own experience told him, they were not likely to deal tenderly with the man against whom they had some grudge or who stood in the way of their purposes.

'The thing to be done is to inform the police as quickly as possible.'

'But we do not know where they are taking him!' cried the girl distressfully.

'You forget,' he answered quickly. 'They took me to a house in this district. I could not find it again, but it can only be a few miles away, and the police have means of finding out things.'

'But— but I am not sure that Archie would want me to go to the police.'

'Ah!' Roy Huntley made the ejaculation only in his mind. There were difficulties in the way of going to the police. That meant that Archie Laundy's own hands were not clean, but how could this white-faced girl at his side be involved in anything that lay outside the law? He knew nothing of her except what he had learned in their brief acquaintance, but his instinct told him that she was not of the adventuress type, nor one to lend herself to illegal action. If she were involved in anything of that kind, then she must be the innocent instrument of her brother, whose surreptitious descent at Newton-Porcorum, in the light of subsequent events certainly gave ground for suspicion. These things passed through his mind in a flash, but he kept them to himself, and said aloud:

'That makes things a little difficult!'

'Yes! But you must not misunderstand―'

What he was not to misunderstand he was not destined to learn at the moment. Once more the wet road became a mirror of light, and through the threshing of the rain he caught the 'zooming' of an automobile's engine. Swinging round again he saw the night illuminated by the headlights of an advancing car coming from the direction in which the other had gone. His first thought was that here was possible help coming at last. His second was not so hopeful, and was indeed apprehensive. What if Carroll and his colleagues were returning?'

His mind, working quickly, reviewed the possibilities. Archie Laundy had shouted to his sister, and the ruffians would know that their action was known to the girl and to himself. Suppose, following the instinct of self-preservation which is more strongly developed in criminals than in the law-abiding, they were proposing to protect themselves by violent action? They were ruthless enough, heaven knew, and going up the road, they would have had time for reflection.

The situation was one that called for discretion, and he spoke swiftly to the girl.

'Come,' he said, 'We must get in the shadow of the wood there.'

'Why?' He indicated the car, and explained. 'There may be help for us there, but on the other hand those men may be returning to look for us. We must be sure―'

He broke off suddenly as behind the car another headlight flashed into view, a single beam which cut the darkness behind the car like a great knife. In the same second his ears caught the sharp staccato sounds made by a motor cycle with an imperfect silencer.

The car was travelling at a moderate pace, but the cyclist, after the way of his kind, was making the road burn. He was overtaking the car, and his single lamp with its broad beam cut the car out of the darkness like a stage spotlight. For one moment before he passed, the car was clearly outlined, and on the running board, clinging with one arm through the window of the door, against the stony light, Roy saw, in black silhouette, the figure of a man.

That was a revelation. The man was there to watch the road. He was on the look out for something or some one; and for whom he was looking he had no doubt at all. For one moment he thought of appealing to the motor cyclist for help. The man had passed the car and was coming on at a great rate. If he were signalled he might stop; and his presence would possibly turn the ruffians from their purpose.

The next instant he realised the vanity of the thought. Carroll and Co. were not the type to be turned aside by a solitary cyclist who might or might not be a man of courage. The only real safety for the girl and himself lay in flight or concealment. He wasted no more time.

'Quick!' he cried; and with his arm about her he moved towards the side of the road where there was a rather deep ditch. Before they reached it the light of the cyclist's lamp struck them blindly. The girl came near to stumbling, but Roy saved her, just as the cyclist flashed by, utterly unheeding. For a moment he lost hope. He guessed that the cyclist's spotlight must have revealed them to the watcher on the car's running-board, just as a minute previously it had revealed the watcher

He heard a shout which confirmed his thought. The car was slowing down and for one instant, on the edge of the ditch, the girl and he were full in the light of its near lamps. He almost threw the girl into the ditch, which was half full of water. It was impossible to hide there, and he dragged her up the further bank, and into the wood beyond, just as the car came to a standstill.

Through the threshing of the rain in the trees he caught the roar of a harsh voice, and ventured a single glance backward. Clearly against the light he saw a man poised on the edge of the ditch. The mean leaped even as he saw him. and assured that they were pursued he urged his companion deeper into the wood. Voices sounded behind them. There were at least two men engaged in the pursuit, and one of them must have carried a flashlight, for unexpectedly, a little way to the left of them, a wandering ray of light threw a white disc on the bole of an oak.

'Stoop lower,' he cautioned the girl, and led her away from that searching beam. Then, when the shouting man appeared to be drawing nearer, the girl's foot caught a trailing root, and she fell heavily and lay without moving. Huntley whispered to her almost frantically,

'Miss Laundy! Miss Laundy!'

There was no response. Stooping he looked into her face. It was very dark under the trees, and he could make out nothing except that her eyes were closed. He sought for and found her hand. There was no responsive movement, and when released it fell back heavily like the hand of one dead. 'Fainted!' he whispered to himself, and at that moment heard Carroll's voice away on the left shouting to his colleague. 'Swan-n-y!'

'Co-oo-ee-ee!'

The answering cry came directly from his front, and was close enough to cause him concern. Stooping, he caught the girl In his arms, lifted her with an effort, and then, holding her in his arms as a woman holds her child, he staggered desperately on, bearing to the right, away from Swanny and Carroll, who again were shouting to each other in the thick darkness of the wood.

Chapter 3

GUIDED BY the shouting, Roy Huntley, with the girl a dead weight in his arms, moved on careless of direction so long as it led him away from the ruffians who were seeking him.

The going was difficult. There was considerable undergrowth, the trees grew thick, and it was so dark that more than once he found himself walking straight into a trunk which barred his way. Then came an interval in which there was no sound to be heard but the thresh of the rain in the trees and the dripping of water on the ground. With a hope that they had abandoned the pursuit, he stopped to listen, resting his back against a thick trunk.

He heard nothing. His hopes mounted, and, remaining quite still. he waited. Then unexpectedly out of the wood behind him came the searching ray of the flashlight. It passed right beyond the bole where he was hidden, flickering brokenly here and there among the trees, and a moment later, quite close at hand, he caught Carroll's voice.

'Gone to earth, Swanny. Well never find them in this tangle.'

'Best have another try, Carroll. The birds can't be far away.'

Roy Huntley held his breath. The men could be no more than a few yards away. Either he himself must have walked in a circle, or since last he had heard them shouting they must have changed their direction. Discovery it seemed was imminent. To move without betraying his presence was impossible, so, still as a hare in its form, he waited, hoping that the girl might remain unconscious lest by any sound or movement she should reveal their nearness.

He heard Carroll speak again, the man lifting his voice against the sound of the rain. 'What's the good?— I'm soaked to the skin. If there was a chance it would be different. An' we've got the cove we were after.'

'But if we tell the boss that it's known that we've got Laundy―'

'Who's goin' to tell him? Not me. We don't know what his bloomin' game is, an' if we've done what we're paid for, he can't growl. Maybe he wouldn't be no ways grateful if we took the girl back too. What the mind don't know the heart don't grieve about.. An' unless we tell him―'

'Well, that's true enough!'

'An' it's a mug's game to be wading through this wood.'

'It ain't nice,' agreed Swanny, 'As like as not we'll get lost; an' that'll mean a night of it, with pneumonia in the morning. I vote we chuck it an'―'

From a considerable distance then came the hooting of a klaxon, thrice repeated, and Carroll spoke again sharply: 'That'll be Jim. Maybe he's having trouble with that Laundy fellow. Come on. If we lose him there'll be the devil to pay.'

Through the sound of the rain Roy Huntley caught the sharper sound of feet crashing through undergrowth. Moving a little he looked round the sheltering bole, and saw the flickering light of the flash lamp receding in the wood.

He drew a deep breath of relief, and remained where he was until the light was lost to view, then he considered his position. The girl still lay supine in his arms, and his muscles were strained and tired with the burden. Unless they were to spend the night in the soaked wood he must find the road again, and once there move on until he could find help.

He looked down at the girl's face. It was very white, and the eyes were closed, whilst the mouth was sagging a little. With the remembrance of the shock that she had previously suffered, he had a fear that her present unconsciousness was something more than a faint, and no longer in fear of their pursuers, spurred by the new apprehension for the girl, he started for the road. His only guidance for direction was the way that Carroll and Swanny had taken, and he followed the line of their retreat. But to make a direct course in a wood even in daylight is difficult, and at night impossible. Dodging trees and in the more open places thickets of bramble, he very quickly lost all sense of direction; and in a short time knew that he was lost in the wood. But still he marched on, desperately weary of his burden, hoping that he might yet find the road.

At last he struck a place that was open and almost clear of trees. The rain still fell drenchingly, and there was hardly anything to be seen, but as he looked round, a little way to the left he caught a faint glow at the edge of the wood, and a moment after a pleasant odour of burning wood drifted to his nostrils.

His heart leaped. There must be a house there, some woodman's or keeper's cottage, as like as not; and that meant that help was near at hand. With new hope surging, he began to move forward towards the glow. Presently the glow revealed itself as coming through the small-paned window of a single-storied cottage, standing just at the edge of the wood and fronting the open space; and almost at the same time Roy found himself brought up short by a fence of split boughs, which seemed to run all round the cottage enclosing a patch of garden. With some difficulty he found a gate, and staggering with fatigue he advanced up the patch, his nostrils assailed by the strong odour of decaying cabbage-leaves.

He reached the door and kicked it, twice, smartly. There was no response to his summons. He tried again, with the thought that the occupier was no doubt sound asleep. His second summons was as vain as the first, and turning round he fairly drummed on the door with his heel. Still there was no reply, and after a fourth trial, he moved from the door to the window and peered in through the uncurtained panes.

The glow which had drawn him to the house came from a fire of logs on an open hearth, which lit up the whole of the interior. It was very simply furnished, with a cheap table, a common Windsor chair, an armchair of the same variety drawn up near the fire, a painted dresser, and in a far corner a small iron bedstead; but, chill and wet to the skin as he was, to Huntley it seemed to be the most cheerful interior that he had ever seen. With his nose close to the wet panes he stared at the bed. It was unoccupied and plainly there was no one in the room.

For a moment or two he stood there staring; then a thought occurred to him. People in the heart of the country were not so careful to lock their doors as were the dwellers in towns; and if this were, as he Imagined, a keeper's cottage, it was at least as likely that the door was merely on the latch as that it was locked.

Returning to the door, he groped for the latch, and found it, and as he thumbed it, set a knee against the wood. The door opened immediately, and, immensely relieved, he stepped inside. As he had already convinced himself, the occupier of this the dwelling was not at home, and without more ado he carried the girl to the bed and laid her down upon it and then stood for a moment stretching his arms, which were numb from their unaccustomed task.

Fifteen seconds later he returned to the door, closed it, and then proceeded to make himself at home. On the table there was a cheap paraffin lamp. He lit it, allowed the glass to warm a little before turning up the wick, and by the light it afforded he examined the girl more closely than had previously been possible. Even as he did so, there was a change in her. A long sigh came from her lips, the mouth ceased to sag, and her eyelids fluttered, half opened, and closed again. Deciding that the omens were good, he looked round for any means that would help her restoration.

Over the fire there was an iron kettle hanging from a chain, singing as if in anticipation of its owner's return. A tea-caddy stood on the mantelpiece, and on the dresser were three cups and saucers and a teapot with a small tin of condensed milk, which, judging from the level of its contents, had been recently opened. Huntley regarded these things with approving eyes, and immediately lowered the chain to bring the kettle a little nearer the fire.

A sound of movement behind him attracted his attention, and immediately he hurried to the girl. She was lying with her eyes wide open, looking about dazedly. As her eyes fell on him he saw a wondering, doubtful look flash in them, and he hastened to reassure her.

'It is all right, Miss Laundy. We are safely away from those scoundrels.'

The wondering look became one of recollection, which swiftly changed to apprehension.

'And Archie? Where―'

'Oh, those rascals have him still. I could do nothing to help him, having you to look after, you know. But we'll find him in the morning. Do not worry over him.'

The girl appeared to accept his reassurances, and for a little time remained without speaking. Then she looked round and asked abruptly: 'Where are we?'

'Heaven knows! In somebody's cottage — a keeper's or a woodman's. I should say. But the owner is not here, so I cannot tell you for certain.'

'Haven't you seen him?'

'No. I stumbled on the place by accident, and finding the door on the latch Just walked In. I don't suppose the owner will make any difficulty when I tell him the story and pay him for the accommodation. In any case, I'm going to take further liberties and brew tea for both of us. It will do us both no end of good.'

The note of the kettle changed at that moment, proclaiming that the water was boiling. Going to the dresser he secured the teapot, and moving on to the fireplace measured tea from the caddy and added sufficient water. Setting the teapot on the hearth, he brought cups and saucers from the dresser to the table, found a spoon for the milk in one of the drawers, then spoke again.

'If you feel strong enough, Miss Laundy, I think you might come to the fire. You will be warmer in this chair than on the bed.'

'Yes! Perhaps I shall. My clothing is very wet.'

Huntley forced a laugh. 'And there is nothing to change in here. This seems to be a bachelor's home.'

He hurried to her as she started to leave the bed.

'Let me help you.' He assisted her to the chair and then poured the tea out.

'There Is no sugar that I can find, but the milk Is sweetened stuff. How much shall I put in for you?'

She glanced at the large-sized cups then smiled a little wanly. 'A spoonful I should say.'

He obeyed her instructions, stirred the milk into the tea thoroughly, and carried the cup to her.

'Drink it as hot as you can. It will help to keep off a chill.'

He poured a cup for himself, carried the small, chair from the table to the fire and seated himself opposite her.

Almost cosy,' he said lightly. 'We might be mistaken for Darby and Joan newly home from a storm.'

Janet Laundy flushed a little at the words, then she asked: 'I fell, didn't I and fainted? How did I get here?'

'Oh,' laughed Roy, 'as those rascals were pretty close at our heels I was forced to do the strong man act. I carried you!'

'You carried me'

'I did.' he laughed. 'Miles, I should say, at least that is what it seemed like. I shall never again believe in those hefty heroes of the cinemas who carry the heroines as if they were feathers. They're not true to life. My arms ache yet, you know.'

A soft light came in the dark eyes as they met his. Then she spoke gratefully: 'You must be very strong.... Tell me what happened.'

'There's not much to tell. Those beauties chased me for a time, but I managed to avoid them, though once, whilst I stood under a tree, they were close enough for me to hear what they said, and I learned a little thing.'

'What was that?'

'That they are not in any way the principals , who have to do with the capture of your brother. They are just the tools employed to do the job— nothing more.'

'I could have guessed so much,'' answered the girl quietly. 'The man whom they serve must be of very different class— a financier.'

Roy Huntley waited hoping to hear more, but the girl did not enlarge; and after a moment he continued:

'I learned another thing also, and that is that the precious scoundrels don't mean to tell their employer that you and I know that they have got your brother.'

'I wonder if that is a good thing?' said the girl thoughtfully, and as she stared into the fire he saw the dark eyes cloud with anxiety.

'I should say so,' he answered cheerfully. 'The chief scoundrel will be in ignorance of something he ought to know. Assured that no one who knows your brother is aware that he has been kidnapped, he will feel secure, and will be a little less on his guard and―'

'Oh!' whispered the girl tragically. 'But you do not understand. It is that which makes me afraid for Archie.'

Roy Huntley was a little astonished. 'You think that something worse than kidnapping may befall your brother?'

'I do not know... l ... I can't tell. But I am frightened— when I think of— of possibilities.'

'But―' he began, and then broke off. The thing that he had been about to ask seemed so preposterous that he hesitated to put it into words. A moment's reflection, however, banished that idea. After all, judged by ordinary standards, it was an incredible thing that Archie Laundy should have been kidnapped; and that the girl and himself should have been chased by ruffians through the dark wood just because they were aware of what had happened. There were often almost incredible things— crimes— in the newspapers; and that stout gentleman in evening dress with the dark goggles, who had been so suave with himself and at the same time so coldly calculating was preposterous enough for the wildest fiction; yet he was real.

Quite suddenly he began to share the girl's doubts, and the thing he had been about to ask became the coldest sanity. Then he cried the question which a moment before he had checked.

'But you can't think it possible that those ruffians will— er— destroy your brother?'

A second later he regretted the brutal plainness of his question. The girl's face grew white as death, her eves betrayed stark apprehension, and she shivered violently. Afraid for her, he started from his chair, but the girl swiftly controlled herself and waved him back. Then she spoke in a shaking whisper.

'That is the possibility of which I am afraid!'

'But―' The incredibility of it all thrust itself upon Roy once more. Surely the girl's fear was exaggerated. He stared at her a little doubtfully, then remembered that he knew nothing of the motive which had inspired Archie Laundy's enemies to abduct him and which might even be powerful enough to move them to more extreme acts.

'But why?' he cried. 'Why should you fear anything so dreadful?'

The girl did not reply immediately, was wondering if she could trust him. He saw her eyes glance at him under the dark lashes and divined that she was wondering if she could trust him.

'Tell me,' he said urgently. 'Believe me I want to help you— and your brother. And after all I have been pitchforked into this business pretty thoroughly... Give me your confidence. I assure you that it shall be held sacred.'

The girl drew a long breath, and when she looked at him there was complete trustfulness shirking in her dark eyes.

'I am sure of that,' she said smiling. 'And I will tell you, for I need a friend, and Archie—' Her voice shook and failed, but recovering herself she continued: 'My brother is a mining engineer. He is very clever at his work, and three months ago he was commissioned to go to South Africa to report on a certain mining property which is about to be— to be floated. That is the word, isn't it?'

'Yes.'

'His commission was not quite the usual one— at any rate he had never had one like it before, though he has had several commissions to report on mines and properties by the companies who owned them.'

'I gather that the commission was not from the owners?' Roy asked.

'Yes. Those who engaged him had nothing to do with the mine— a gold mine— in the ordinary way. I do not know who they were; but I know that Archie had an idea that It was their intention to expose the man or men who owned the mine, which they thought was a fraud.'

'That sounds like one of the stunting papers.'

'I don't know. Archie never told me. He was bound to complete secrecy.'

'Then you don't know the name of the mine?'

'No.'

'Nor the name of the owner?'

'No. I gathered that it was a man whom Archie thought was a fraud; and I know that the property is quite worthless. Archie told me that in a letter a week or two ago, and in another which reached me by last week's mail; and he said that he had had trouble, and was coming home, secretly.'

'What kind of trouble?'

The girl shook her head... 'I can't tell you that. But three days ago I got a radiogram asking me to meet him with the car at Newton-Porcorum by the last train in tonight.'

'You live in this neighbourhood?'

'Oh, no! We have a flat in London, but both Archie arid I know this
district as we did a motor-tour here last year. We used to laugh at the name— 'Newton-of-the-Pig' as Archie called it; and I expect he chose the place because it is the very last one that any one would expect him to arrive at.'

Roy Huntley smiled, and nodded his head. 'I daresay you are right... your brother was anxious to avoid meeting people it is certainly well out of the way.'

He broke off, and then as a thought came to him, he cried quickly. 'But those men knew!'

'Yes!' The girl's beautiful face became a mirror of perplexity. 'That is what I do not understand. How did they know he was to come to Newton?'

'You told no one?'

'Not a soul!'

'Yet they knew! And they could not have followed you from Town because they were at Newton ahead of you with their arrangements all made, and waiting for the train by which he was travelling. There is something; queer about that!'

'Yes,' said the girl, and then quite suddenly lost her composure. 'And now they have got him. And I failed him. If only I had been at the station in time!'

She broke oft and buried her face In her hands, whilst her small shoulders were shaken with her sobs. Infinitely distressed by her grief, Roy Huntley rose from his chair and set his hand gently on the bowed head.

'Don't! Miss Laundy!' he said trying to ease her trouble. 'You are not to blame; Accidents on the road are beyond help. And if you had been at the station when the train came in, I don't think it would have made any vital difference. Those men are really desperate villains. They would have stuck at nothing to secure your brother. I am sure of that.'

'And now they have him!' she whispered, and lifting her face looked at Huntley with eyes that were dimmed with tears. 'Oh! I am ... desperately afraid.'

That there was real ground for her fear he did not question now. The men who, after the collision, had driven on, leaving her lying amid the wreckage of her car, were ruthless enough for anything. He remembered the pistol that had been thrust against his side as an inducement to keep quiet, and the blow which had knocked him senseless, and he did not find those things reassuring.

And that bearded, dark-goggled man at the house to which he had been taken, in view of the fact that he was the employer of Carroll and his associates, was a sinister figure. For a moment as he remembered these things he could think of nothing that would be in the least consoling to her, then an idea flashed in his mind, which moved him to hurried speech.

'But,' he cried, 'you are forgetting one thing. If those men meant to destroy your brother, why should they trouble to kidnap him? One of them at least has a pistol and Newton-Porcorum station at this hour of the night is solitary enough for anything. The man to whom they have taken him, as they took me, may merely want to question him, or perhaps induce him to promise not to divulge what he has learned about―'

'Archie would never agree to that!'

'Then, he may just decide to keep him out of the way until―' He broke off sharply at some sound which came from outside, and half turned to the window.

'What is it?' asked Janet quickly.

'I thought I heard the clash of the gate,' he replied: 'Maybe it is the owner of the cottage returning.'

They waited, a little tensely, listening; Huntley thinking of the explanation he would have to offer to the astonished occupier when he put in his appearance, and waiting for the door latch to lift. But no sound reached them except the swishing of the rain outside, and after an interval Huntley turned to the fire again.

'A mistake,' he said to the girl. 'There was no one after all.'

'It is easy to imagine things when―' The words faded on the girl's lips.

Into the dark eyes fixed on the window leaped a swift light of apprehension, and swinging round to learn the cause of it, Huntley saw a face pressed against, one of the wet panes, and, framed in the darkness as it was, looking oddly eerie and white in the lamplight. He stared at it for perhaps three seconds, before recognition came to him; then he cried in amazement:

'Carroll!'

Scarcely had he made the identification when the man outside turned. Dimly he saw the fellow lift a couple of fingers to his lips. Then a shrill whistle sounded, and to the tune of it Roy Huntley leaped for the door and hurriedly shot the bolt.

Chapter 4

ROY HUNTLEY was only just in time. Scarcely had he shot the bolt when the latch clicked, and someone kicked the door— Carroll as he guessed. Then before he could get back to Janet Laundy who, with fascinated eyes, was staring at the window, one of the small panes was shattered, the glass flying into the room, and through the opening thus made appeared the muzzle of an automatic pistol.

Behind it he saw Carroll's face, twisted in a malevolent grin.

'Caged!' he shouted. 'A nice pair of love-birds. Now, Mr. What's-your-name, just lift up your paws!'

Then as Roy made no move to obey, the man spat an oath and fairly roared: 'Sharp, you bone-head!'

There was nothing to be gained by risking a bullet, and Huntley slowly raised his hands until they were on a level with his ears, whilst the girl sitting bolt upright watched with terrified eyes.

'That's the ticket!' commented Carroll with a harsh laugh. 'I guess you're not the fool you' look! Now, you'll just keep them up whilst that friend of yours opens the door. Get busy, girl!'

'Wait, Miss Laundy!' said Huntley in a voice so peremptory that the girl, who had started up impulsively, sank back in the chair. Carroll swore luridly, but Huntley broke in on his profanity.

'What is the idea, Carroll? I have got to hear it before the door is opened. What do you want with us?'

'Me, I want nought with you,' growled the man. 'I wish the pair of you were under the sod.'

'Then what does the stout gentleman with the dark glasses want, for I suppose you are acting for him?'

'You can ask him that when you see him.'

'So he sent you back for us when you told him how you had met us, and―'

'Told him nought. T'was that fellow Laundy who let the cat out of the bag.... But there's no need for gas. Just tell that girl to open the door or I'll let daylight into both of you.'

Another face appeared at the window—that of the man Swanny, and recognising that, seated near the fire, the girl was in as great danger as himself, Huntley spoke, to her quite calmly.

'Better open it, Miss Laundy. We are helpless in the matter.'

The girl rose from the chair, and a little stiffly moved towards the door. Just as she reached it, Roy leaped twice, reached the door himself and cried to her,

'Drop down! Against the wall.'

She obeyed him on the instant and he dropped down beside her. They were both now out of range from the window, but Huntley was convinced that the advantage gamed was but a temporary one. The man outside had but to break the window to find entrance to the room.

A sharp oath followed his manoeuvre. Then Swanny's voice shouted: 'Slick, if you like, Carroll! Just smash in that window an'―'

A second pane shivered and the glass was thrown all over the room, testifying to the energy and temper of the man who wrought the destruction. Swanny laughed noisily as the third pane went and was still laughing, when through the patter of the rain and the sound of his coarse mirth came the sharp barking of a dog. Huntley's heart leaped as he beard it, and Swanny's laughter broke off as suddenly as If he had been struck dead. Then to the ears of the pair crouched against the wall came Carroll's voice crying in a startled way.

'My God, Swanny, a dog; That means―'

'At 'em, Joe! Sic 'em! Good dog! Sic 'em!'

The voice was strange to Huntley, but the sound of it was like music. On the heels of it followed the fierce half-bark-half-roar of a dog as it sprang forward to an attack to which it needed no urging. A wild oath came from Carroll, then the crack of a pistol sounded, and quickly afterwards Swanny's voice shouted in warning: 'Look out, CI The bloke's got a gun. He's— '

The dog gave tongue again, ferociously, and Swanny's warning ended in a yell.

'Flames! The beast—'

The pistol cracked a second time, The dog yelped as if hurt, and the voice of the man who had encouraged it to attack sounded wrathfully.

'You ruddy murderers! I'll show you!'

'Scoot, Swanny! This way!'

There was a noise of running men, then the crack of a gun, and a yell as if some man had been hit, but not seriously, and the yell was followed by a voice plainly addressing the dog.

'Joe, old man! Good old Joe. Here―'

Huntley, sure that here was the owner of the cottage, swiftly drew back the bar and threw open the door letting out a flood of light into the rainy darkness. He found himself facing a man with a sporting gun in his hand — a man who, from the look on his face, was the most astonished man in all the shire.

'Another! By heck!'

'No!' shouted Huntley, hastily, as he man made a significant motion with his gun. 'A friend! There's a lady here who―'

Janet Laundy presented herself suddenly by his side, and the man lowered the gun, and plainly more amazed than ever, stared at her incredulously. Then he broke out:— 'The dickens! Wot's the meanin' of it all?'

'Come inside, won't you?' cried Huntley, conscious of the Irony of er Intruder asking a man to enter his own house.

'It will be safer, if those scoundrels should come back. I will explain everything to you.'

The dog, the eyes of which, like green orbs of fire in the darkness, were the only visible part of him, growled menacingly, and his master promptly checked him.

'Shut up, Joe. Heel!'

The dog heeled and his owner took a couple of steps forward, and turned and stared into the night.

'Don't reckon those perishers will came back, do you?'

'No, I should say not!'

The man chuckled, 'I peppered one. An' I'll spray t'other he shows up.'

' Then with the dog — a big retriever— limping at his heels, he entered the cottage and, with the light full on his uninvited guests, looked them over.

'I guess you two are all square.'

He closed the door behind him, and poke again tersely. 'Excuse me― I must look to Joe. One of them ruffians shot him, I think.'

A second later he was on his knees examining the retriever. He carefully inspected the leg on which the dog limped, then he spoke again.

'Nothing to matter. Just an inch of hide off his shoulder. A near shave, though.'

He rose and moved to the dresser. Opening a drawer he took from it a tin of ointment and doctored the wound.

'There, old fellow, that'll put you square in no time.'

Turning from the dog, he considered the window, through the broken panes of which the rain was driving. Without saying anything he moved to the bed, and from underneath, the mattress drew forth a thick sack with which he proceeded to cover the shattered window. With his task completed he lit a short clay pipe, waited until it was drawing well, then looked at Huntley and remarked casually:

'You said something about explaining. Maybe now's the time to do it.'

'Yes,' agreed Huntley.

'Then you an' your lady take the chairs. I'll perch upon the table.'

He pushed the table forward that tie might get the heat of the fire and prepared himself to listen. Huntley thought for a moment, and decided to tell the man as much as he could of the events of the night without touching on the thing from which they all sprang. 'You'll understand that what I'm going to tell you is confidential.'

'I get that. No need to worry, sir. I'm not a gossip.'

'No, I didn't think you were. Well it is like this.'

He gave the man a short, but vivid account of the joint adventures of Janet Laundy and .himself. The keeper, for such he manifestly was, listened absorbed to the story without interrupting, and at the finish he broke out:

'Reminds me of the pictures. I never knew things like that to happen in real life before. But seems they do.'

'They surely do!' said Huntley with a short laugh.

'But I don't just get that goggled gent, you mentioned. He don't fit in with this district, an' I know most of the biggish houses hereabouts. There isn't an owner like that among the lot.'

'Maybe the man has just rented the place furnished,' suggested Huntley.

'That's likely enough. Most of the big owners are pinched just now. On this estate there used to be three keepers an' now there's only me. Can't think what the country's coming to. But I'm real glad you and your lady got away from that murdering lot. I guess they ought to be hanged.'

Then he chuckled: 'But there's one of them that's got a charge of number eight shot that'll teach him to keep out of mischief for a day or two.'

'I'm glad of that,' laughed Huntley, and then remarked soberly: 'I wonder what we're going to do now. Is it possible to get a conveyance of any sort?'

'No nearer than four miles. The landlord at the 'Bird-In-Hand' has an old Ford car licensed for passengers. But he'd never turn out at this hour; an' you an' missy could never walk four miles in this weather. So far as I can make out there's nought for it but to put up with my cottage till daylight, when I could walk over an' fetch Rawson an' his car along.'

Huntley looked at the girl.

'That seems to be the only possible course, Miss Laundy.'

As he spoke he saw a troubled look come on the beautiful face, and divining that she was thinking of her brother he explained hurriedly.

'We could do nothing to help Archie in any case to-night. If we secured that car we should not know where to look for him, and merely to run about in the darkness would be of no avail.'

'I understand that,' said the girl quietly. 'There is nothing for it but to wait until morning.'

'Till daylight, missy. ''Tis morning already,' broke in the keeper.

'Then it will not be so very long to wait!' commented the girl still quietly, though there was a little quiver in her voice. 'Four hours!' answered the man. 'An' I reckon you'd best get to bed, missy. You look fair done up. Me and your gentleman will shift with the chairs.'

'No! No!' said Janet quickly. 'I would prefer to be here by the fire. I am warm and cosy, and this chair is quite comfortable.'

The man looked at Huntley as if expecting him to persuade the .girl, but Huntley shook his head.

'No, keeper,' he said. 'We owe you enough already. We're not going to rob you of your bed. We shall do first rate here, and I'll keep the fire going.'

'Well, I'll own I'm dog-tired. I had a word of poachers before the rain started, an' I've done miles. If missy is quite sure―'

'Quite sure, thank you, keeper.'

'Then I'll turn in. There's plenty of fuel in the corner there; an' if you hear aught stirring Just call out, I sleep light as a bird.'

The keeper took down from the mantel-piece a small alarm clock which had run down. Winding it, he set it by his watch, and then wound up the alarm.

'Just a chance!' he said. 'I'll want v be off to Rawson's by five. I'll wish you good night.'

'Good night,' responded both his guests; and the keeper, removing part of his attire, turned in.

He might be a light sleeper, but he was certainly a quick one. Despite the exciting events through which he had so recently passed, which would have sufficed to keep most men awake through the night, within five minutes he was sleeping soundly.

For some time neither of the pair broke the silence. Roy Huntley produced his cigarette case and lighting up sat smoking and staring into the fire, aware that Janet Laundy's eyes were closed, and hoping that she also was slumbering. But presently she made a slight movement, and glancing at her he saw that the dark eyes were open and regarding him. She flushed as his eyes met hers, and then whispered quickly: 'I can't sleep.'

'I am not surprised,' he answered back, 'It is Archie!' she said, her lips quivering a little. 'I can't help wondering what has happened to him, and I am afraid for him, Those men—'

She left the sentence unfinished, and Roy Huntly sought to console her.

'Perhaps there is no need for you to worry too much. Remember what you said a while back. You thought it would be worse for Archie if that goggled villain were ignorant of the fact that we knew he had your brother in his hands. He is not in ignorance now. He is aware that we have that knowledge. According to Carroll your brother exploded that particular mine, and clearly the chief scoundrel was afraid or he would never have sent that precious pair back to find us... He will be careful not to proceed to extreme measures, knowing that he may be brought; to book for them―'

'But if he keeps Archie a prisoner?' 'I have been thinking of that, Miss Laundy. You hinted that the police could not be called in for some reason―' 'There is a reason. I cannot tell you at present.'

'Well, we must manage without the police, and as it chances we are in luck. When I arrived at Newton-Porcorum and was collared by those scoundrels I was on my way to a friend's house, which is a couple of miles from the station. I was not really expected until to-morrow; but I had sent a telegram to say that I should be arriving to-night. The telegram must have been too late for delivery, which will explain why Judson— my friend— was not at the station. But this is where the luck comes in. Harvey Judson succeeded to the family estate eleven  months ago. Before that he was sub-inspector of the South African Police attached to the C.I.D. at Pietermaritzburg. He has a natural instinct for sleuthing, and will be happy as a hound on the scent on a dewy morning if we put him on the affair of your brother.'

'If you think he will take it up―'

'Take it up! Once he hears about the business you won't be able to make him put it down.... And the beauty of it is that no one will know, and he will be able to work unsuspected, which is half the battle.'

'If you induce him,' whispered the girl. 'I shall have new cause for gratitude to you, and already I am deeply―'

'Please, please, Miss Laundy! I am only too glad to be of use.... And now I think you ought to try to sleep. I am sure you need rest, and it will be daylight before very long, you know.'

'I will try Mr. Huntley.... Good night!'

'Good night, Miss Laundy.'

The girl leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes in the attempt to woo slumber.

Huntley lit another cigarette with a burning stick, and sat bolt upright in his chair staring into the fire and listening for any sound outside, which would indicate the return of Carroll and Swanny. He heard nothing, but did not relax his vigilance, and three-quarters of an hour passed slowly by.

Then he looked at the girl. She had fallen asleep. The long dark lashes were very noticeable. Her face— a beautiful oval— was in complete repose; and either by her natural warmth, of blood or by the heat of the fire the cheeks were delicately flushed. She had removed her improvised bandage, and her hair, dark and glossy, loose from its fastenings was all about her shoulders in a charming dishevelment, and having a natural wave, after the drenching it had suffered, dried by the heat of the fire, the wave was accentuated. Her loveliness moved him as he had never been moved in his life before. Sleeping there, in innocence, and quite unconscious of his appraisal, she was, like a tired child— a very lovely child; yet she was beyond that, a woman— 'husband-high,' in the old-fashioned phrase of the West country.

He looked at her hands. There was a ring on the right hand, but none on the left; and he lifted his eyes to her face again, with a thought that she was a woman to be won. For the moment he forgot all about the mystery in which she was involved, and odd fancies came and went in his mind. He imagined himself waking her with a kiss, and seeing the dark eyes as they opened brimming with love. The fancy made his heart beat more quickly, he had a lawless impulse to translate the fancy into fact, then he laughed softly to himself. But he did not laugh away the emotion from which the impulse was born, nor did he make any endeavour to do so.

He had known the girl but a few hours; but the circumstances of their meeting had been such as to thrust them into an intimacy that months of ordinary acquaintanceship could not have fostered. She was beset by mystery; he knew absolutely nothing about her beyond what she herself had revealed, but he had no doubt about the quality of the emotion she had stirred in his heart. He knew that it was the great thing that comes to a man once and abides.

Then as he owned the truth frankly to himself, Janet Laundy, as if through her slumber, she felt the Impact of his thoughts, stirred a little. The dark eyes slowly opened, gazed straight at him, still clouded by slumber, and a smile played about her mouth. It was there but for a second, faint a the ripple of a falling leaf might make on still water, then it faded; the heavy fringed eyelids closed, and she slept again. He doubted that she had been truly awake, whether through the mists of slumber she had really seen him, but he found the smile a good omen.

Still keeping his vigil, he began to reflect on the mystery in which she was involved. Wondering how to help her and her brother, he decided that the quickest way was to discover the identity of the man whom Carroll and the others served. That might be done in two ways, neither of which seemed to present any great difficulty.

The first was by discovering the house to which those ruffians had taken him, and so learning the identity of the owner or tenant; and the second was to learn what particular mine Archie Laundy had been sent out to appraise and reach the knowledge of the man really responsible for his, abduction by that means.

To know the identity of the chief rascal would make it possible to scotch all his activities where Archie Laundry was concerned. The first seemed to be the quicker way. Somewhere within a radius of a few miles was a house, with a gateway and a considerable drive where that man lived; and to which the mining engineer had doubtless been taken. That he would be kept there, Roy had little hope.

The fact that the abduction was known would make that goggled man cautious in more ways than one. He would remove Archie Laundy to some other hiding place if he meant to detain him, but he would scarcely dare to take any extreme action, when at any moment he might be called upon to produce the man he had kidnapped. That was all to the good. But why could not an appeal be made to the police? Was there something in Archie Laundy's career, or more particularly in his recent activities, which made such an appeal inexpedient?

He considered that question for quite a long time, and was still conjecturing upon it, when, overcome by drowsiness, he slipped into sleep. Three hours later, the harsh whirr of the keeper's alarm clock awakened him as it awakened Janet Laundy.

Roy met her startled eyes and laughed.

'Good morning, Miss Laundy. A shock, hey? Such clocks should be made illegal... I hope your head has not suffered from it. How is the bump?'

'A little sore. Nothing worse. I feel quite well, thank you.'

'The resiliency of youth!' he laughed, cheerfully. 'You really ought to be laid out by shock, you know.'

The girl smiled.

'My generation isn't given that way. The Victorian young lady died with our grandmothers... Where is the keeper-man?'

Roy looked round. The keeper was not visible, but there was a note pinned with a nail to the deal table. He tore it free and read. Brevity was its outstanding feature.

'Sir, — I have gone for Rawson's car, There is bacon and eggs in the dresser cupboard. Frying pan is hung in the chimbley. Help yourselves. John Spaxton.'

'I hadn't the heart to wake you or the lady, who be terrible bonny a-sleeping.'

As he read it aloud, he saw the girl's face flush rosily at the last words, and he laughed as he offered comment.

'John Spaxton goes straight to the point — or to all his points. No circumlocution. And at any rate he is practical. There's a frying-pan and the means to fry, and only the fryer is wanted.'

'I can take that part. But I should like a wash first— if that is possible.'

Huntley looked round. The room was quite innocent of such refinements as ewers and basins. He stepped to the door and came back smiling. 'There's a pump and a stone trough outside. I expect they represent the keeper's bathroom.'

'Well, if there is water, it is something. I wonder where he keeps his towels.'

She raided the dresser drawers, and found a towel ragged but clean, and with this on her arm she passed into the yard. Huntley busied himself with finding the bacon and eggs against her return, and that done packed the used cups and saucers, preparatory to carrying them to the pump for cleaning. The girl returned from her ablutions radiant as the dawn, her dark eyes shining, her face aglow.

'There is soap out there,' she said, as one who had made a discovery. 'Strong-flavoured, but it lathers well.'

'Good! I'll use it; and then turn dish-washer-whilst you cook the breakfast.'

He took the towel and went to the pump. By the time he had finished his toilet and washed the crockery there was the savoury smell of frying bacon in the air, and it quickened appetite.

'I am late as usual,' he laughed, as he set down the crockery on the table. 'There is only one knife and one fork.' she said. 'Poof! What of that. We can share them— picnic fashion. I will carve the bread first.'

Five minutes later they were seated at opposite sides of the table; the girl fronting the shattered window.

'If it were not for Archie,' she said suddenly, 'I should enjoy this experience.'

'It has its pleasurable points,' Roy owned with a laugh. 'If you will use the knife, and then pass it along―'

'Oh, of course; I was forgetting.'

In spite of her anxiety she was moved to laughter by her oversight. 'It is so odd―'

'Scriptural and early Christian. They had all things in common, you remember. And we―'

He broke off sharply as he caught a sudden tense look on the beautiful face, and demanded quickly: 'What is it?'

'The keeper is returning,' she replied a little stonily, staring through the shattered window.

'Good man,' he laughed. 'But he shall not interrupt the feast.'

'There — there is someone with him,' replied the girl in a strained voice. 'A... a policeman!'

'Great Harry!' cried Huntley, a little startled, and turned swiftly towards the window. As he did so, beyond the rough garden fence he saw Spaxton moving towards the gate with an officer by his side. It seemed that after all, much as it might be desired, the police were not to be kept out of Archie Laundy's affairs. He turned back to the girl.

Her lovely face was white and drawn, in the dark eyes was the shadow of fear, and it was thrust on him suddenly that she was aware of the reason for her brother's shyness of the police, and that there was solid ground for her fear.

Chapter 5

ROY HUNTLEY heard the gate clash, and saw the shadow of fear deepen in the girl's eyes Then he spoke peremptorily. 'Pull yourself together, Miss Laundy. There's no need to give anything away. After all, we don't know what business brings that officer here.'

Janet Laundy made a visible effort to check the surge of fear, but whispered hopelessly: 'You forget— the keeper may have talked.'

'If he has, he knows nothing of pour brother, and―'

He caught the sound of heavy feet on the garden path, and was moved to a swift caution. 'Look as natural as you can, and say no more than you can help. I will do most of the talking.'

The feet reached the door, which stood ajar. It was thrust open, and Spaxton entered with the constable at his heels. 'Mornin', sir!' said the keeper, cheerfully. 'Mornin', missy! I see you found the bacon— an' the eggs. Here's Constable Upcott come along to hear about the accident to your car, and about the bandits that chased you. I was up at the 'Bird-In-Hand' telling Rawson about the bust-up on the road last night, and explaining that his car was wanted by two stranded folk, who were at my cottage, when by good luck along comes the constable on his motor bike anxious to know about a car up the road that was all scat abroad.

'That'll be the bust-up you'm talking about,' says Rawson to me, an' so I explained to Constable Upcott here that it was, an' told him about the thieves what chased you through the wood to my house, an' how I drove 'em off with my gun, an' he's come along to make a note of it.'

He broke off, winked broadly at Huntley, and swung round to the constable. 'There's the window— as I told you, smashed to smithereens. Maybe you'll take a look at it, Upcott?'

'All in good time,' said the constable. ''First things first is my rule.  An' everything in turn.' He turned to Huntley, who, a little reassured by the keeper's wink and by the baldness of his story, faced the officer with the thought that the matter was entirely In his own hands as

'Good morning, officer!' he said cheerfully. 'You want to hear about the accident to Miss Laundy's car?'

'Yes, sir— about that and the other things.'

The officer took, out his notebook. 'What time did the accident happen, sir?'

'As near as I can say, about eleven o'clock— at any rate, it was somewhere round about that time when I found Miss Laundy lying on the bank by her wrecked car.'

'You weren't in the car then, sir?'

'Good heavens, no! I was walking through the rain making for Mr. Harvey Judson's house, when I stumbled on the car all smashed up.'

The constable turned to the girl, 'Then the car was yours, miss— miss— I had better have your name.'

'Janet Laundy.'

The officer made a note of It, and then addressed her again. 'Please tell me, what happened?'

'There really isn't much to tell, constable, at least not much that I remember. I was driving at a very moderate pace because of the rain, when at the top of a humped hill I met a big saloon car. It was travelling very fast, and I only had a glimpse of it as it came over the hump taking up most of the road. I couldn't pull in, being already close to the bank and the driver of the saloon didn't try to or he hadn't time. The saloon hit my little car squarely and threw it right up the bank. I felt the crash, and the lift, and then I knew no more until I came round to find that what was left of the car had rolled back to the road and that I was all tangled up in the wreckage. I managed to crawl out and then I felt sick and faint, and lay on the bank until Mr. Huntley came along and found me, as he told you.'

'A miracle you weren't killed,' said the constable. 'Did the other car stop?'

'I was not in any condition to know, answered the girl quietly. 'But as I was left lying there—'

'They didn't, the scoundrels... But what happened after?'

'I think Mr. Huntley can tell you that, better than I can.'

'That's so!' chimed in Huntley, jumping at the opportunity to take things over, 'Miss Laundy was not in a condition to take notice of things, and for quite a long time was in a faint.'

'Then I'll have your account, sir.'

'Well, as I told you, I came on Miss Laundy lying on the bank. When she revived I started to help her along the road— by-the-by I left a suit-case in the hedge.'

'I've got it on my motor bike.'

'Good. I didn't want to lose it... But to continue. As we went on, the lights of a car shone up behind us. I'd a notion that we might get help, and we waited in the shadow. Then a motor bike overtook the car, and in the glare of its lamp as it passed the car I saw a queer thing.'

'What was that?'

'There was a man on the running board of the car watching the road.'

'That was odd, sir.'

'Yes! I didn't quite like the look of it. I had a notion it meant trouble for Miss Laundy.'

'But why, sir? How could it do that?'

Huntley knew that he was on thin ice, and slipped over it as quickly as le could. 'Oh, I had what the Americans call a 'hunch,' an idea that those scoundrels who had knocked out Miss Laundy's car and gone on had returned to look for her for some reason, maybe with some idea of clearing themselves... It's a serious thing not to stop after an accident.'

'One of the worst offences on the road, sir.'

'They may have been scared at what they'd done, or it may have been another party altogether. Anyway what happened was enough for me. Those in the car must have seen us. They began to pull up, and Miss Laundy and I got to the edge of the wood. The man on the running-board jumped off to follow us, and three seconds later another joined him. They shouted, and as things didn't look nice we began to run. It was touch and go. They chased us through the wood, but we evaded them, though Miss Laundy had a fall which knocked her senseless. Then they talked of going back. I heard them as they were quite close to us at the moment; and after they'd gone off towards the road, I carried Miss Laundy until I stumbled on this cottage.

'The door was on the latch, but there was nobody here, and so we made ourselves at home... We were sitting by the fire drying ourselves and talking when a man came to the window. I didn't like the look of him, and managed to lock the door. Then he broke the window and put a pistol through and made me put my hands up, and ordered Miss Laundy to unlock the door.... The door was out of range of the pistol, and when Miss Laundy reached it, I jumped for it and we crouched there whilst the fellow and another one began to smash a way in through the window; and right in the middle of that the keeper and his dog appeared; and one of the ruffians began to shoot. But I expect Mr. Spaxton told you all about that, and he knows what happened outside better than me.'

The constable nodded, and reached the conclusion for which Huntley had hoped.

'Motor-bandits as sure as eggs, l can't think what the countryside is coming to. Could you describe the man, sir?'

'I can give you their names, for heard them address each other. One was called Carroll and the other Swanny and I saw Carroll's face at he window quite clearly.'

He gave a description of Carroll that was faithful enough. The officer made a note of it and then expressed his conviction.

'A waste of time, I expect. Motor bandits are always on the move. Here me minute and gone the next. To try to catch 'em is like putting salt on a swallow's tail.... You had a narrow shave. A good thing that Spaxton happened along with his gun in the way he did.'

'Providential, I call , it,' agreed Huntley. The constable looked at his notebook again, and noticed an omission

'I shall want your address, sir.'

'For the present I shall be at Draycombe Manor where I am to stay with Mr. Harvey Judson, whom I daresay you know.'

'Yes, sir!' The constable was clearly impressed, and his manner was almost deferential as he asked the girl for similar information.

Then he said 'If there's nothing more I'll get along and report. That saloon car was bound to get damaged in the collision, and maybe we shall be able to get track of the villains that way.... What about your, case, sir?'

'Oh, I'd forgotten— ' began Huntley, but the keeper broke in. 'Drop it in Rawson's car, Upcott. He'll be waiting at the lane end now, and he's going to drive Mr. Huntley to where he wants to go.'

'Yes, that will do very nicely, Constable,' said Huntley.

'Very good, sir.'

'And tell Rawson the lady and gent will be along in two ticks if you don o mind, Upcott.'

'All right, Spaxton. Good morning, sir. Good morning, miss. I hope we'll be able to get those rascals, but I have my doubts.'

He left the cottage, and as the garden gate clashed behind him the keeper looked at his guests and grinned.

'Upcott be a nice sort of chap.'

'Very!' agreed Huntley.

'An' easy to manage. I remembered what you said last night, sir, an' told him no more than I could help.... But I had to let on about those blessed bandits because of my window there. I couldn't make up a yarn about somebody throwing stones or Upcott'd have ransacked the parish for a window-smasher.'

'You did very well, keeper,' laughed Huntley, 'and I'm infinitely obliged to you, as is Miss Laundy I am sure.'

'We do owe you a great deal, Mr. Spaxton.'

'You're kindly welcome, miss, I'm sure.'

'But we're going to pay for damages.'

'A pane or two of glass is nought, sir,'

'And for board and lodging,' continued Huntley, 'though we can't pay. for friendship, and we're not going to try, keeper.' He took out his wallet, and the keeper hastily intervened.

'I'd as lief you, didn't, sir.'

'But I must— and shall, Spaxton, I'm a rich man, and your wages, I daresay, are no more than thirty shillings a week.'

'Thirty-five and the cottage, sir.'

'Well, I insist, Spaxton. And some day maybe I'll tell you the whole story behind last night's affair, when I know it myself and am at liberty to do so.'

'Now, I'd take that real friendly, sir, for I'll own I'm curious.'

Huntley laughed, 'So am I. Here are the damages. Now lead the way to Rawson's car.'

They found the car at the end of a rough lane, with Huntley's suit case in the tonneau.

'Where to, sir?' asked Rawson, who, it appeared, was economical in words.

'Draycombe Manor,' answered Huntley, and held the door for Janet Laundy.

'Right!' The keeper waved his cap, and the car, ancient and noisy, rattled off.

Then the girl spoke. 'Your friend will not be expecting me. I feel that I ought not to intrude―'

Roy Huntley broke on the words with laughter, and replied inconsequently: 'Harvey Judson once promised to be my best man!'

'Oh!'

'I want to keep him in mind of the promise.'

'But―'

'He'll have the sense to understand. I hope, and not consider you as an Intruder.'

The girl flushed at the implication of the laughing words, then in spite of care, broke into responsive laughter.

'You drive a car?' she asked. 'Why— yes. But— ' he began wonderingly.

'Then I'm sure you break the speed laws!' He took up the challenge again with laughter. 'There are none. And if there were, you and I have already passed the limits. I have carried you in my arms— miles.'

'The strong-man act!' gurgled Janet, though with a soft light in her eyes. 'For you I have lied to a policeman.'

'You did it rather well,' cooed the girl.

'Yes. Poor Robert! Half a loaf is better than no bread, but half a truth is the devil's own deception. He'd lock me up, as like as not, if he knew.'

Roy laughed again lightly, then grew suddenly serious. 'But we must tell Harvey Judson the whole truth and nothing but the truth.'

'You will tell him all you know, of course,' said the girl, also serious.

'I want to tell him more than that.'

'More?'

'Yes. I think he must be told why you do not wish to go to the police, you know... that will be necessary for your brother's sake.'

A shadow of trouble came in the dark eyes which a moment before had flashed with laughter. The beautiful face became suddenly wan, a little frown creased her brows, then she turned to him impulsively 'I will tell you— all!'

'I do not wish to force your confidence. But I think that will be wise.'

For a moment she hesitated as If uncertain how to begin, then she spoke abruptly.

'The reason is a very dreadful one ... Archie is charged with murder!' 'Murder!' Huntley was utterly startled, and the way he echoed the word revealed it. He stared at her in troubled amazement, and Janet Laundy explained.

'He is innocent, of course. There was a man whom he knew who was murdered, but he had nothing to do with it, though it was made to look as if he had. He told me about it in his last letter: and he said it was lust an attempt to keep him in Africa for a time so that he could not report about the mine. He said he would have to return secretly in order to avoid arrest. The charge was a frame-up. That was the very word he used. There was some one in Africa who was working with the man in England to prevent him doing what he went out to do... Before that some one tried to shoot him.'

'Phew! So that is why he came to Newton-Porcorum last night.'

'It must be! And now―' she made a tragic gesture; but Roy Huntley did not share her dismay.

'They daren't hurt him.' he said quickly. 'Not whilst you and I are alive to tell the truth. Don't worry, Miss Laundy. Your brother is safer now than ever he was in Africa. They can only dare to keep him in durance. We are his safeguard. That is why Carroll and Swanny came back last night— to scotch us, that they might safely scotch him in turn. For the moment they are checkmated.... And when Harvey Judson hears everything I wouldn't give tuppence for their chances.'

'But if you should be wrong?'

'I'm not. The thing is clear as daylight. Those involved daren't act ruthlessly now that we know that your brother is in their hands. They can, at the worst, only hold him whilst they scoop the pool.'

'But that means failure utter and complete for Archie: and to him defeat is exceeding bitter. He must succeed in his purpose.... You do not know him. He is one of those men who would rather die than fail in an enterprise which he has undertaken.'

Huntley nodded. 'I know the type. It is a good one, and the fact that your brother is like that gives one hope. He won't be easily scotched even by those rogues. He'll win through yet, you will see.'

Janet Laundy did not reply. She stared straight in front of her, lost in thought, and plainly apprehensive.

Huntley allowed himself to dwell on the news she had given him. Archie Laundy's enemies were clearly men of resource. They meant to prevent the exposure that he proposed to make, and were not particular as to the means to that end. If the girl's story were true they had already tried to destroy him by the hand of some assassin, probably in circumstances that favoured such a foul action. Failing there they had arranged that frame-up, with the idea of detaining him in Africa until their coup was achieved. The fact that again they had been unsuccessful did not mean that Archie Laundy had proved his innocence, but rather that, knowing he had no time to waste if he were to fulfil his contract, he had succeeded in evading the police, who were probably on his trail. And now he was in the hands of his enemies. What would they do with him?

He was conscious of apprehension as he faced that question. He had spoken reassuringly to the girl, but, renumbering the events of the night, his own confidence was shaken. Carroll and Swanny were capable of any crime, and― like men, like master. That dark-goggled man who had been so cool and suave in circumstances that most men would have found infinitely embarrassing was a sinister figure. With such tools to serve him he might be tempted to extreme measures— some horrific deed by which Archie Laundy would vanish for ever.

The ramshackle car rattled on, its driver keeping the crown of the road, for comfort's sake. Behind it a klaxon sounded warningly, but Mr. Rawson showed no disposition to give way. The klaxon hooted again with a vigorous note which betrayed the exasperation of the man driving the following car; and at this second warning Rawson turned his wheel to draw aside.

Apparently he was not sufficiently expeditious to please the man behind, for the klaxon sounded a third time, making a long shrieking blare that caused Huntley to look round, curious as to the driver who could be guilty of such an atrocity.

Behind them, as he saw through the little window at the back, was an ambulance car. As he realised the character of the vehicle whose passage their own ramshackle car was obstructing, Roy Huntley understood its driver's impatience.

Ambulances, like fire engines, could claim precedence on the road, since their business was often a matter of life and death. His eyes went to the angry face of the uniformed driver, and as they did so his thought snapped like a thread and a startled exclamation was torn from him.

'Good God!... Swanny!'

He had no doubt of the fact. The driver of the ambulance was the man who had driven the car which had crashed with that of Janet Laundy and who had been Carroll's companion in the raid on Spaxton's cottage. In a rushing tide the truth broke on him. Swanny as an ambulance driver, could mean only one thing. That ambulance car was being used to convey Archie Laundy from the neighbourhood. Not for a second did he challenge that intuitive conviction, and as the ambulance was drawing level to pass he fairly roared to the driver of the hired car: 'Block him, Rawson! Block him for God's sake!'

If Rawson understood what was required he had not the nerve to do it, for he veered still further to the near side, and the ambulance drew level. That the driver of it had heard his own frenzied order to Rawson was proved to Roy beyond doubt, for whilst the two vehicles were still neck and neck Swanny turned a grinning face, and in derision put a thumb to his nose with all the fingers outstretched.

THE ambulance swept past and, helpless to check it, Roy shouted violently to his driver: 'Follow that ambulance! Step on the Juice, for heaven's sake, man! Make her rip, if she can.'

But the crock was beyond any sudden acceleration. Startled by the urgency of Roy's tone her driver made an effort, and only succeeded in bringing the car to a standstill. The ambulance swept on, reached a bend in the road, and just as it vanished Janet Laundy asked in wonder: 'What is the matter?'

'Matter!' he cried. 'You did not see the driver of that ambulance. It was Swanny!'

'Swanny!'

'Yes. And if Archie isn't in that ambulance I'm a lunatic!'

The implication of it all broke on the girl in a flood. 'Oh!' she whispered tragically. 'An ambulance!— Archie!'

'Doesn't mean he's hurt in any way. Don't think that. It's just a way of changing ground, getting him away unobserved and with a minimum of trouble. We've missed a chance through this confounded old box-of-tricks.'

The box-of-tricks spat violently, backfired, and then once more resumed its rattling progress.

'What are we to do?' asked Janet Laundy quiveringly.

'Do! Keep on to Judson's. We can do nothing in this museum piece. But Harvey will have a fast car.'

He broke off, knowing the vanity of his thought. The ambulance had speed. That had been shown as it swept forward. Even if it could be traced there could be no overtaking it. If they were to find Archie Laundy now, the area of the search had widened infinitely; and the difficulty of the task had increased a thousandfold. He recognised the stark fact, and the hopefulness of the enterprise kept him silent until they drew up on the terrace at Draycombe Manor.

His friend was there on a garden seat talking to a lean, bronzed man, who looked like a soldier, and whose puckered eyes proclaimed that they were accustomed to brighter skies than those of England. As the car stopped, Harvey Judson, long-limbed, with the unmistakable stamp of a much-drilled man, hurried forward the second man following less quickly.

When Huntley jumped out of the car his host cried out in welcome, 'Roy, old man!... I got your telegram ten minutes ago, and have been wondering what had happened to— Phew! You bring company?'

'A lady— and a long tale of adventure.' Huntley turned to the car.

'Harvey, let me introduce you to Miss Janet Laundy.'

'Laundy! Laundy! Great Scott!' The ejaculation came from the lean soldierly stranger who had followed at Judson's heels. 'Not by any chance Archie Laundy's sister?'

'Yes,' answered the girl, herself staring at the man, with astonished eyes.

'Well now, Judson,' cried the man almost incredulously, 'If that doesn't fairly beat the band!'

Chapter 6

JANET LAUNDY looked at the man with wondering eyes, then she said quickly,  'You know Archie?'

'We both are acquainted with him, Miss Laundy,' said Harvey Judson. 'I met him in Pietermaritzburg three years ago, but Lamington here has more recent acquaintance.'

'And what I should like to know, Miss Laundy, is if you have seen your brother any time in the last few days?'

The man's voice was eager, and there was an expectant look upon his bronzed face. Roy Huntley noted both facts, as apparently did the girl, for a certain reserve crept into her manner, and there was a little challenging note in her voice as she countered his question.

'Why do you wish to know that?'

The man laughed and answered jestingly, 'Well, I'm a policeman, you know.'

Janet Laundy blanched at the jesting word, and involuntarily gave an apprehensive ejaculation.

'Oh— a policeman!'

Once more Harvey Judson, sensing trouble, quickly intervened. 'I ought to have introduced you, Miss Laundy. This gentleman is Sergeant Lamington of the South African C.I.D.'

The information was plainly no consolation to the girl. The trouble showed itself in her eyes, and evidently she was much perturbed. Roy Huntley thought it was time to interfere.

'Harvey, I think we had better go indoors. Miss Laundy has been much tried in the last few hours, and as I hinted I've a long tale for your ears. As a matter of fact Sergeant Lamington is the second policeman we've interviewed, or who has interviewed us, since breakfast.'

'Of course,' said Harvey Judson, and turned to the girl with a friendly smile. 'Come along, Miss Laundy. It is thoughtless of me to have kept you out here on the terrace.'

He led the way into the house, and there, before Huntley followed his friend into the room to which he conducted them, he gripped the South African's arm.

'Sergeant,' he demanded, 'have you official business with Archie Laundy?'

For a second the sergeant looked at him austerely as if he were going to refuse to answer. But the urgency

In Roy's voice and the anxiety in his eyes turned the scale.

'As a matter of fact I have. There's a warrant for his arrest for murder issued in South Africa, but as I happen to know he is innocent I'm not going to execute it, if that is any consolation to you.'

'It will be very consoling to his sister,' said Roy, in a tone that expressed infinite relief. 'Not that you would have much chance of arresting him at the moment if you wished.'

'You know where he is?' demanded the sergeant. 'You can tell me without fear, because I suspect that wherever he is the man I really want is not far away.'

'You mean the man who tried to shop Laundy with the crime?'

'Jerusalem! What do you know about that, Mr. Huntley? You seem to have first-hand Information.'

'You may call it that,' laughed Huntley. 'It came from Laundy himself through that young lady in there.'

'But Laundy — ' 'He was kidnapped last night.' 'Kidnapped. The dickens; you don't say!'

'By the man who, I expect, inspired the affair for which Laundy was to be arrested in Africa... But come along. If you're Laundy's friend there is a story for you to hear, which will make both Judson and you sit up.'

He led the way into the room where his friend and Janet Laundy awaited them. As he entered he saw that the tragic look was back in the girl's eyes, and that she was greatly distressed. He walked straight across the room to the big chair where she sat huddled as if afraid of what the next moment would bring.

'Miss Laundy,' he said abruptly, 'there is no need for you to worry because of Sergeant Lamington. He snows that Archie is innocent, and he is looking for the real criminal.'

'Oh, thank God!'

'With ? your permission I shall tell him and Harvey everything— and we shall have two to help us instead of one. You agree?'

'Yes! Yes!'

'Then I will begin at once— for there is urgent need that we should get into action.'

He waited until the sergeant and his host had seated themselves, and then he began to tell the story as it was known to him, starting with his own adventure at Newton-Porcorum, and bringing events right down to the moment of the meeting with Swanny acting as driver to the ambulance car, fitting in Janet Laundy's explanations as he went. As the story proceeded the interest of his listeners mounted. When he explained the secret reason for Archie Laundy's visit to south Africa, Lamington gave a sharp whistle.

'So that was it! It explains a whole lot to me. Go on. I never guessed the thing was so deep.'

Roy Huntley continued. When he finished, the sergeant ejaculated again.

'My stars! what a yarn! And those beggars have got him. That ambulance van is a winner. I've known some smart things done by rogues in my time, but that's as slim a trick as I've heard of. But who is the Swanny bird, and that Carroll?'

'Plain ruffians. I can tell you nothing more.'

'Under-strappers!'

'Under-strappers!' commented Judson. 'The goggled man is the one who pulls the strings, and I'll wager a hundred pounds he is the vendor of that property on which Laundy is to report.'

'Sure thing!' agreed the sergeant. 'But who is he?'

'Some city shark,' said Judson. 'We know the type pretty well here, where they've even commoner than in Jo'burg. Point Is how are we to find him— with no name, no indication of the property he is meaning to unload, and―'

'There's that house to which Mr. Huntley was taken,' interrupted the sergeant. 'That gives a straight line to follow. If it is in this neighbourhood it should not be difficult to find, and once found it will give a clue as big as itself.'

'I will take that, on,' volunteered Judson. 'I know, the neighbourhood fairly, well.'

Sergeant Lamington considered a moment, then he said slowly. 'There's no. sense in two of us following a plain trail like that. And it is a sure thing Laundy won't be in that house. I shall continue on the line that brought me over here. I want Lorenzo Joe pretty badly.'

'Who is Lorenzo Joe?' Roy asked.

'The scallywag who tried to plant that murder on Laundy. I know he is over here, and if I can find him there's the possibility that he may pilot us straight to that spectacled gent of yours.'

'Then the sooner we all get into action the better,' said Harvey Judson. 'For my part I count myself in luck. It will be like old times to go man-hunting.'

He turned to the girl.

'What about you, Miss Laundy? May I offer you the hospitality of Draycombe? You will be very welcome.'

'Thank You,' said Janet Laundy hastily. 'But I think I must get back to town. You see if Archie should get away from those men or find a chance to communicate his whereabouts he will almost certainly make for, or send to, our flat.'

'Something in that!' agreed Judson. Then he said slowly. 'There's another thing. If you were to go to the local police, or to Scotland Yard about your brother―' He stopped as he caught the look on the girl's face, and said hastily. 'There seems to be no reason why you should not, you know.'

'You're wrong there, Judson,' said the sergeant. 'Scotland Yard has Laundy's name, and the warrant I have holds. On my own responsibility I propose to disregard it, knowing what I do; but you know the official mind. Your police over here might not take the same view, and if they get hold of Laundy they'd sure hold him and wait instructions. That would mean weeks as like as not.'

'I prefer to leave it all in your hands,' said the girl quickly.

'Good!' Judson laughed. 'I was afraid you'd take the other view. Now we're free to act. When do you wish to go to town?'

'By the earliest train. But―'

'Yes?' Janet looked down at her bedraggled clothing. 'I cannot very well go like this. I must get some things. A coat and a hat at least.'

Harvey Judson laughed. 'Then I shall deliver you into the hands of my sister, who is still abed waiting for the morning to warm up. She will fit you up, and run you down to the junction. If you'll excuse me I will go and rouse her out. He left the room at once, and Lamington followed him with an excuse that he wished to see to his car. Then Roy Huntley spoke.

'Things seem to be brightening up Miss Laundy.'

'Yes, yes,' she said gratefully. 'It is a great relief to know, that the sergeant is aware of the truth. But if those men should hurt Archie―'

'They won't!' asserted Huntley with a show of confidence that he was far from feeling.  'Don't you worry. We'll have your brother in no time at all. As I told you Harvey Judson is keen still where his old profession is concerned, and Lamington seems pretty smart.'

He did not wait for her comment on this, but hurried on, 'I will see to your car, though from the look of it in the dark it had the appearance of being a case for collecting the full insurance. You must let me have your address that I may communicate.'

He walked over to a desk and returned with a sheet of notepaper and a fountain pen.

'No time like the present you know.'

Janet Laundy wrote the address He read it and smiled.

'You won't mind my looking you up if I have to be in town? At any rate I can report progress you know.'

'Mind! Of course not. Why, I should be the most ungrateful girl in the world if―' He looked towards the door, which was ajar, there was the sound of a cheerful whistle which came from the stairs.  Harvey Judson, it seemed, was returning, and there was no more than a moment for private talk. He turned to her quickly and their gaze met. For no apparent reason Janet Laundy's face flushed rosily, and he laughed gaily.

'You do not know how I shall abuse the favour. I shall wear out the doorstep.'

'Our flat,' she said with a little laugh that matched his own for gaiety, 'Is on the third storey. But there is a lift.'

'Thank goodness! Three flights of stairs would dismay―'

The whistle was at the door almost. He glanced at the paper in his hand. There was a number on it.

'I will telephone.'

Then Harvey Judson's voice announced cheerfully, 'Miss Laundy, my sister will receive even at this ungodly hour. I have promised that you will tell her a story which will give her a permanent wave. If you will come with me―'

With a nod and a smile for Huntley the girl went. Left alone, he carefully folded the paper in his hand and placed it in his wallet. Then he walked to the window and stood there looking forth daydreaming, until his friend returned when everything became bustle and energy.

'We'll get to work at once, Roy There's no time to lose, I fancy Carroll and Swanny clearly aren't burdened with scruples; and if your goggled villain who employs them thinks his interest requires it. Laundy is in imminent danger of being scuppered. I've an ordnance map, somewhere.'

The map was found, and the two bent over it. With a pencil Judson made a dot at a certain point.

'Here's the hump where Miss Laundy's car was smashed up. And somewhere beyond that, to the north, is the house to which you were taken You said you came out of a gate on to the highway swinging right?'

'I fancied a gate; but I was blindfolded, remember. It may have been a side road―'

'Of course. But it must have been on the left side of the road travelling from here. That simplifies matters, as we've only to quarter the country on that side of the highway.' He began to pore over the map, now and again uttering a name and making comments.

'Digbury House— Sir John Digbury's place. More Immaculate than Caesar's wife— Arston Priors— Lady Layrock's. She'd have a fit If she only heard your story — Tinker's Lodge. That's the Lee's. Romany descent and proud of it. Stiff as a starched shirt. The Pines— Mrs. Lockyer and daughters. They―'

He broke off, and ejaculated: 'Ah!' His pencil fixed on a point and stayed there. 'Thorley Burrow,' he said. 'I ought to have remembered that. It's been to let furnished ever since I came here. Your goggled friend may have taken it. It lies off the main road up a longish lane that is a cul-de-sac. That's why they call it a burrow, I suppose. Seems a likely place. I'll order out a car, and we'll run over and spy out the land. At any rate we shall be going in the right direction. Where is Lamington?'

'Gone to the garage!'

'Then I'll slip round and have a word with him. I expect you'd like a brush-up and so forth.'

'I shouldn't like to disgrace you,' laughed Roy, 'and I feel as disreputable as a tramp. I sent my heavy baggage forward.'

'Then I'll wager it is at the station. I will send down for it.'

'But we won't waste time. I'll borrow a coat to cover my soiled raiment. I have a fancy that the sooner we are at Thorley Burrow the better.'

'Yes!'

HALF AN HOUR later, having learned that Lamington was going to town and would see Miss Laundy safely through, they set forth on their quest, with Harvey Judson at the wheel.

'You're not expecting to find that goggled villain waiting for us, are you, Harvey?'

'Should have a shock if we were! That's not the notion. If the Burrow is the place, then we pick up the trail right away. You can't take a house like that without some sort of references, you know.'

Half an hour brought them to a lane, a mere occupation road where a sign, leaning a little drunkenly in the hedge proclaimed their destination. Judson stopped the car and read the sign aloud.

Thorley Burrow.

To be let Furnished.

For terms, apply to Messrs.

Ridley and Son,

Estate Agents, Yeovil.

'Journey's end!' he commented. 'Wait here with the car, Roy. I'll make the prospect. I'm unknown to any of the goggled man's crowd. And that board is a perfect excuse for a call. As a prospective tenant I can inspect the place without exciting suspicion.'

Huntley watched him swing up the lane and pass through a wide gate at the far end, where, between tall trees, the upper story of a small Georgian mansion was visible. Ten minutes passed before Judson returned and reported.

'Place is deserted. Lower windows shuttered. upper window blinds all drawn. If there's a caretaker about then he's deaf as an adder. Door bell rings like a fire alarm, but there's no answer.'

'Then we can't be sure, that was the house?'

Judson laughed. 'You'd know If you saw the inside?'

'Of course! But―'

'We'll take a look. The resources of civilisation are not exhausted.' He stepped into the car, and turning into the lane drove up to the gate.

'Come along!' he laughed. 'You're wanted to identify!'

'But how?' 'I'll show you. The place is made to be burgled. You might drive a pantechnicon to the door and strip the house and nobody know '

'But if you smash a shutter, you will arouse the suspicion of those fellows if they should return.'

'Pooh! Burglary Is a science today. Remembering that ambulance I had a notion we should find an empty nest, and I came prepared. I'll show you.' He led the way through the Kate to the house door, and there he produced a bunch of skeleton keys.

'Keys of office,' he laughed. 'Having been a policeman, I now turn housebreaker, which is a thing not unknown.'

Without further comment he began to operate on the lock. Within three minutes he looked sideways at his friend and laughed.

'Open, sesame!'

Huntley heard a click, and the next moment the door opened. 'In you get, Roy. I'll watch the entrance to the Burrow in case any of the rabbits should show up.'

Huntley stepped into the hall, and looked round. It told him nothing, since on the previous night he had not seen it. But four doors offered themselves, opening from the hall, and if this were the house, beyond one of them was a room which he must recognise. He chose the first on the left, and opened the door. Shuttered as it was, the room was in darkness, but he felt for and found the switch. As he turned it, the room was flooded with soft light from the shaded lamps.

He recognised it instantly. Here was the room where, lying unconscious, he had revived to hear the goggled man telling his abductors of their mistake. There was no doubt of that at all, and turning off the light and closing the door he returned to his friend.

'Well?' demanded Judson.

'This is the place.'

'Eureka! Then the road is clear before us. We'll see the agent. If the place has been let we can learn the name of the tenant; if not, then that of the man who borrowed the keys to inspect. I've known an empty house to be used for crime before.'

He closed the door and led the way to the car. 'Now for Yeovil Town. Before dinner-time we'll have Mr. Dark goggles by the short hairs.'

That exultant anticipation, however, proved to be ill-founded. The house agents' office was easily found and the junior partner, a keen young man, received them with the cordiality of a man who expected to do business. But at the first mention of Thorley Burrow his face clouded.

'Yes,' he said. 'Property is to let at a rental of £250 per annum; but we're only sub-agents and the truth is, gentlemen, we're not greatly concerned about the place, having to pass the names of all prospective tenants to a lawyer in London.'

'You have many inquiries then?' asked Judson, quickly.

The young man laughed.

'No, you're the third in seventeen months. The first jibbed at the price, the second was turned down by the lawyer, and if you can stand the rent, I can't promise you will get the house. The last man was a man of substance and what that confounded solicitor was about I can't think. It would have been sound business.'

'Um! That's not very encouraging. Who is the owner of the property?'

'Don't know. Some gent, who lives in South Africa.'

'The solicitor, then?'

The young man shuffled.

'We're not at liberty to divulge, Mr. Judson. Any application for tenancy we— er— pass on, you know.'

'Seems confoundedly mysterious, Mr. Ridley. But one can inspect? You have the keys.'

'No. They're at the lawyer's office.'

'An odd arrangement.'

'Odd! Devilish odd, I say, as I've told the governor many a time. I'm for taking our board down and leaving Arnheim to fool round by himself.'

He spoke with some heat, and did not appear to notice he had let the name slip. Then he laughed at his own annoyance and ceased to gossip.

'If you are interested in furnished properties in the county, we have two or three first-rate propositions that put Thorley Burrow in the shade, at rentals a thundering sight more reasonable. There's Overcombe Grange at Wivelscombe―'

'Too far off the map,' interrupted Judson. 'I'm not wanting the house myself, you understand, but a friend who wants to be near enough to me to hunt with the same pack, is interested. The Burrow is the only house available in the district, you see. You might inquire of your principal if you will―'

He rose. 'I will leave my card, and perhaps you will let me knew if the house can be rented.'

'Of course, Mr. Judson, And if any other house comes in— in the district?'

'I shall be glad to hear of it. The matter of securing a house before my friend begins his leave from India is urgent.'

'We will do our very best, sir.'

'Thank you! Good-morning, Mr. Ridley.'

Back in the car, running down the street, Harvey Judson broke into laughter.

'Arnheim!' he chanted. 'Arnheim! Arnheim! You heard that melodious name, Huntley? Belongs to a man we've got to find. I wonder how many there are of his tribe in London City.'

'Scores, I expect.'

'But not all lawyers, my son, and I should say there was only one with a client's house on his hands that he doesn't want to let. That board, unless I'm a Dutchman, is just camouflage, and Mr. Ridley, Jun., has sound reason for being disgruntled. There is something more fishy than bunny about Thorley Burrow, and guided by the scent I think we'll go to London this very day. There's a train up an hour after lunch... We'll scoot back to Draycombe now. If we've luck we may catch Miss Laundy and Lamington before they start and go up with them.'

That luck, to Huntley's regret, was denied them; but in Town they had better fortune. They found Lamington at his hotel, and whilst they dined together at a well-known restaurant, the sergeant explained why he had come to town.

'Clue?' he laughed in answer to Judson's question. 'No. But London is the Mecca of Colonials. And if here that Lorenzo Joe will turn up sooner or later, apart altogether from he fact that the principal whom he was serving is likely to be here. There are plenty of South Africans in London, straight and crooked, and if Joe gravitates this way, as he surely will, I shall get the wink.'

He broke off sharply and an odd look came in his eyes as he stared across the room. 'What's biting you Lamington?' asked Judson curiously. 'You haven't seen Lorenzo, have you?'

'No. but unless my eyes are going back on me, there's one of his kidney over there talking to another fellow, who is no class... At that table under the clock— the vulture-faced guy with that sick-looking man in the glasses. Take a look Judson, you should know him.'

Harvey Judson looked in the direction indicated, then he whistled sharply.

'Hallerton! The old I.D.B. man. We never got him though we knew he was the biggest buyer of smuggled diamonds in Africa!'

The sergeant laughed.

'Hallerton, you call him. Fellow had half a dozen names. Lewis, Shackleton, Arnheim—'

'What!' ejaculated Judson incredulously. 'What? did you say— Arnheim?'

Chapter 7

'ARNHEIM!' repeated Lamington, 'Benedict Arnheim. And that is his legal name I fancy, though in Africa he hid it under a bushel of others. Seems to have given you a shake-up. Judson?'

Judson laughed. 'Almost a knockout— with the long list of coincidence. You'll guess why when I tell you that the London agent for the house to which Huntley was taken last night rejoices in the name of Arnheim.'

'Phew!'

'And that the owner for whom he is supposed to act is living in South Africa.'

Lamington's face expressed his amazement; then he laughed. 'Sounds too good to be true! But it may be just police luck — the sort of thing that drops on you from the skies and gets you credit you haven't earned.'

'Who is the man who is with him?' asked Judson quickly. 'You spoke as If you knew him.'

'I do. Name of Hammersley. Mining engineer. No class. Has been mixed up in some shady transactions round about the Rand. Ought to have been gaoled years ago.'

'Then that is a further pointer— or it is another brick on the pile! Listen, and I'll put you wise, Lamington, and you'll see how things seem to lock together.'

He gave a clear but succinct account of the interview with the Yeovil house-agent, and at the end waited for the sergeant's comment. The latter was to the point.

'Something fishy here.  Looks as if there was no intention of letting that house. Probably the pretence of seeking a tenant is camouflage for some improper use that is being made of It.'

He looked across the room, 'If Benedict Arnheim can be connected with the fellow who has the final say in the letting of the place we've a line that a blind man could follow!'

He turned to Roy Huntley.

'Put a pair of dark goggles on that fellow's nose,' he said, 'and imagine him in a beard; is he anything like the man you saw last night, Mr. Huntley?'

'No. The man was full-faced and bigger in every way.'

'But the two may be working together. Pity we can't go across and challenge the fellow.'

'No good,' laughed Judson. 'There's a better way. We can consult a London directory and in the morning I can call on the Mr. Arnheim who has a house to let. If that fellow there Is the man— why, there you are!'

'Simple as eating a cheese,' chuckled the sergeant, 'if the directory pans out all right. But― Jingo! That pair are going.' He pushed his chair. 'I've a mind to cut the rest of this feast, and follow them. Your business and mine hang together; and I don't want to miss any possible line. See you later.'

'All right, Lamington. Don't worry about the bill. I'll settle. But mind you don't get coshed, you're up against a live crowd.'

The sergeant laughed, and as the pair under discussion left the room he followed them, and disappeared from view.

'A keen man,' commented Huntley.

'Yes; and the best type. Public school and all that. Joined up in Africa a year after I did. He's due for a sub-inspectorship any time. It was luck that brought him to Draycombe yesterday. Shouldn't wonder if he handed us useful information before bedtime.'

As it chanced, the news which Sergeant Lamington brought to the hotel two hours later was not in the first consideration of it very promising.

'I followed Arnheim and the other to Norfolk Street— to Clydale House, a big block of offices, only two of which were lit up. They went into a suite on the first floor. Posh-looking place; with a name plate on the door done in bronze, a foot deep, and running the length of the door, name on it, done in relief, is Jacob Stallworthy and Co., Financiers.'

'Financiers may mean money lending or company-promoting,' commented Roy.

'Nothing about Benedict Arnheim, then?'

'No. That pair stopped in the Office about an hour, then came out and parted, Arnheim left in a taxi, office was still lit up. I was in two minds what to do, wanting to see who was there besides Arnheim and Hammersley. Then I remembered in time the office would be there to-morrow, and I followed Arnheim. He went to the Hyde Park Hotel, where he seems to be stabled... And that's all for the present.'

'But not the limit of inquiry,' laughed Judson, and signalled to a 'buttons.' When the boy came be gave his instructions.

'I want to see the Classified Telephone Directory. Just borrow it from the office, will you?'

'Yes, sir.'

Three minutes later the boy returned bringing the volume, and as he withdrew Judson began to turn over the leaves. Presently he paused and began to run a finger down a host of names. A quarter of a minute later he gave a sharp whistle, then turned quickly to Lamington.

'Did you read the name-plates in the doorway or hall at Clydale House?' 'Never thought of it. Anyway, it was too dark to see. What about it?'

'Just this.' He read from the directory, 'Arnheim, B., Clydale House, Norfolk Street, W.C.2.'

'What profession?' asked Huntley quickly.

'Comes under the heading, 'Solicitors.'

'The Lord help his clients,' ejaculated Lamington.

'Our man!' cried Huntley, 'unless there's another of that name.'

'There isn't. Not in this list. He's the one and only, and beyond question the gentleman who rouses the ire of the Yeovil house-agent.... But remember, it doesn't follow that he is implicated in last night's affair. You've seen him, Roy, and he isn't the man whom you interviewed '

'No. But he's maybe in the swim with him.'

'A possibility. But we can't act on it as a fact till we know.'

Judson paused and then remarked carelessly: 'Seems to be fairly hand and glove with Jacob Stallworthy and Co., financiers. Goes to the office long after the usual business hours and knows he'll find someone there. I'm just wondering if, by any chance, Jacob Stallworthy is the owner of Thorley Burrow?'

'Well, Stallworthy and Co. are financiers, and that may be a euphemism for the Lord knows what roguery. They may be the firm holding the property on which Archie Laundy was to report'

'But Carroll and Swanny! They don't fit to with a firm or a principal with offices in Clydale House. The notion is almost preposterous.'

'And so is the notion that any big financial guy should try to shop Laundy with a murder,' said Lamington quietly, 'but you can take my word that it was done. Some of these cosmopolitan financiers are beyond the standards of ordinary men. They'll stick at nothing to rake in the shekels. Carroll and Swanny, as you say, don't fit in with offices in Norfolk Street, but they fit in with the goggled gentleman you saw last night at Thorley Burrow. And that house is linked more or less to Benedict Arnheim, and he, at any rate, is no stranger at Stallworthy's offices. Stallworthy's activities may be worth examining.'

'My view!' said Judson, promptly. 'In the morning I'm going down to Fleet Street to see a financial journalist I know. I may pick up something.'

Lamington rose. And since there's nothing to be done till morning I'm going to bed―'

The others being like-minded, they took the lift together and went their separate ways. Huntley entering his room, caught sight of his bedside telephone, and remembered a certain number given him a few hours before. For a moment he stood hesitating; then he laughed, and spoke aloud to himself.

'Why not?' A few seconds later he verified the remembered number in the telephone list, and then rang up and asked for the number in question. The hour being rather late he had not long to wait for the connection, and in n very brief time there came the answer to his call.

'Hallo.'

'Hallo!' he answered. 'How d'you do, Miss Laundy?'

'Who are you?' came the girl's voice, a little doubtfully.

'Guess!' he replied with laughter. 'Not... not―'

The doubtfulness vanished from the girl's tone. 'Oh. I'm so glad. Where are you?'

'The Victoria, Northumberland Avenue.'

'Have you any news?'

'A little. Nothing about your brother yet. If you will lunch with me to-morrow I will tell you what there is to know.'

'Must I wait till then?'

'Better! The explanation is too long for the telephone. Shall we say the Piccadilly Restaurant at 1.15?'

'If you say so!'

'I do.'

'Then―'

'Yes?'

'Yes— thank you!'

'Said like a good girl. You have no news, I suppose?'

'Oh, but I have. My maid has left me.'

'Not an unusual thing these days, imagine.'

'No! But the circumstances are a little unusual. She was not expecting my return; and I surprised her with my desk turned out on the table, reading my letters.'

'Um! The vice of curiosity.'

'If it were only that I should not be greatly worried.' There was an intonation in her voice which banished all lightness from Roy Huntley's words.

'What is it?' he asked brusquely 'Only a small thing. I don't know if there is anything in it. She was rude and left within half an hour, as soon as she could pack, you know; and alter she had gone, crumpled up in her room, I found the radiogram in which Archie asked me to meet him in Newton-Porcorum.'

'Ah!'

'Exactly! I may be growing suspicious, but it seems to me to be very significant.'

'Yes?' he said encouragingly.

'Well, you know I could not understand how those men knew that Archie was to arrive at Newton-Porcorum.'

'And now you do?'

'I think so. I have a feeling that some one must have bribed the gin to report things.'

'That seems probable. That she should have the radiogram in her possession is rather black evidence I think you are well rid of her.'

'So do I... I never thought she was like that.'

'Got at— and found the money offered too much for her loyalty. That's the tale of treachery since the time of Judas.... But don't let the affair disturb your dreams.'

'I won't. Good night.'

'Good night.'

JANET LAUNDY did not mean that the unpleasant affair of her maid should disturb her dreams; but dreams by the nature of them are beyond control. Thus it fell that willy-nilly the erring maid, like a ghost, walked through the mimic life of her sleep, the strange phantasmal life which is sometimes more vivid than ever Is that of the day. In nightmare she relived the few minutes in which she had surprised the prying girl at her mean task.

She saw her depart, sneering and apparently unashamed, and then by one of those odd and sudden shiftings of scenes, characteristic of dreams, she was lying in bed, listening to the turning of a key in the lock of the flat. She saw the maid enter, heard the click of the electric switch, and watched her turn the contents of the desk out on the table and begin to read the letters in it with a surprising diligence.

She watched, helpless, unable to move or to interfere, like one bound with invisible bonds which no striving could break. Then the tension slackened the dream faded, and in the half-wakeful condition which supervened she knew the dream for what it was and, closing her eyes slid anew into slumber.

The dream returned as dreams will, but this time there was a change. When she heard the click which she had heard in the first version of the dream she awoke definitely and with all her senses alert, caught a real sound, which came from the sitting-room— a sound of rustling papers. Incredulously she stared into the darkness, eyes and ears straining.

Her eyed went to the dividing door, and as they did so at the bottom of the door she became aware of a thin line of light. She stared at it unbelievingly, telling herself that it was not real, that it was some part of her dream and that she was still asleep. But it was real as the darkness that it broke. For a little time she lay without moving, merely wondering, then suddenly in explanation of this unexpected phenomenon occurred to her. On retiring she had forgotten to switch off the light in the living-room.

'Of course!' With the whisper she drew a little breath of relief, and even as she did so her explanation was falsified, for again she heard a clicking sound, the reality of which she could not doubt, then the light at the bottom of the door vanished.

That set the alarm bells ringing in her brain. There was some one in the other room who had switched the light on and off. Utterly startled, she stared in the darkness, apprehensive of what might follow whilst through her mind shot the question.

'Who?... Who?... Who?...'

She found no definite answer. It crossed her mind that the dismissed maid had returned in the night for some private reason, possibly for something she had left behind. Bui how had she entered? She had no key and there were no windows by which she could possibly find admission to the flat.

Her thought broke off sharply at a new sound— a rustling sound on the door, which she interpreted for that made by a fumbling hand on the woodwork. There followed a click, and she held her breath apprehensively conscious that the door was opening and that some one was entering the room.

It was too dark to see anything, but that someone had stepped into the room she knew beyond all doubt. For a moment nothing happened. The intruder, whether man or woman, as she guessed, was listening for any sound the night indicate her presence, and she had quite hard work to refrain from betraying herself with a cry.

There was a slight click. A thin ray of light wandered searchingly about the room, and as it reached the corner where the bed stood she shut her straining eyes. She felt the bright ray quivering on her closed lids, and strove hard to keep them from quivering. Then out of the darkness came a hoarse chuckle, and she knew instantly that the intruder, was a man, and once again she came near to crying out

The light left her face, and opening her eyes a little she saw it wandering round the room again, but the man who directed it was invisible. He did not remain so for very long, however. She heard him move towards the door, and as he turned the switch the room was flooded with light. In the half second before her eyes closed she glimpsed him standing, looking in her direction, and in that brief vision recognised his face as that of the man who, last night, had stared through the window of Keeper Spaxton's cottage.

'Carroll!'

Soundlessly she registered the man's name. The prey of an apprehension that struck a chill to her heart and set a seal of dumbness on her lips, he waited for developments. Questions raced through her mind at the gallop. How had he managed to enter the flat? What did he want? Did he know, despite her shut eyes, that she was wide awake and aware if his presence in the room? For what seemed an intolerable time nothing happened. Carroll made neither sound nor movement, but she imagined him standing there, watching her as a cat watches a helpless mouse, and the strain of the situation grew almost unendurable. She felt he was losing control of herself. In a moment if the strain continued she would grow hysterical, cry out, and then—

Suddenly the silence was broken by a laugh. It was a cruel, mocking laugh, but it was better than that intolerable stillness which had almost broken her nerve. She opened her eyes and stared at him In fear, and Carroll laughed again.

'Foxing! I guessed as much. Well, low that you've opened your peepers, my girl, we can talk.'

The man advanced and sat down in the bed at the foot. Then he produced an India rubber life preserver, and, holding it forward, drew her attention to it.

'A nice little quietener if you start screaming or shouting. It would knock out an elephant. You get me?'

She certainly did, and seeing the ferocious gleam in his eyes she knew that the threat was cold reality. Her apprehension must have revealed itself in her face, for Carroll nodded and laughed.

'You'll be quiet, hey? Well, that's the proper behaviour for a nice girl with a man like me sitting so close. An' I guess you'll have the sense to tell me what I want to know.'

'What?'

'Where's those two letters?'

'Two letters!' she ejaculated, a little wonderingly, though a second later it flashed on her to what letters the man referred.

Carroll growled. 'Two letters from hat fool brother of yours, in which he told you that the mine in Africa he went to look at is a dud.'

So that was it. Her mind worked quickly. She did not need to ask how he knew about the letters. No doubt it was for them the treacherous maid had been searching when she had surprised her at the desk. She had read those letters, had informed whoever employed her about their contents, and had been instructed to purloin them. Having failed, and been dismissed, this man had come to secure them. Their importance was borne on her suddenly; though her brother was in the hands of the unscrupulous man with whom Carroll was associated, so long as any report of his was in existence, their purpose, which Archie was to lave frustrated, was in jeopardy.

All this passed through her mind with the speed of thought, which is swifter than that of light. But she could do nothing to keep them from falling in the ruffian's hands. She recognised that quite clearly. The man had only to search and he must find them; for though they had not been in her desk, they were easily accessible in the small drawer of the dressing table, where, without any thought of the maid's prying, she had placed them a week ago. And really, they were not worth saving at the risk of life. She knew their contents, and whilst her brother's enemies night cherish an exaggerated idea of their importance, she was miserably aware that their value was stultified by her ignorance of the quarter where the revelation they contained might be of use. If―

'Where are they? Sharp!'

Carroll's growl had a menace in it. She recognised that, and knew that it was no moment for either heroics or a pretence of ignorance. Without demur she indicated the place.

'In the small drawer by the mirror of the dressing chest.'

Carroll rose swiftly and crossed to the chest. Opening the drawer he took out two letters. Then he swore and muttered aloud:

'That blighted wench! Must be blind as a bat!' That she was bound to hear he must have known, but apparently he did not care, and she found in the words confirmation of the suspicions he had entertained, and which so short a time before she had communicated to Roy Huntley.

As she thought of him she wondered what he would do If he knew of her perilous situation. No doubt he would come hurrying―

The thought went unfinished Carrying the letters, Carroll approached the bed again and sat down.

For a second or two he looked at them, then as he slipped one from the opened envelope he glanced at her.

'If there's any hokey-pokey business, you'll wish―' He left It at that and began to read. When the first was perused he gave his attention to the second and as he finished reading that he gave a short laugh.

'Guess these are genuine!' He thrust them carefully into his hip pocket, buttoned the pocket, and laughed again almost genially.

'There's fifty quid in my pocket, an' easily scooped!'

Then his geniality died.

'Now I'm going to tell you something for your own good an' the good of that fool brother of yours.'

'Where is Archie?' she cried impulsively.

'Where you aren't going to find him. Get that. An' where he'll sure stop for good if you go talking to the police about this li'l game of mine.... See? But If you keep a shut mouth an' don't go yarning about affairs you don't properly understand dear Archie will be restored to the bosom of his family in a month's time or thereabouts... that's a promise from the boss— an' it goes. But by the living jingo, if you get messing about, your li'l brother'll pay for it— pay hard. That clear?'

The man spoke with cold ferocity How much of what he said was to be believed she did not know; but the implied threat shook her with apprehension for Archie.

The fear in her eyes was sufficient for Carroll.  He laughed like a man well pleased.

'Guess you're going to be sensible,' he said. 'Now I'll be goin'!' If any one was to see me sittin' here chattin' with a pretty girl like you as friendly as a pair of birds on a bough, they might think things.'

He laughed, and rose from the bed...

'You won't move,' he said, 'or as sure as Chris'mas I put you out... If 'twas Swanny who was here instead of me Lor' knows what'd happen! Always weak on a pretty face, he is!... But I'm not that sort.' He almost purred with the pride of his own virtue. Then he once more gave counsel.

'If you've got the sense I think you have you'll go to by-by; an' come mornin' you'll think you dreamed badly in the night I'll put out the lights and shut the door behind me as I go, so there'll be no need to chill your little toes. So long!'

He moved with surprising quickness and quietness. She heard the click of the switch, but did not hear the door closed, though she was quite jure it was, since for a second there was again that little line of light on the floor. That vanished, but still there was no sound. She waited, shivering in the throes of reaction from the tense moments through which she had passed. How long she waited she
never knew, but suddenly through the night stillness came the boom of n distant clock chiming the quarters and then proclaiming the hour. 'One! Two!' That broke the spell of inaction which had Iain upon her. Her pent-up emotion surged hysterically.

She must have company, tell someone, or she would be driven crazy with burdening apprehension. But she had few friends. Then she remembered one, and a second later she was out of bed fumbling for the switch.

As the room flooded with light she threw the door open and passed into the living-room beyond. There she did not wait to turn on the light but went straight to the telephone, and gasping and shaking heard the formal inquiry of what founded like a disembodied voice remote from fear and care.

'Number please?'

She remembered it quite well, having looked it up when Roy had rung her up; but her voice shook so that she could not speak the figures sufficiently clearly for the man to distinguish them, and at last she cried desperately: 'I want the Victoria, Northumberland Avenue. Quick! Oh, quick, please.'

Chapter 8

OUT of dreamless sleep Roy Huntley awoke with the buzz of the telephone in his ears. For a moment he scarcely realised that it was in his own room, but when that fact was forced upon him he acted quickly. In a trice he had switched on the light above the bed and had reached for the instrument, wondering who could possibly be calling him in the small hours of the morning.

'Hallo!' he said. 'There's a call for you, sir, an urgent one. I am putting you through.'

'Right!' he said with a sudden premonition of the truth. A second later a shaking voice reached him over the wire.

'Mr. Huntley! Mr. Huntley!'

'Speaking!' he answered quickly. 'What is it, Miss Laundy? You are upset?'

'Upset! Upset!' The doubly echoed word was accompanied by a giggle, that was almost hysterical, and which he instantly recognised as being due to overwrought nerves.

'Steady!' he said crisply. 'Steady! What is it? Something has frightened you. Tell me!'

'That man.' Something that he took for a sob intervened.

'What man?'

'Car— Carroll. He has been... here!'

'Good heavens!'

'He has g-gone, now . But I am s-scared almost to death... I felt I must tell some one.'

He did not wait for any further information.

'Don't worry,' he said quickly. 'I will come to you at once. You hear? At once?'

'Yes,' came the shaking voice, a little faintly. ''I am ringing off, now. In a few minutes I shall be with you.'

He dressed more quickly than he had ever done in his life, and within eight minutes astonished the night porter by appearing in the hall.

'I have to go out on an urgent matter,' he explained. 'If I am not back before you go off duty I want you to send up a message to Mr. Judson in No. 201B to say that I went out to this address in response to a telephone call, and that I will communicate with him as early as possible.'

He handed the man Miss Laundy's address as he spoke, then asked, 'You got that clear?'

'Quite, sir. If you are not back before eight I will send the message to Mr. Judson.'

'Good!'

He tipped the man generously and was passed out to the street. Late as the hour was there were still taxis prowling in the hope of fares, and he walked but a little distance before securing one.

'Clarence Gardens, Kensington,' he said, 'if you know where it is.'

'Got an idea, sir. Anyway I'll find it. There are always coppers a man can ask.'

'Then as quickly as you can. It is urgent that I get there soon. The number of the house is 22.'

'Right, sir.'

The night traffic had almost ceased, and there was nothing to prevent the taxi driver hurrying. He made really excellent time, and much earlier than Huntley expected, pulled up in a square of rather old-fashioned houses, three stories high, all of which seemed in utter darkness.

'This is Clarence Gardens, sir. And that's 22. Only one with a light in it, seemingly. All sound abed I guess.'

'Let us hope so,' answered Huntley, and having paid the man and seen him drive off, walked towards the door of 22, a little exercised as to the way he was to secure admittance, for the door was shut and the lighted window on which the taxi-man had remarked was in the top storey.

He remembered Janet's jest about the third storey and the lift, and he guessed that the lighted window was hers, but how to let her know that he had arrived, without rousing the people In the other flats, was something of a problem. A brass bell-push confronted him. It seemed to be the only one, and no doubt communicated with the caretaker— if there was one.

There seemed to be nothing else that would serve him, and he was in the very act of stretching his thumb to press it, when from within came the sound of light feet, and as he desisted a catch slipped back, the door opened, and Janet stood revealed. By the light of the street lamp he saw that her face was extraordinarily pale, whilst the wide, dark eyes had a look of pain— testimony he thought to some gruelling experience.

'I heard the taxi stop,' she said with a little catch in her voice. Then he added simply: 'I am so glad you have come... but you will think that I am always worrying you.'

'Worrying? Nonsense! I am happy to be of use.'

He stepped inside and she closed he door quietly. Then she said: 'I'm afraid you will have to climb the stairs: The current of the lift is cut off at midnight.'

She turned a switch which illuminated the landing above, and they went up side by side. Then, in turn, the next landing and the last was lighted; and in a little time they stood outside an open door, from which a light shone.

'Here,' she said simply, and as he followed her in she closed the door.

Before he had time to speak he lad an impression that the room had seen pretty thoroughly searched, drawers and cupboards were open, about an escritoire there were many papers strewn on the floor, whilst there was the same confusion about a roll-top desk in the neighbourhood of the window. Some one— Carroll as he guessed— had ransacked the place in search of something. What? He could not think.

The girl stood here, her hand playing nervously with the silk kimono which he divined hid her night attire, and beneath which her small and shapely feet thrust into silk slippers, were plainly visible. That she was much shaken was plain to him, and turning he thrust a chair towards the electric stove which was glowing.

'Yours!' he said with a smile. 'Sit down. I will help myself. We shall talk more easily if we are comfortable.'

He wheeled another chair into position, seated himself, then gave the word. 'Now tell me.'

She told him a little brokenly, and half-whisperingly as if afraid of being overheard, testimony he thought to the strain she had endured.

As he listened he was conscious of a rising anger against Carroll; and at the same time a growing concern for her well being. It was plain to him that, as she had suspected, the maid had been suborned, and that having been dismissed without securing the letters, the contents of which no doubt she had already communicated to her paymaster, Carroll had been sent to acquire them.

'Wait,' he broke in abruptly at that point. 'Those letters made clear what was your brother's opinion about that mine he went to investigate.'

'Oh, yes! He said it was a colossal fraud, and that there wasn't enough gold to pay for the posting of share allotments in the property were floated.'

'Then your brother's enemies must have been afraid that you might take the letters to the people who had commissioned him.'

'So I might have done. But I didn't know who those people were.'

'They don't know that, or perhaps they might not have troubled to send Carroll here. But please continue.'

Janet Laundy continued to the end; and he listened without further interruption; but when she finished he spoke with grim passion.

'Some day I shall break Carroll's neck!' Then he looked at her, and said quietly: 'You are not safe here. You must leave the place.'

'But I cannot,' she said quickly 'If Archie should send to me―'

'That is not very likely, I am afraid.'

'But he may— he may... And that man Carroll having got the letters... he will not come back.... You don't think he will, do you?'

There was a little rising note in the last words which proclaimed a certain panic of spirit. It might have served his purpose to answer with a blunt affirmative, but he deliberately refrained from doing so.

'One cannot tell what Carroll and the man he serves might take it into their heads to do. But it is certain they would not stick at anything to achieve their purpose.'

For a moment Janet Laundy did not reply, and thinking of the possibility of Carroll revisiting the flat, Roy suddenly glimpsed a reason that might inspire the scoundrel's return. The thought so startled him as to attract the girl's notice, and she cried swiftly.

'You do think so... after all?'

'Well, not really, you know. But a hypothetical reason for such a possibility occurred to me. Suppose those men desire to put pressure on your brother?'

'But why should they? They hold him. They prevented him from making his report.'

'Yes, but suppose they want him to make a report— a favourable one, shall he say.'

'He would die first!— He would never consent,' she answered with pride in her tones.

Roy Huntley hesitated, then he asked quietly. 'Not even for your sake?'

At first he thought that Janet Laundy had missed the implication of his question. She sat there quite still, staring at the electric fire, apparently unmoved. Then he saw that the hand resting on the arm of the chair was shaking, and suddenly her eyes turned to him stark and bleak, as if they had unexpectedly glimpsed some appalling thing.

'You think... you think...' she whispered, shudderingly, and did not complete the question.

'It is a possibility,' he said. 'We are dealing with dangerous men. And if the idea occurs to them they might think to influence your brother through you... That is why I think you ought not to continue here— alone. This place, as what happened to-night proves, is too easy.'

He paused, and then he added quietly. 'You must leave the flat I think―'

But the girl was resolute. She shook her head.

'No! No! I must not in case Archie should send to me.... To-morrow I will bring a girl friend here, and I shall not be alone.'

She looked round. Her eyes rested on the door that led to her room, and she gave a little shiver, then she added whisperingly: 'It is only to-night that I am afraid. You see ... it was rather dreadful to have that man come in... in the dark.'

'Dear God!' he cried sharply. 'Don't I know it!'

He started from his chair. 'It is to save you from any repetition of that experience that I am urging you to leave here.... You must listen, my dear―'

He broke off suddenly as the unpremeditated endearment left his lips. He saw the girl start, and as the warm blood surged in her white face, intercepted the startled glance she gave him. Then he yielded to the flooding emotion in his heart.

'You heard?' he said, hoarsely, whisperingly. 'Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh. That is how I have thought of you, since I saw your face in the glare of Carroll's car last night, and watched you sleeping in Keeper Spaxton's chair... I ought not to have spoken, to-night of all nights, since you turned to me for help. I would not advantage myself by an accidental situation. It Is almost unpardonable of me―'

'No! No!' she broke In quickly, rising to her feet. 'You must not say that. I ... I think I understand and―'

She broke off in confusion, and her eyes met his, bright, tumultuous with emotion. Then most unexpectedly she was in his arms, her face hidden against his shoulder, whilst he voiced his heartfelt relief.

'Thank Heaven! You understand, my dear! I was afraid I had scared you.'

'Scared!' she whispered. 'After Carroll... You cannot know how... how secure I feel.'

'And thirty hours ago I had not seen you!' He laughed joyfully. ' But time is nothing. We have crammed into hours more than some do in years.'

'Yes! since last night.'

It was quite five minutes later when again he resumed his argument.

'Come daylight you must do as I wish. If your brother knew and could speak he would say the same thing. you must take no more risks. We can make  arrangements here so that if any message from Archie comes we shall be sure of getting it... Promise, my dear. Believe me it is the best for us all.'

He had his way at last, and an hour later, with Janet retired to her room, once more he sat by the fire, waiting and watching for the morning; and thinking how possibly he could save her from the sorrow which seemed to threaten her through her brother.

His thought was fruitless. No way offered itself, nor could until the whereabouts of the missing man was discovered. But at least, he told himself, Janet would be saved from any repetition of a terror that would have sent many of her age and sex gibbering into dark lunacy.

He telephoned to Judson before eight o'clock, and at a quarter-past nine, Janet and he met Judson and Sergeant Lamington at breakfast, and told the story of the girl's adventure.

The sergeant shook his head.

'That Carroll bird wants his wings clipping. You must be careful, Miss Laundy.'

'It's the man Carroll serves whose wings we've got to clip, Lamington, and soon.'

'Your business, Harvey. Mine is Lorenzo Joe— and incidentally, Miss Laundy's brother.'

'I shall send for my sister, Miss Janet. You'll be a good excuse for a jut to town, and she'll look after you, while we find your brother.

'Until she arrives, if I were Roy, I should forbid you to leave this hotel suite. at any rate, without one of us to look after you.'

'I will not go abroad except in the main streets. I must do a little shopping,' answered Janet quietly.

'Good! Then we can go out to battle light-heartedly. But first we'll discuss strategy. There is no need to call on Benedict Arnheim as prospective tenants of Thorley Burrow. His connection with the place is practically established. But I am furious about Jacob Stallworthy and Co., where, according to Lamington, Benedict is so much at home. Has it occurred to any of you that the unknown Jacob may be the principal in this affair?'

'A possibility!' agreed the sergeant.

'If we were to interview , him— ' began Huntley.

'All in good time. There's that man in Fleet Street whom I must see first,' broke in Judson. 'When I've wired to Mary to catch the next train to town I'm going out to find my journalist. I may get something from him that will be helpful, and, at any rate, he'll be able to give me information about the unknown financier. When I've seen him I'll either come back here or telephone to you, Roy.'

'I shall be here,' answered Huntley.

'Haven't a doubt of it,' laughed Judson, with a smiling glance at Janet. He laughed again, and added: 'Don't keep him to the apron-strings, Miss Janet, if I send a message. I shall really want him.'

'I promise to send him,' answered Janet, smilingly.

IT WAS a whole two hours later when the message came to Huntley in the form of a telephone call.

'That you, Roy? Good! I have news. S. and Co. fill the bill, though, of course, there's no certainty. I want you to meet me at the top of Norfolk Street in half an hour.'

'Right!'

'If Lamington is about, tell him that I have just seen that man Hammersley in Fleet Street with a yellow-faced Colonial who for anything I know may be the man he is looking for.

'Lamington is out.'

'Um! A chance missed. But it doesn't affect our business. I shall expect you on time.'

Huntley arrived at the top of Norfolk Street five minutes before the time to find his friend already waiting for him.

'We can't talk in the street,' said Judson, 'so a café is indicated.'

He led the way to the nearest, ordered coffee, and lit a cigarette.

'Before we beard the lion, I'm going to tell you what I have learned.'

'Stallworthy is the lion, then.'

'Or the dark horse— a crooked runner in any case. The news I have is that he works with Arnheim, who, I suspect, is the '& Co.' of the firm. Anyway, the two are hand and glove with a connecting door between their offices. And here's a little item for you— Arnheim has recently returned from Africa.'

'Sounds significant!'

'There's more to follow. Stallworthy's speciality is mines, and for weeks there have been paragraphs in the financial columns boosting a forthcoming flotation of a Rhodesian property, which in more than one sense is reputed to be a gold mine. Stallworthy's name is associated with it by city gossip, and in a paragraph of one of the files through which I worked I came on the name of a well-known South African mining expert— guess who?'

'Haven't a notion!'

'Hammersley, no less! The fellow who was with Arnheim last night.'

'Phew!'

'A case of little drops of water, little grains of sand, and straws blown in the wind, hey?'

'Evidence is certainly cumulative.'

'And points to Jacob Stallworthy, Question is what is the next step. If he is the man, you can't walk in on him without giving things away. He would be bound to recognise you. Yet somehow we must find out if he is the big bunny who was at Thorley Burrow.' Huntley looked at his watch, then remarked, 'Ten minutes to one.'

'I don't get you, Roy.'

'Fellow looked like a man who did himself well. Not the type to stay himself at midday with a bun and a glass of milk. He will lunch somewhere, and if he's in Norfolk Street―'

'He is,' laughed Judson. 'I rang up his office to make sure, and he is expecting a caller about now— who will disappoint him... We should be able to carry out your notion. Follow him, I suppose— but we've got to be sure we follow the right man.'

'Big, burly man! Long whiskers, dark goggles, florid of countenance.'

'Easy running, if goggles weren't removable, and long whiskers not a fake. But difficulties are surmountable. You wait here and I'll see what I can do. I've shadowed niggers and millionaires in my time.'

He went out, and Roy waited for him a whole twenty minutes. When he returned he was whistling.

'Come on Roy. I am hungry as a lion. We will lunch at the Medici.'

'That is the place?'

'Yes. And to prevent accidental exclusion a table is reserved for us, by telephone.'

'You saw the fellow?'

'A lift-boy was pleased to earn an easy shilling by pointing out the great man— who was not alone. He and his two pals departed in a taxi, and Mr. Stallworthy made no secret of his destination. "The Medici," he said to the taxi-man in a voice that it was easy for a passer-by to hear.... Thereafter I dived into the nearest telephone box ... I have a taxi waiting. So we will depart to lunch forthwith.'

The Medici as it chanced was crowded, but with the table booked, they had no difficulty. Once seated, Judson said: 'Order the lunch, Roy, whilst I spot our came.'

He began to stare round the room. When Roy had given the order arid the waiter had departed Judson was still searching, his eyes roving from table to table, Intently, for in a crowded room, with people passing, and hurrying waiters, it is not easy to locate a particular person. Then he gave a little ejaculation.

'Eyes of a fool!'

'What?'

'Your pious education had been neglected, Roy. 'The eyes of a fool are in the ends of the earth.' Mine roved too far. The table Is four paces to the right. Three men there, in earnest confab. One of them you should recognise; as for the others—'

Huntley looked swiftly in the direction indicated, and saw the three men, two of whom were almost facing him, whilst the third presented his back. One of the pair facing him had a familiar look, and after a moment he remembered.

'Hammersley!' he whispered a little excitedly.

'Yes! Man next him, facing this way, is Jacob Stallworthy.'

A little chill of disappointment checked the excitement which Huntley had betrayed. Except that the man in question was of bulky build and had a ruddy face he was not in the least like the man who had been at Thorley Burrow two night ago. His disappointment showed in his face, and was expressed laconically. 'A frost!'

'Sure?'

'Quite sure.'

'Try Lamington's recipe. Put dark goggles on the fellow's nose, give him a flowing beard— sort of thing the fake photographs do when they put an eminent statesman of to-day in Victorian locks and whiskers.'

Huntley made the effort, then shook his head.

'No use, I merely visualise the other fellow's face. The trick won't work..'

'A pity. But there's another trick that's better. When he goes out, we'll go out too. You'll tread on his toes―'

'Why?'

'And watch his eyes, and listen to the swear words he will naturally shed... If he's the man, he's almost bound to recognise you. You'll see it in his eyes. Also a man's voice is individual. You'll know if he speaks, as he will if you tread hard enough... In my time I've heard a man's voice in the dark, and arrested him on the strength of it a week later. Fellow was hanged, too, in the end.'

He looked round the room, then he chuckled.

'That glazed turnstile door is the strategic point. Just made for the trick.' When the fellow leaves, we will get in front of him. I'll go through the turnstile first, and give the door a violent jerk. Naturally you'll dodge back, and if you miss his toes, you'll stick your elbow in his little Mary.'

'Sounds simple,' Roy laughed.

'It is simple, and it is a winning card— a trick that I've used more than once in my blameless public career.' He laughed lightly, looked across at the man whose toes were to suffer then he made a comment. 'Fellow doesn't seem to be enjoying his lunch too well.... Looks flushed and irate, as if the company he's in was aggravating him.'

Huntley gave the trio his attention. Mr. Jacob Stallworthy certainly was not pleased. His florid face was an angry red and there was a flash in his eyes. He was leaning forward, apparently addressing the man who faced him, and that there was some disturbing question under discussion was shown by the quick way in which on some remark of Hammersley's he swung round on that individual, who started so violently that the pince-nez glasses he wore were jerked from his nose, Judson chuckled.

'Some rift within the lute; At the moment there's a deplorable lack of brotherly love in that trio. I'd give a shilling to be eavesdropping.'

As lunch progressed it was clear to the friends that the trio were not in accord; and from time to time Judson recorded the signs of the weather:

'Stallworthy's  flustered; number three is responsible.... Now he's real savage.  His eyes are boiling!... calming down... wheedling, by the look of things!... Pure sugar and oil now. He and number three are shaking hands. Deal put through I suppose... Great Jove!... He's going, by the look of things.'

He turned round and snapped: 'Waiter!'

The waiter, who had his instructions presented the bill. Judson paid, and by the time their prospective victim moved from his table, leaving his companions still seated, they were already on their way to the turnstile door.

Over his shoulder Judson carefully measured distances, then paused and stepped aside to allow a couple of hurrying ladies to pass. The pause gave a financier time to come up, and to a miniature procession they reached the glazed door. Judson was first, and Huntley was aware that the big man was no more than a couple feet behind. His friend stepped into one of the angles of the turnstile. Roy himself made as if to take the next compartment: then, as the door whirled sharply, he stepped smartly back. The strategy was perfect. His heel found a toe heavily.

The owner of the toe swore explosively, and instantly Huntley swung around to make amends.

'I beg your pardon, sir—' he began, but the other broke in, not heatedly, but in a voice that was slow and cool and smoothly passionate.

'Pardon! For a broken toe! Of all the confounded cheek. You oughtn't to be loose outside a seven-acre field. A hippopotamus would—'

The man checked suddenly. Something leaped in the blazing eyes which Huntley was watching, a flicker of recognition as he could have sworn. It was there for no more than a second, then it was gone; and the man spoke again, a little hurriedly but no less rudely.

'Let me pass, clodhopper. You're blocking the way.' And with his heart beating like a drum under the stress of excitement, resenting the man's insults not at all, Huntley, stepped aside, yielding precedence to a very angry man whose haste to be gone, to Roy's illuminated mind, seemed enormously significant.

Chapter 9

ON THE OTHER side of the turnstile Judson was waiting with a grin on his face, and asked cheerfully, 'You got his toe?'

'Hard!'

'Well?'

'He is the man of Thorley Burrow. He recognised me, and I recognised his voice. He is absolutely unmistakable. Those goggles and whiskers must have been mere disguise.'

'But why were they used at all? Tell me that, Roy. If you are right, that the man's identity with the Thorley patriarch as I am sure you are, then the goggles and the whiskers become little mysteries on their own. Who was the man hiding himself from? Not from Archie Laundy, surely, who probably knows all about him?'

Roy Huntley considered the problem put by his friend. After a moment he answered, 'We don't know that.  Laundy may not have met him. But there is another explanation. Possibly he is known by someone in the district and was anxious not to be recognised, or, by Jupiter, yes!... In his identity as Jacob Stallworthy he is unknown to Carroll and his crowd!'

'A possibility,' agreed Judson thoughtfully. 'But I gather from your account that those three ruffians spoke of him as the boss.'

'They might do that even if they were bravoes hired just for the kidnapping of Archie Laundy. Though I will own that it did not strike me that they were very recent acquaintances of the man whom they served.'

'Well, it is a little mystery that does not matter very much just now. The question is what are we to do next. We know now beyond doubt that Stallworthy is the man responsible for the disappearance of Laundy, and that all the others, Arnheim included, are probably just his tools.'

'I think we want to get track of Archie Laundy as quickly as we can. There may be serious risks for him you know, Harvey.'

'Yes,' Judson owned, thoughtfully, and glanced through the glazed turnstile. The two men whom Stallworthy had left were still at the table, head to head as if they were discussing confidential matters. 'I wonder if that bright pair know anything of Laundy's whereabouts?'

'Mayn't know anything at all. Carroll and Co. form the executive arm, I fancy.'

'And Hammersley is merely the discredited technical expert, who is willing to help to sell a pup to the innocent investor, hey?'

'May be so. But who is the other man?'

'He is the yellow-faced Colonial who—'

'Suppose he chanced to be the man whom Lamington is after?'

'My stars! I believe you've rung the bell, Roy... By Lamington's account the fellow is in England. And he tried to shop Laundy with a crime? Why?... for a certainty because he was paid for it. And who was the man most interested in keeping Archie Laundy out of England, and even in shutting his mouth up for good?'

'Jacob Stallworthy!'

'Exactly! And if we're right, Jacob Stallworthy and Lorenzo Joe, who served him in Africa, have lunched together at the Medici under our eyes. They shook hands together after a dust-up, clinching some bargain by the way it was done... What was the bargain? I don't know, but Just now I wouldn't give tuppence for Archie Laundy's life.'

'Then we ought to go to Scotland Yard.'

'They'd laugh at us as like as not. And they would have ground. After all, reduced to bare facts without the imaginative flashes that make connexion between them and fill them with the breath of life,' the story we should have to tell would look fantastically thin.... Another thing— would Archie Laundy thank us if we went; and he was found and held, on that charge in Africa? It wouldn't matter a tinker's curse that he is innocent. If he were held in custody and extradited to South Africa, Stallworthy would have plenty of time to unload his dud mine on the trusting public, which is all he wants; and Laundy's efforts would be wasted... Scotland Yard doesn't come into the picture yet.... We two with Lamington are the people on whom Archie Laundy's safety rests. You're dead right, Roy, we've got to get in touch with Laundy, soon.'

'On ways and means,' Judson went on, 'we've got to take chances. Jacob himself, or Arnheim may serve as pointers, or those fellows in there... We've got to watch both lots and that means a temporary division of forces. You can't watch Stallworthy. He knows you. He's a cool customer, but I'll wager that at this moment he has the wind up, high, and is wondering if that toe-treading business was quite so accidental as it seems. A man with something on his conscience is a suspicious man, Inclined to make more of small events than they really carry. If he were to see you hanging about, he would know that his anonymity was penetrated, and that you were on his trail.... But he doesn't know me. I could camp on the marble steps of Clydale House and he'd never look at me twice.... And those fellows in there don't know you from Adam. If you are careful in your goings they won't have even a thought about you. I'll wager you could sit down at their table―'

'I can at any rate take coffee at the next one,' laughed Roy.

'It is vacant.'

'Why not?' Roy laughed again. 'I will. And I will report at the hotel in an hour's time.'

Without more ado he turned and re-entered the restaurant making for the vacant table he had observed, which was under the care of the waiter who had previously served him and his friend.

'I will take coffee,' he said, as the man hurried to him. 'And bring me some cigarettes— Egyptian.'

'Yes, sir.'

The waiter moved off and Huntley looked nonchalantly round, then glanced carelessly at the pair at the next table. They were still deep in conversation, and as he was sure had not even noticed him. Their voices were low, and on both faces was the earnest look of men who discussed important issues. Then quite suddenly the yellow-faced man lifted his voice.

'Vat you vant, my friend? One t'ousand on da nail. Id ees a fortune.'

'No!' The denial reached Huntley clearly. The words that followed but for the last one a mere mumble. The last word was 'flea-bite.' The yellow-faced man shook his head in disagreement. 'No! Id ees not-a dat.' Then he laughed. 'But-a we could double if... you an' me, eef—'

What the condition for doubling a thousand was, Roy did not hear, but he saw the face of the pince-nezzed Hammersley blanch a little; then take the desperate look of a man who, finding himself in a corner, decides suddenly to face what is coming. A word came from the man's pale lips.

'How!'

The yellow-faced man looked over his shoulder. Huntley's waiter had. arrived with the coffee, and stood with the sugar tongs in his hand. There was nothing in the scene to disturb the most suspicious of men, and Yellow-face fronted his companion again and leaned forward confidently. Huntley put his hand over the cup, then stretched it for one of the cigarettes, and the waiter obligingly struck a match and offered him a light, and then hurried away to another table. Through a little cloud of smoke Huntley looked at the man in whom he was interested.

The yellow-faced man was still leaning forward confidentially, talking rapidly, a forefinger extended as if to command his hearer's attention. For some odd reason Huntley thought of the Ancient Mariner, and certainly the listener to the yellow man's words had an absorbed, fascinated lock. His eyes behind the pince-nez were wide, gleaming, and fixed. His face had a tense look, and it was clear that the other's rapid speech held him. Then the spell was broken. His tension relaxed, and he shook his head.

'Impossible!' Huntley caught the word. Even to his ears it had an indecisive note, as probably to the ears of the man to whom it was addressed, for the yellow-faced man leaned back in his chair and laughed.

'You say-a dat. But you do not-a t'ink so. You say-a to yourself, "How?" An' I tell-a you da way.'

He leaned forward, once more, and I again in a lowered voice, began to unfold some proposition, as he continued the other man's eyes grew keen, and his face betrayed his interest.

Huntley strained his ears, but caught little, the man's bad English, spoken rapidly, and imperfectly heard, being almost unintelligible. The broken words he caught, however, were not without interest.

'... Dey tak-a heem to— Arnheim he say-a dat eet ees dam' foolishness... here in London. Eef he got-a loose.... An expereement―'

For a second Huntley's attention strayed. Of whom was that yellow-faced Portuguese speaking? Laundy? It seemed likely. And if it were Janet's brother... 'We get-a heem... an' we make-a da bargain wid that beeg swine.... He pay-a for why? He can not do anytin' else.'

There was a note of triumphant exultation in the speaker's voice. For the moment he had forgotten to be cautious, and Hammersley gave a warning.

'S-s-s-s-h-h!'

The Portuguese— he was of that race Huntley was sure — lowered his voice again, and continued to unfold his mind. Once or twice he laughed evilly, and only once did he raise his tone sufficiently for Huntley to hear anything.

'He weel not go to da poleese.'

The spate of words, indistinct to Huntley, continued for some time, and when the surge ceased Hammersley spoke once more.

'Might be worth trying.'

The Portuguese leaned back in his chair and laughed. ''Den eet ees settle! I buy da wine an' we trink―' He looked round and signalled a waiter, who received his instructions and presently returned with wine and fresh glasses.

The pair toasted each other, no doubt drinking to the success of whatever enterprise they had decided on, and as he lit a fresh cigarette Huntley permitted himself to wonder what that might be. That it was something, a little out of the common he was assured, for men do not order new wine at the end of a lunch in order to toast small things. Whilst he kept watch upon the pair, he tried to piece the fragments he had overheard Into a coherent whole. That was not possible without a good deal of surmise. Some one— Archie Laundy seemed a likely guess— was to be taken somewhere, since Arnheim deemed It unsafe that he should remain in London.

An experiment— nature unknown— was to be tried. On Archie Laundy? Again that was a possibility., And that precious pair of scallywags guzzling at the table there had some plan of their own to hold up 'dat beeg swine,' who was probably the man with whom they had lunched. Were they preparing to interfere in Jacob Stallworthy's fine plans and somehow hold him up like a pair of bandits or blackmailers? Suddenly a phrase he had overheard recurred to him— 'We get-s heem―'

It was like a flash of revealing fire inking one thing to another. If they could secure Archie Laundy, then they had Jacob Stallworthy at their mercy, the man would have to pay through the nose, or see his nefarious plans, with the profits of them, go up in smoke. There was nothing unusual in men engaged in criminal enterprises cheating each other. The honour of thieves was the hoariest fiction on earth. And if, as he more than half suspected, that yellow-faced Portuguese was Lorenzo Joe, he was a man for even such a desperate enterprise as double-crossing Jacob Stallworthy. If Lamington were right he was already a murderer— the tool employed by Stallworthy to involve Laundy and seep him in Africa, and quite probably the assassin who had made the unsuccessful attempt on the young engineer's life.

Absorbed in his speculations, he forgot to watch the pair for a moment or two, and when next he gave them his attention he saw the waiter in the act of handing a railway guide to Hammersley. He recognised it instantly as the one issued by the Great Western Railway.

As Roy's mind registered the fact, Hammersley began to turn over the pages, and a quarter of a minute later was tracing a column with his forefinger. So the pair were contemplating a train Journey? Where were they going? He hoped that one of them would mention the destination, but neither of them did. Hammersley looked up and spoke to his companion, carelessly; and Huntley caught half the phrase. '―Thirty.'

The time of the departure or arrival of a train had been communicated apparently, and the 'thirty,' thought Huntley, was not very helpful in any case.

Then the Portuguese refilled the glasses, the pair drank up, and Hammersley signalled to tile waiter, who presented the account. It was the Portuguese who paid, and as Hammersley settled his pince-nez more firmly on his nose and turned to take the hat which the waiter was proffering Roy rose and passed down the room, and through the glazed turnstile to the foyer of the restaurant.

For a second or two he waited there since there was a side entrance to the Medici. The pair, however, were making for the main exit, and to avoid any notice of himself on the part of the men he promptly made his way outside. Lingering there, he presently found himself in a little quandary, for as the pair came out, they stood for a moment on the pavement, and then separated, Hammersley running to catch a bus which was pulling up a few yards away, whilst the Portuguese walked off in the opposite direction.

Mentally, Huntley tossed up, and decided to follow the pedestrian. Shadowing was a new game to him, and he found it intriguing and not quite so simple as he had imagined it to be. To keep a man in sight whilst walking behind him on a crowded sidewalk is not very easy when one desires to do so without forcing oneself on the shadowed man's attention. Hurrying pedestrians got between him and the man in front; loitering ones blocked his way and caused him to lose ground, and within four minutes le lost sight of his quarry altogether.

Casting about for him, and thinking he must have passed him somewhere, turning in his tracks, he had the luck to meet the man face to face coming out of a tobacco shop. The fellow's beady eyes met his own in level glance, and for a second Huntley had a thought that the man had recognised him, though there could be no real possibility of that, unless he had observed him In the restaurant. Then the man passed on.

Huntley watched him. The other did not turn round, and after a moment's wait he resumed his shadowing. He lost him again at a corner, and was just in time to see him disappearing down the Piccadilly sub-way. He followed as quickly as he could, was obstructed by a lame man, and when he reached the level under the street the Portuguese had disappeared. A little chagrined, he laughed wryly and gave up the chase, acknowledging defeat.

Then, since there was nothing else that he could usefully do he decided to return to the hotel ,and wait for Judson to put in an appearance. He found his friend in the vestibule, reading a telegram.

'Mary gets to Paddington in an hour and ten minutes. Shall I have to meet her.... How did you 'get on, Roy?'

'I'll tell you— in a quiet corner.'

The corner was found, and he related what had happened, and as many as he could of the fragments of conversation which had rewarded his eaves-dropping, offering little or no comment. As he ended, Judson whistled thoughtfully.

'There's something in the wind.'

'Yes. I have that notion.'

'Looks as if that pair of rascals were conspiring to cut across Stallworthy's game.'

'That was how It struck me whilst I was listening. I had a fancy that they weren't too well pleased with— shall we say the reward of virtue? Unless I'm mistaken, Hammersley described a thousand as a flea-bite and Yellow-face proposed a way of doubling it.'

'What was your impression?' asked Judson.

'Oh, quite a fantastic one — mainly due to my imagination, I fancy. I think I would like to hear yours first. If it jumps with mine, I shall know that it isn't so fantastic as it seems.'

'You said some one was to be taken to some place that you did not catch, and, filling in the blanks by guess, that Arnheim said it was damned foolishness to keep that man in London, lest if he got loose there might be trouble.'

'I didn't say quite all that.'

'We're bound to fill in the gaps for ourselves.... You think the some one was Laundy?'

'I'll leave it to you to do the thinking for a moment.'

'It can't be anybody else, unless that crowd makes a practice of kidnapping. Stallworthy probably brought Laundy to London to have him under his eyes, and because Arnheim thinks it is dangerous they're proposing to remove him again. And Yellow-face has persuaded Hammersley to join him in an attempt to get hold of Laundy that they may stick-up the principal scoundrel for more money. That's what you think.'

'You might have been listening in to my thoughts.' Judson laughed 'If that is the situation that pair have got pluck. I should say Jacob Stallworthy was a bad man to cross.'

'It's the Portuguese who has the pluck, I fancy— the courage of a rat. If he is Lorenzo Joe, remember, he is a killer already.'

'Wish we knew, you haven't seen Lamington, I suppose? He could tell us — No!— Well assuming we're right those fantastic deductions, where can they be taking Archie Laundy?'

'That precious pair were consulting the Great Western Time Table. It's worth remembering that one must go by the Great Western to get to Newton-Porcorum.'

'You think that they might be doubling back with Laundy?'

'Doubling-back is a trick as old as the hills, and often a safe manoeuvre. Unless Arnheim has the countryside scattered with furnished houses at his command―'

'Yes. I get you. It Is likely enough that they might use Thorley Burrow again. After all they can't know we've been there or that we are camping on their  tracks—'

'Unless they have watched Miss Laundy. If they know she is here with us they may have an idea. But even then they will feel safe, for they won't know that we have traced that house; associated it with Arnheim and linked Arnheim with Jacob Stallworthy and Co. But you said that Yellow-face mentioned an experiment?'

'An exper-ee-ment! Don't ask me what. I don't know. Those were the only two words in that relation that I heard. And if I guessed for a week, we should be no wiser.'

'Maybe they're going to try something on Laundy.'

'Maybe. But you can't get further than that. The point is that we've got to circumvent Hammersley and his yellow friend, and do the same with Stallworthy and Arnheim, if Archie Laundy is to be liberated to blow Stallworthy's financial plans sky high.'

'If we knew certainly that those double-crossers were going to Newton-Porcorum—'

'May find out. You're due at Paddington in a little while. I'll go down with you and keep watch at the booking office. The train Hammersley looked up was something thirty.'

Judson went to the office and borrowed a time-table. In a couple of minutes he began to read:

'Three-30; 4-30; 6-30. That's all the thirties going Taunton way. 3-30's gone. So, unless we're wide of the target, 4-30 or 6-30 will fit. Might start off now, I think.'

'Yes. But I must speak to Janet first.'

His friend laughed. 'You'll have to leave a message. I inquired before you came in. She left word she had gone out shopping.'

'Um! Then I'll leave the message.'

He wrote a brief note, gave instructions to have it sent to Janet's room; and that done, the pair drove to Paddington. They had ample time to spare. Miss Judson's train was not due for twenty minutes, and when it arrived, her brother explained that he had business at the station that would detain him another quarter of an hour, and putting her in a taxicab, sent her off to the hotel alone. That duty done, they divided forces.

THE Plymouth express was at the platform already filling up, and Judson took the task of going down the train to make sure that Hammersley and his friend were not aboard; whilst Roy watched the booking office. The time passed slowly. Judson reported the men were not on the train, and then took his stand near the ticket inspector at the barrier.

At five and twenty past four, Huntley had almost decided that the 6.30 and not the 4.30 one was the chosen train, when a taxicab drew up outside, and Hammersley stepped out. followed by the Portuguese, both of them carrying suitcases, Hammersley left his friend to settle with the taxi-driver, and hurried on to the booking office. Huntley followed at his heels and was next behind him when he booked:

'Two-thirds for Newton-Porcorum.'

'Taunton!' said the clerk. 'Re-book there.'

'All right.'

Hammersley received his tickets and change and passed on. With a thought that almost certainly he would have a use for it, Huntley took a ticket for Taunton and joined his friend. His eyes proclaimed the news.

'Newton-of-the-pig of course,' snapped Judson.

'Yes!'

'Wonder if we ought to go right off.'

'I have a ticket for Taunton.'

'Hand it over,' laughed Judson. 'I'll go. You can explain to my sister; and I'll telephone from Draycombe whether you're to come along or not. Make things clear to Lamington if you see him... By Jove... I shall have to run!'

He ran, and Huntley watched him smilingly as he scrambled into the guard's van with no time at all to spare. He waited until the train moved out and, as he turned to leave, saw the bookstall clerk fitting a news poster into its wire clip. He read the single announcement it made in bold letters:

AMAZING ABDUCTION IN REGENT STREET.

For three or four seconds he stood quite still, a terrific intuition of the truth robbing him momentarily of all power to act. Then he recovered Himself, almost charged to the bookstall, and hoarsely demanded the paper that so tersely proclaimed London's latest sensation.

Chapter 10

HURRIEDLY UNFOLDING the paper, Roy Huntley was faced by the staring headlines, which proclaimed sensational news, and read swiftly:

'This afternoon Regent Street was the arena of a most extraordinary affair, when a young lady, name unknown, was kidnapped in the very thick of the crowded pedestrian traffic, by three men.

'Eye-witnesses' accounts differ somewhat in detail, but are substantially the same as regards the major facts, which are sufficiently astounding. It would appear that just before two o'clock, a powerful saloon car drew up at the edge of the pavement opposite the premises of a firm of specialists in ladies' hosiery. The car apparently stood there for a few minutes under the care of its chauffeur, who was attired in a dark green uniform with an appropriate cap. It attracted no particular attention, since there was nothing whatever unusual in its appearance, and the natural conclusion of such spectators as chanced to observe it was that it was awaiting some one who was engaged in shopping in the immediate neighbourhood.

'That, however, as the subsequent startling events revealed, was not the case. It had been standing at the edge of the kerb for some minutes, when a young lady, who, as inquiry reveals, had made some purchases in the shop, came out, carrying her parcels with her. Scarcely had she cleared the door when two men moved up to her, one on either side, and, seizing her arms, began to hurry her across the pavement to the waiting saloon.

'The young lady, evidently in terror of the men, struggled and cried desperately for help. For a moment none of the witnesses of the outrage quite realised what was happening, and, being mostly ladles, were in any case, incapable of dealing with those responsible for the extraordinary occurrence. But as the girl cried appealingly a second time, a gentleman, who with his wife, had just emerged from the jeweller's shop next door, realising that there was something seriously amiss, ran forward with the intention of intervening. He was brought up short by the sight of an automatic pistol which one of the young lady's captors produced, and whilst he hesitated she was hurried to the car, the door of which had in the meantime been opened, apparently by the driver. The victim of the outrage clung to it and appealed desperately for help. Feminine spectators screamed, and one collapsed on the pavement in a dead faint. Two or three men broke from the crowd and ran forward to the young lady's assistance; but one of the ruffians shouted to his fellow with the pistol to 'hold the boobs'!

The armed man turned and faced the excited spectators with astonishing coolness, bidding them 'keep off,' and threatening them with the automatic. In far less time than it takes to relate, the unfortunate victim was forced into the saloon, and the second man shouted to his fellow with the pistol, who, at once fell back and leaped into the saloon, which immediately began to move.

Just as it did Constable Jackson, of the Metropolitan Police, thrust his  way through the crowd, and with commendable courage and promptness, leaped on to the running-board. What followed was the most startling thing of all, for the man with the pistol fired a point-blank shot at the gallant officer, who with a bullet through his shoulder, lost his hold and fell back on the pavement. Before any one else could interfere the saloon, quickly accelerating, ran up the street at a reckless pace.

Immediately a private car and two or three taxicabs started in pursuit, all the drivers being under the Impression that they were following the culprits In a smash-and-grab raid. Unfortunately the two nearest cars fouled each other, and the saloon, drawing well ahead, swung left into Oxford Street, where, still driven at a dangerous pace, it was speedily lest to sight. So far nothing further has been heard of it.

'The identity of the unfortunate victim of this latest outrage is unknown, and the reason for her abduction is a mystery. It is surmised, however, that possibly she was kidnapped with a view to being held for ransom.

'All the eye-witnesses of the affair are agreed on the amazing coolness and audacity of the men engaged in it, and their utter ruthlessness is proved by the deliberate shooting of the gallant officer, who, confronted by the assassin's pistol, yet, in the high tradition of the force, followed the way duty indicated.

'Scotland Yard is already following such slender clues as are afforded -by the description of the car, its number, &c., but, as is customary in such cases, the car will probably prove to have been stolen, and in all likelihood has already been abandoned by the daring criminals who made use of it. We hope to publish further details of this extraordinary outrage in our later editions.'

As he reached the end of the graphic story, a bleak look came in Huntley's eyes. Crumpling the paper he dropped it in a refuse basket, and walked quickly from the platform to the station entrance. A taxi-cab offered itself, and bidding the driver take him as swiftly as possible to his hotel, he sank back in the corner and gave himself to unhappy reflections. The name of the victim of the outrage was unknown; but in his heart he was convinced that he knew it, and though there was no description of the daring kidnappers he was assured of their identity. The thing which he had more than half-feared, and which had impelled him to persuade Janet to leave the flat, had come to pass, and the girl was now in the hands of her brother's enemies. He was so convinced that such was the fact that he did not trouble to challenge it; but gave himself instead to a consideration of the possible reasons for the abduction. He had no difficulty in finding them. The letters which Carroll had taken from the flat would reveal Janet's knowledge of her brother's conviction of the rottenness of the mine on which he was to report. Such knowledge was dangerous to the purpose of those who proposed to foist that mine upon the public.

Stallworthy and Co., aware not only of Janet's knowledge, but of her further knowledge that her brother was in their hands, had decided that she might imperil their scheme and to prevent that, had daringly removed her. That was one reason and a strong one; but there was a second more impressive still, and one that he had already for seen and hinted of to Janet herself. She might have been taken in order to bring pressure upon Archie Laundy to report falsely to his employers. In either case it was clear to him that the girl had been closely watched.

Last night, some one keeping vigil had seen him enter the flat, and later had shadowed both of them. Laundy's enemies, it appeared, were taking no blind chances by leaving Janet to go to the police; or by leaving unused a form of pressure that might be very effective with a man like Archie Laundry. He remembered the yellow-faced Portuguese's broken remark about an experiment. Was this abduction just a preliminary to that experiment of making Laundy yield against his convictions and his judgment, and compelling him to treachery for Janet's sake?

He was still exercised with these questions when he entered the hotel. An inquiry for Janet proved to be just as fruitless as he expected it to be Miss Laundy had gone out and had not returned yet. He sought out Miss Judson and informed her of his suspicions. When she heard of the abduction and of his conviction that Janet was the victim of it, she was greatly disturbed.

'What are you going to do, Roy?'

'Do!' he answered almost fiercely 'I'm going to find her.'

'Of course! But where will you look for her? With all London for a hiding place it seems a rather hopeless task. If you went to the police―'

'With the story of the last two days? As like as not they'd take me for a lunatic. I've no evidence that Stallworthy is the man on whose property Laundy was to report. I don't know for whom Laundy was working; and that a man with those offices in Norfolk Street is hand in glove with abductors would simply not be credited— I know It is all true, but that is how it would appear to any policeman listening to the story. Of course, proof could be afforded of parts of my account. Spaxton could bear witness of the attack on his cottage; Janet's car would be its own evidence; but neither, except on my evidence, could be connected with Jacob Stallworthy, and Arnheim could easily deny all knowledge of any one having been at Thorley Burrow. If Janet is to be saved from these ruffians, I―'

'But we don't really know that the girl was Janet!' protested Miss Judson.

'I knew it as soon as I saw that contents bill,' he answered with conviction. 'Have you never had intuitions that were as convincing as facts, and which the facts vindicated? That is how I know. I am so sure that I am going to act upon it at once. I'm going to follow Harvey by the next train which happens to be a quick one. If I take a car at Taunton I shall be at Draycombe before midnight.'

'You think they will have taken her to that house?'

'Hammersley and the Portuguese have gone there for certain, and they have their reasons. It is the one promising line to follow.'

'What time is the train?'

'Six-thirty! Why?'

'I was only thinking that if you went, in the meantime, Janet might return. But, if you are wrong, she will surely be back here before you start. I hope she will, you know.'

Roy Huntley had no such hope, but he watched the entrance to the hotel as a man might watch for deliverance from Imminent disaster, and whilst he watched he accumulated quite a pile of editions of the evening papers. His vigil was a vain one and in the way of information the newspapers had nothing to add to the account of the kidnapping already published.

At six o'clock, after sending a telegram to Judson to announce his coming, he took a taxi and drove to Paddington.

The train had but a modest complement of passengers, and there was none that proved interesting to him, so he had all the time to worry in, even at dinner when he occupied a solitary table.

The worry and the constant reiteration of unhappy thoughts merely increased his apprehension, which, by the time he reached Draycombe, was at fever pitch. His telegram lay on the hall table unopened; and a little to his surprise he learned from the butler that Judson had not yet put in an appearance.

Reflection gave him the reason for that. His friend was probably at the heels of the pair whom he had followed from Town, waiting on events, probably quite unaware of the new complication that had arisen. But If, as he was convinced, the destination of Hammersley and his confederate had been Thorley Burrow, Judson would be found In that neighbourhood; and in any case it was desirable that he himself should go there with all despatch.

Accordingly he requisitioned the smaller of the two cars which Judson possessed and leaving a message for his friend in case he should return, he departed for Thorley Burrow forthwith.

THE night was dark, and very still. There was absolutely no traffic on the road, and he made a good pace until he reached the neighbourhood of his destination. Then in the deep shadow of overhanging trees he pulled up to consider his course of action.

To drive straight up to Thorley Burrow would be the merest folly. If the men whom he sought were at the house, caution was demanded unless he, himself, was to fall into their hands; and a reconnaissance was a necessity before any other action could be taken Leaving the car, and looking for a place where it might be parked off the road a little further on he found a wide stretch of grass reaching from the road to the hedge. Running the car forward and on to the turf, he switched off the lights and, descending, stood to listen.

No sound came to him through the stillness but the rather eerie hooting of owls in the neighbouring wood. That wood, as he remembered from the visit paid on the previous day, ran right up to the boundary of the Burrow, and as he considered it seemed to him to offer a very good way of approaching his objective. No one could possibly see him in the darkness: and there would be no likelihood of meeting any one, a thing which might easily happen If he were to follow the long lane leading to the gate.

A rail fence separated the wood from the grass, and climbing it he was immediately in the shelter of the trees. It was, however, far too dark, to think of striking straight through the wood, and skirting it he began to follow the rail round, until he reached the high bank of the lane. Here he turned parallel with the bank and continued on his way, hidden from observation from the lane, but now in a direct line for the house. The darkness compelled him to move slowly.

Twice he paused to listen, and when he had covered about half the distance he had to go he climbed the bank to peer through the night in the direction of the Burrow. All the lower part of the house was in darkness, but his heart leaped as he saw faint bars of light streaming through the Venetian blind of an upper window. The house then was in occupation, and as like as not behind the shuttered windows of the lower storey there were other rooms that were illuminated.

He slipped down the bank and was in the act of resuming his way, when somewhere in the wood on his left a dry stick snapped loudly. Instantly he halted and crouched against the bank.

'Someone In the wood,' he commented silently to himself, and waited a little breathlessly. Whoever was there In the darkness was moving with the minimum of noise; for, though his ears were straining for quite a considerable time he caught no further sound. 'May be a poacher,' he thought, but did not move, knowing that there was just the possibility that the lights of his car, previous to his parking it, might have been observed ' from the house.

Then clearly from some distance there reached him a faint sound of movement. He waited tensely, and a second or two later caught the gleam of a flash-light among the trees. A sudden call followed.

'Co-oo-ee!'

Immediately after, there was the noise of running feet in the lane and the crash of other feet hurrying through the wood. A man shouted something that he did not catch, and almost in the same instant the runner in the lane stopped and began to climb the bank at the very point where he was crouched. The man reached the top of the bank before he could shift his position, and standing there gave a call to someone in the road.

'Eu-li-ly-a-tee!'

The answer came from the wood. 'Sharp. This way, Swanny.'

He had scarcely time to realise the significance of that shout, when the man on the bank leaped. He cleared Roy by no more than a couple of feet, fortunately without observing him, and as the light in the wood gleamed again, ran forward in the direction of it. Roy straightened himself and swiftly reviewed the situation. The voice that had hailed Swanny he was morally certain was Carroll's; and if Carroll and Swanny were there then it was a sure thing that the man, Jim, was there also. And they were hunting someone in the wood, as two nights ago they had hunted Janet and himself.

'Who?' His mind supplied an answer instantly.

'Judson!'

He had scarcely shaped the word in his brain, when away in the darkness on the left things began to happen. He saw the light flash again. Carroll's voice roared something that was quite indistinct, and then the stillness was broken again by the shattering sound of a shot, followed a moment later by the harsh cry of a man who had suffered hurt.

'Dear God!' he whispered; and with the thought of Judson. In his mind left the shelter of the bank and silently and quickly began to move In the direction from, which the sounds had come. He had gone but a very little way when he became aware of someone running lightly through the wood. The sound was confused in his ears by other sounds, among them that of Carroll's voice.

'That guy's got his gruel, all right!' As the significance of these words flooded his mind with horror and with sharp fear for his friend he forgot the running man altogether. That there had been murder wrought in the wood but a little way from where he stood, apprehensive and almost overwhelmed by a sense of disaster, he did not doubt at all. And he was wondering a little vaguely what to do, when, out of the darkness directly in front of him a shadow emerged. He had scarcely time to become aware of the white blob which represented a man's face, when the man collided heavily against him, and as he was whirled off his feet by the force of the collision he heard the runner give a scared ejaculation that was near a scream.

'My God!'

Lying on the ground, all the breath knocked out of him, he heard the unknown man begin to run again; and at the same time caught Carroll's voice shouting hoarsely.

'There! Making for the road!'

Once more there followed the crash of hurrying feet in the undergrowth. They seemed to be coming straight for him, and one of the men was flashing a light. He had not time to do anything but roll over twice into what was most certainly a thick bramble bush, when two men passed him in hot pursuit of the fugitive ahead.

He lay quite still for a moment or two, until the sounds of pursuit grew faint, then, standing up. he considered the position. Who the man was that had cannoned against him he had not the remotest idea, but that it was not his friend he was assured, for the voice had been the voice of a stranger.

That fact, however, in no way lessened his apprehension. Somewhere in the wood, but a little way ahead, unless Carroll had exaggerated, there was a man who had died from violence, and, obsessed as he was by the idea that the man was Harvey Judson, It was incumbent upon him to learn the truth. He listened a little while longer, caught a distant shout from the direction of the road, and then moved cautiously forward In the direction of the place where, as he was assured, black tragedy had occurred.

A little way on the wood thinned, and made walking easier. The lighted upper window at Thorley Burrow became visible through the trees, and he found that he was much nearer to the house than he had suspected. A calculation told him that he must be quite close to the boundary of the garden, and he went forward carefully, lest there should be others abroad in the neighbourhood of the house, whose attention might be attracted to his doings. With the thick of the wood left behind, it was considerably lighter, and as he moved on he examined the ground carefully for any shadow that might indicate a fallen man.

As it chanced, he found the object for which he searched by stumbling against it. As his foot encountered something rather soft but yet unyielding, he looked swiftly down, and, lying on the rough turf, discerned the outline of a man's figure. Dropping to his knees, he peered down at the still, form, whilst his heart beat a very tattoo of apprehension The man was lying face to the turf, and in the dark it was impossible to make out anything that would be a clue to his identity. Before he could find that he must turn the man over and make a light.

For a moment he hesitated. He glanced in the direction of the house, and listened. The stillness was now profound, and In his mind was accentuated by the presence of death. He shivered a little, then he nerved himself for his gruesome task, and with a single effort rolled the dead man over. The man's face, lifted to the starless sky. showed a mere blur of white. He stooped close in the endeavour to make out the features, failed, and at that he groped for his match-box, found it, and, a little shakily, struck a light.

The wood was slow to catch, and he nursed the flame carefully in his cupped hands. Then, holding the match towards the dead man's face, and, still sure that he would find the features of his friend, he looked down, As he did so a great surge of relief swept through him.

'Thank God!' he whispered, fervently, assured by that first brief glance that it was not Harvey Judson who lay there. He looked again, longer, and more closely. There was something familiar about that still face with its half-closed eyes and sagging mouth. Then he made the recognition, and cried the fact in surprise.

'The Portuguese!' With the recognition came a rush of thought.

That second man who had cannoned against him in the wood must be the engineer Hammersley, who had left London with this man who had suffered a violent end. But since that was so— must be so— in heaven's name where was Judson, who had left London at the same time, and, no doubt, clung to their heels all the way to this wood of death?

He rose to his feet, and standing quite still was considering the problem when some one hurled himself upon him from behind. As he shot violently forward he heard a man laugh; then, as he crashed, his head struck a tree heavily, and instantly he dropped In a crumbled heap, temporarily as dead to the world as the man into whose still face he had stared a moment ago.

Chapter 11

LIFE, LIKE HISTORY repeats Itself, and events recur with variations. That was the thought which rather lazily drifted through Roy Huntley's mind when, for the second time in three days, he awoke from a swoon to find himself In the elegant room with its shaded lamps and the thick-piled carpet, where he had first made acquaintance with Thorley Burrow, and with the florid, long-whiskered man In the dark goggles, who had on that occasion ordered his release.

The variations were the first things he noticed. This time he was not lying on the thick-piled carpet, but in the corner of a settee with a cushion to support his head, which, after contact with the tree, was throbbing rather painfully. Again, neither Swanny nor the redoubtable Carroll was present; but there were two other men, one of whom was, in his own person, an instance of variation. He was seated at a table, and he did not boast either the patriarchal whiskers, spreading fanwise across his burly chest or the dark goggles of the man who had been In authority two nights ago. He was the florid, clean-shaven one whose toe he had trodden oh at the Medici turnstile at luncheon time, but who, despite his changed appearance, he was convinced had been present in that room on the occasion of his first involuntary call.

The second man, who was seated in an easy chair with a pistol resting carelessly on his knees, was the vulture-faced man whom Lamington had recognised as Benedict Arnheim.

The two men were watching him Intently, and when his wondering gaze met Arnheim's keen eyes the man laughed harshly.

'Kicking again,' he remarked to his companion. 'Now you can third degree the fool, and find out what he's after.'

The ruddy-faced Stallworthy laughed also, but his laughter had nothing of the harsh quality that characterised Arnheim's mirth. It was soft and smooth, almost musical in its cadence—and utterly sinister. When he spoke It was in the suave tone which Huntley remembered only too well, and there was a deprecating note in his voice.

'You are too harsh, Ben. I am sure there will be no need to use methods of barbarism. I would as soon apply the thumb-screws. Mr. Huntley is no doubt burning to explain his unexpected presence in this neighbourhood.' The man smiled almost genially as he looked at Huntley, giving the impression that he expected that the explanation would be made forthwith; then as the other remained silent he spoke again:

'There is no difficulty in the matter, surely?'

'If you will explain why I have been brought into the house it might remove the difficulty there is,' answered Huntley impulsively.

'And Mr.— er Ben's revolver―'

'Arnheim! Mr. Huntley,' interrupted Stallworthy, with a smile. 'I am sure you know the name, and Mr Arnheim is rather touchy about the way he is addressed.'

'Very!' broke in the gentleman In question. 'Ben is reserved for his circle of intimates, to which you, Mr. Huntley, have not the good fortune to belong. Now you understand, pray proceed. You were saying―'

'That I should like to' know why I have been brought here.'

'S-s-s-h-h! That is scarcely the tone, my young friend. If you must know, your presence here is due to an act of pure benevolence. You were found unconscious at the edge of the wood bordering the property, and humanity dictated that you should be cared for. A simple explanation, you will agree?'

'Very,' answered Huntley, annoyed at the man's genial mockery. 'But it does not quite cover the pistol on Mr. Arnheim's knees.'

Stallworthy looked in the direction of the pistol with an affectation of profound distaste.

'I do not like lethal weapons. They have an unhappy trick of going off, which makes them dangerous. And I observe that the muzzle of that weapon is in a line with you, Mr. Huntley. Ben, don't you think you might turn that muzzle towards the floor? I am sure Mr. Huntley would feel more comfortable.'

'Oh, get on with the business, Jacob,' Arnheim said impatiently. 'We've no time to waste with fools. Ask him what the blazes he was after in the wood?'

Jacob Stallworthy turned to Huntley again. His eyes were smiling, and he spoke suavely. 'You hear, Mr. Huntley. Ben is impatient. Perhaps you can give him the information he desires?'

Huntley did not hurry to answer, for the reason that he did not quite know what to say. There could be little hope of deceiving the two scoundrels, and there was not much more hope that, even if he could deceive them, they would set him free to go. How much they knew of his direct activities in relation to Archie Laundy and his sister he could only guess, but by this time it was useless to pretend ignorance; and as he remembered that dead man in the wood, he knew that he was in a really desperate situation.

Whilst he still hesitated, Stallworthy spoke again.

'You were not poaching my pheasants, surely, Mr. Huntley?'

The man was laughing at him. There was nothing to be lost by frankness, and something might even be gained. He reached his decision and replied brusquely.

'I was looking for a lady who was kidnapped in Regent Street this afternoon.'

'You expected to find her in my food?' Jacob Stallworthy's face indicated surprised interest.

'No! In your house!'

'You've got It. Jacob,' intervened Arnheim. 'There's no need to waste more time. The fool knows all we gave him credit for.'

'Wait!' There was a crisper note n the smooth tones, and he waved a land to his partner in silence; then addressed himself to Huntley again. 'I am curious to know why you thought you might find that unfortunate young lady in my house, Mr. Huntley. Thorley Burrow is quite a long way from Regent Street, you mow. Did you make the journey by road?'

'No; I came, from town by train.'

'Alone, may I inquire?'

'Quite alone,' answered Roy, and guessing the significance of the question, unasked added further information. 'It is known, however, that this is my destination.'

'Hum!' There was a snap in the word, and a Hash in the man's eyes: then he asked smoothly: 'Has it struck you, Mr. Huntley, that it may be your final destination— the place where, in the expressive vulgarism, you step off the bus for good?'

Huntley understood the threat well enough. 'You would not dare―'

'Pardon me, Mr. Huntley. Do I gather that you are challenging my courage?'

'No! your threat.'

'You think it is an idle one.'

'One that you dare not execute,' answered Huntley with more confidence than he felt.

'I can assure you the contrary is true. And I can show you how it may be executed without risk. Confess! You did not expect to find me here... Officially I am in London.  No-one can possibly associate me with anything that happens here, and if this house took fire to-night―'

Huntley felt his cheek blanch at the suggestion of the words and cried out: 'You scoundrel!'

The man waved his band. 'You interrupt me. That is impolite. But as I was saying if this house were to take fire to-night, it would not be a surprising thing. There have been several fires at country houses, and they have been usually gutted. This one, I can assure you, would be a mere shell.'

He broke off and addressed himself to Arnheim: 'The insurances are good and in order, Ben?'

'Water-tight!'

'But not fire-proof.' Stallworthy permitted himself a laugh. 'I should have no loss. Indeed. I think I should profit by the conflagration.'

He looked at Huntley again, smiling. 'You would have an expensive funeral pyre at the cost of the brokers.... And if the unidentified and unidentifiable remains — calcined, you know— of a tall man were found in the ruins; well, he might be any tramp, who. seeking a free lodging, had brought about his own demise... A simple scheme, you see.'

'It has flaws!'

'Ah! perhaps you will explain them?'

'No!'

Stallworthy shrugged his shoulders. 'You are obstinate. I wonder if you told me the truth just now when you said you came from Town alone?'

'That is one of the flaws in your scheme.... You can't be sure.'

'Admittedly. But that does not preclude action. It is well to keep that in mind. You may presume — '

'Oh, for heaven's sake, get done with the fool, Jacob.'

'Yes,' said the big man, rising suddenly from his chair. 'We have talked enough. That pistol of yours will be useful after all, Ben. Just keep our guest quiet whilst I do what is needed.'

He strode to an elegant antique bureau and from one of the drawers took out a coil of cord, then advanced towards Huntley.

'I am going to tie you up,' he said, 'and you had better "go quietly," as the police say. You are eyeing this cord. It is thin, you are thinking; easy to break. I assure you, you are quite mistaken. It is fishing cord— the kind of thing you use when you go after twenty-pound congers. And I warn you that once tied you will be foolish to struggle— as being so thin, the cord will probably cut into the flesh. Now, stand up.'

With two men against him, both strong, and one of them armed, to resist was the merest vanity. There was nothing for it but to obey and trust to favourable events developing. Roy recognised that, and without fuss he stood up.

'Right about face. And put your hands behind you. So! That will do very nicely.'

Inside four minutes his wrists and arms were securely bound. Then came the command: 'Sit down. Your legs— no! Economy of labour is a good motto. You will need them to carry you upstairs.... Ben, you will act as guard.' He moved to the door and opened it. 'March!'

Roy marched into the hall, and up he stairs to the gallery above. His conductor gave the order.

'Left!' and is he moved along the carpeted gallery he caught a sound as of some one weeping.

'You hear that, Mr. Huntley. You came to seek a certain young lady. Behind that door―' The man's triumphant grin was insufferable.

Roy, remembering his feet sere free, promptly kicked at him, ferociously. Taken unawares the big man doubled up; but before the attack could be continued Arnheim intervened with a merciless blow which drove Roy against the door of the room whence came the desolate sound that he had heard. Before he could recover himself he was dragged into the next room, thrown on the floor, and his legs bound.

Then Stallworthy spoke mockingly.

'There is a communicating door to the lady's room, Mr. Huntley, though I am afraid you will not be able to use it. But we have left you your ears, and there is nothing to prevent you listening to the lady's sobs... Hark!'

Almost against his will Huntley listened. But the sound that he had heard from the gallery had ceased, the room was silent as the grave. The big man made a gesture of disappointment, then he laughed.

'After all, even a lady cannot weep for ever. The fount of tears may run dry... I shall see you again presently when we have decided how to dispose of you. In the meantime you will find opportunity for reflection.'

The two men moved towards the door. The light was extinguished, the door closed and a key turned in the lock.

Roy remained quite still, listening intently, having a thought that the pair might be eavesdropping in the gallery. He did not hear them go, but a quarter of a minute or so later he caught the sound of their voices a little distance away, and decided that they were descending the stairs.

Assured that they were really gone, he began to roll over in the direction of the communicating door, having carefully noted its position when Stallworthy had called attention to it. He missed it, and was brought up against a dressing table which, as he remembered, stood in the window. That however, gave him his position, and he tried again. The second time he had better success. His feet found the door rather heavily, and from the farther side there came a quick startled cry. Without raising his voice unduly, but speaking as clearly as he could, he called the girl's name.

'Janet! Janet!'

The answer betrayed amazed apprehension.

'You― it is you? Dear heaven! Those wicked people have taken you... Oh, what shall we do?'

There was a note of despair In the quivering voice, and the sound of a sob followed. He spoke again quickly.

'Don't give way, my dear. But listen carefully. Are you free to move about the room?'

'Oh, yes.'

'Not tied up in any way?'

'No, but those vile men have taken away my shoes and stockings.'

'The scoundrels. But it might be worse,' he answered, and squirmed round to get his head to the door.

'I am trussed up like a chicken, and I can do nothing at the moment. But you may be able to help us both.'

'How? The door is locked.'

'There is the window.'

'I thought of that. It is screwed up; and the panes are too small to pass through, even If I could break the glass without being heard.'

He thought a moment, then he spoke again. 'Take a look at this door. Which side is the lock?'

'On my side. But there is no key.'

'No. Stallworthy is not so accommodating as that. But tell me, is the lock a mortised one? I mean— is it one of those let in the woodwork of the door or just screwed on outside?'

'It is outside.'

'Good!' he whispered. 'Now see If there is a poker in the room.'

He did not hear her move, but in half a minute or so the voice sounded again. 'There is a small steel poker. Very pointed. It is short, but strong, I think.'

'Capital. Now listen. I want you to put the point of the poker between the lock and the socket into which the tongue of the lock slips. Don't try and do anything at the lock. You won't be able. The idea is to use the lock for a fulcrum, and with the poker lever back the socket so that the tongue of the lock can slip out. Press it back with all your might. You understand? Yes! Then, try as noiselessly as you can.'

Sundry sounds informed him that she was carrying out his instructions. He heard her gasp, desist for a moment, and then try again. He caught a sharp snap, and thought ruefully that the point of the poker had gone, but a second later she cried exultantly in a low voice:

'One of the screws has broken. I can push the socket back, now, I think.'

The poker rasped against iron and wood, then the door opened, letting on him a flood of blinding light. He heard a sharp little cry as she saw his plight, and immediately gave instructions.

'Untie my hands, if you can. We have very little time, I think. I'm afraid you will find the knots in this cord rather hard.'

He rolled over and Janet began to work at the knots. They had been well tied, and proved to be just as difficult as he had anticipated. After a moment she began to use her teeth.

It was a full two minutes before she was any way rewarded for her effort, then she whispered, a little gaspingly: 'It is yielding.'

She tried again, and after a brief interval began to use her fingers.

'Raise your arms a little.'

He obeyed, and knew that she was unwinding the cord. A very little time after that his hands and arms were free, and he rolled over and looked at the cord about his ankles. The knots were in front and he was able to deal with them himself.

As the cord fell away, he stood up, and for the first time saw her face clearly. It was flushed a little with the effort she had made, there were indications of tears, and the long lashes were still wet, but the dark eyes were bright with excitement and new-kindled hope. He took her in his arms and held her for one moment then, asked, 'Do you know if Archie is here?'

'Those men said he was. I have not seen him. But once, soon after I was brought here, I thought I heard him cry out.'

'Probably those men told him that they had you here. No matter. The thing to do is to get out. We can help Archie afterwards. Judson should be somewhere outside, unless―' He broke off sharply at a thought which occurred to him. 'You have not seen him or heard anything of him in this house?'

'No. You do not think―'

'No. Stallworthy would have boasted of his capture if he had gathered Harvey into his fold. He is in the neighbourhood somewhere, and once we get free―'

'But how―'

Roy released her and strode swiftly to the door to examine the lock. It proved to be of the same class as the one already dealt with, and with the poker as an improvised jemmy offered no real difficulty. The risk was that the sound of the operation might be heard by any one on the gallery or in the ball below, but that was unavoidable.

Going back for the poker he returned to the door, and there, for a little while, stood listening. There was no sound on the gallery itself, but from below now and again he caught voices raised in what appeared to be angry discussion, and conjectured that Stallworthy and his partner were not seeing eye to eye on some matter, probably on the disposal of himself. He chuckled as he thought that if they could continue their discussion a little longer the cause of their difference would vanish.

Then he set to work upon the socket. It proved to be a harder nut to track than the one on which Janet had operated. This time there was no snapping of a screw to make the task easy, and as the wood was hard it was difficult to force the socket back into it.

He worked for several minutes without making much impression, and be was beginning to lose hope of accomplishing his purpose, when the socket itself cracked under the pressure he was exerting. Encouraged he worked on and the fracture suddenly completed itself, a piece of the iron casting falling to the carpet, leaving the tongue of the lock free, the door still being held closed by the catch.

'Glory!' he whispered, then signalled to Janet, and explained.

'I am going to switch on the light and reconnoitre. If we are discovered make straight for the front door. It was a heavy latch, and a Yale lock, you will have to slip back the catch, remember. When you get outside If we are separated make as straight as you can for the road, and don't trouble about Archie or myself at all. Get away. When you reach the gates, turn right and keep on the grass at the side of the road. A little way down you will find a car— Judson's— the one I came in. Take it and drive for help. Get to a telephone. The name of the house is―'

'I know. Thorley Burrow.'

'Your feet?' he said glancing down, commiseratingly. 'I'm afraid they will suffer.'

'A small thing,' answered Janet quickly. 'My shoes would be more cumbersome than useful.' The girl smiled. It seemed that the necessity for action and the chance of deliverance were together bracing her spirit wonderfully. 'I should lose them in the first three yards if I had to run. But we shall be together, I trust.'

'So do I. But in case we are separated you understand what to do.'

'Quite well. Turn right at the gates, head the car, and get a telephone. That is simple.'

'I hope it may be,' he said fervently. 'Now I am going to open the door.'

He turned the electric switch without letting it click, listened for a moment, then opened the door, without making any sound beyond a very slight creak.

Then he stared forth.

The gallery and the stairs were in darkness, but in the hall below there was a lump, a bronze affair with coloured glass, which seemed to absorb more light than it gave out, but the door was visible, in a straight line from the staircase. One thing, however, disturbed him as he surveyed the hall. One of the doors opening out of it was slightly ajar, letting into the gloom of the hall a thin pencil of light, and from that room came a rumble of voices. He pointed it out to her.

'That is our danger point. Those two men are in there. If they should hear us―'

'I understand.'

There was no quiver in the girl's voice. Evidently she was keyed up to do what was required, and he whispered: 'Good! The staircase is wide. We will go down together. Come!'

They stepped out to the gallery and made for the head of the stairs. The thick-piled carpet deadened the sound of their going. The voices of the men In the room with its door ajar became clearer, the rumble became articulate, and quite plainly they caught Arnheim's voice.

'It's the only way, Jacob! We're dished if any one of them should spill the beans.'

'Yes! But it's such a wholesale―'

Huntley missed the last word.

The girl had stopped, and he knew that she had divined what the scoundrels were discussing. With his hand on her elbow he urged her gently forward. She gave a little gasp, and moved forward again. They reached the hall safely. The door was no more than twelve feet away, and they made for it without a sound. In a few seconds, Huntley was standing with one hand on the little knob of the Yale lock, and the other on the knob of the heavy latch. Now was the critical moment. He knew that both hands must move simultaneously since some noise was almost inevitable, and that to fumble would be to invite defeat.

'Stand there!' he whispered. 'Go as soon as—'

He never finished the words. In the room behind was a sound as of a chair being thrust back, and a voice reached him clearly.

'Those fellows are a long time. I think I'll just take a look round, Jacob.'

'I'll come with you.'

There was no time to waste. Huntley pressed back the catch and tried to lift the latch. It stuck as latches will; then as he tugged and lifted it yielded with a crashing noise that seemed to fill the hall. He opened the door to the sound of excited voices behind him.

Obedient to his Instructions Janet ran through the gap at once: but before he could follow one of the two men leaped, and the door crashed noisily, leaving him on the wrong side, struggling with Arnheim, who a second later was joined by his stalwart partner. Between them the fugitive was tripped and thrown heavily to the floor.

Chapter 12

WITH THE SOUND of the crashing door in her ears, Janet Laundy looked round. Roy was not on the steps, and as she divined that he had been trapped, she was shaken by fear. But she did not allow it to overcome her. On her effort now depended his safety and that of her brother. Without wasting a second she started forward, intent on following the instructions which he had given her. The gravel of the terrace hurt her bare feet cruelly, but, guessing that on the further side there must be grass, she made straight across, and found herself upon a neglected lawn.

Running, she followed the road until near the gates she had to take to the gravel anew. Again her feet suffered. By the time she had passed the gate she was limping, but she had no time to think of minor hurts, for, looking round, she saw that the door of the house was open, and against the light perceived the dark outline of a man.

A wild hope that it might be Boy surged within her, then as another appeared she was assured that It could not be so; and she broke Into a run. The lane was rough. The loose stones hurt her so much that she almost cried out with pain, but the sound of tramping, hurrying feet in the neighbourhood of the house was like a spur. Unmindful of everything else, she hurried on.

She reached the end of the lane, and saw the dark highway before her Somewhere near the gate a man shouted, and she turned on to the sward which ran between the wood and the road. After the stony lane the turf was like a carpet to her bruised feet.

The small unevenness she scarcely felt; but once, as she put her foot down on a stick, the sharp pain made her miss her step, and she was thrown headlong on the grass But she was up again in a trice, gasping, shaken, but running still. She found the car at last by almost charging Into it; and breathless, but now flushed with triumph, she climbed into the driver's seat. Turning the switch, she pressed the self-starter and the responsive hum of the engine was like heavenly music in her ears. With her bare feet she found the accelerator, then switching on the lights that she might see her way, she put the car in gear, and letting in the clutch, began to move.

In a quarter of a minute she was on the road, the nose of the car in the direction of the lane. Changing gears, she increased speed, and by the time she neared the lane, she was moving at 20 miles an hour. Just before she drew level with the lane, a man broke from the lane Into the highway. In the glare of the headlights she saw him quite clearly. It was the vulture-faced Arnheim.

Knowing that he could not see her face she felt no fear, even when the man made a wild signal to her to stop. She easily guessed that he was proposing to ask if she had seen a girl up the road and, but for the seriousness of the situation and her fears for her lover and her brother, she would have found the position amusing.

Disregarding the man's signal she kept on. As she passed she heard him shout and wondered if after all he had recognised her. She had no means of knowing and did not allow the thought to trouble her much. The road was clear before her, and somewhere ahead was the help she sought and the telephone that would get her in touch with those who would carry deliverance to the two men whom she had left behind at Thorley Burrow.

UNDER THE cover of darkness, other strange things were happening of which Janet Laundy was entirely unaware. Two miles away in the direction of Newton-Porcorum, a half-demented man, worn out by his exertions, was lying in a ditch at the side of the road, listening to the sound of voices that came from the field on the further side of the high bank.

The man in the ditch was Arnold Hammersley, A.M.I.C.E.. and though he was unacquainted with their name, the three men to whose voices he listened were Carroll, Swanny, and the man Jim. Over the bank the voices came clearly, and Hammersley shivered as he listened.

'We've got to get him, boys. The other guy, if Jim here is right, is a goner; an' if this chump gets away there's going to be a peck of trouble for somebody.'

'You don't think he made for the road again, Carroll?'

'Likely enough. Two of us had better get on t'other side the hedge, an' beat the ditch, working up an down the road; whilst one of us keeps a look-out this side, in case the guy breaks cover.'

The man in the ditch started as this proposition reached his ears. He knew that he was quite incapable of another spurt, and that it was certain he must be taken if he remained where he was. Half erased with fear as he was, the instinct of self-preservation asserted itself strongly, and crawling out of the ditch he tottered to the further side of the road.

There in the bank he found a stile. At first he did not realise that it was a stile, but when his groping hands revealed it for what it was it seemed to him that he had stumbled on salvation. A stile, he argued, implied a path, and a path must lead somewhere, probably to a house where he might find shelter and safety. He climbed the stile, dropped on the further side, and as he did so through the stillness heard the voice of one of his pursuers.

'You work up the road, Swanny. I'll go downwards. If you see the bird just give a hail!'

Hammersley waited for no more. Shielded by the bank, and moving silently as a cat, he began to follow the field-track which ran along the side of a hedge, and which, so long as he kept parallel, he could not lose despite the blackness of the night.

Dropping with weariness and harassed by the fear of death, he tottered on. For perhaps five minutes he travelled, then the hedge bent suddenly from the path, the track— though he was unaware of the fact—running straight across a water meadow in the direction of a small foot-bridge with, a hand-rail, spanning a stream which meandered through the level meadows of a big farm.

By kneeling down and feeling with his hands he was able to discern the path at the point where it left the hedge, and he proceeded to follow it as well as he could. But a field path with which a man is quite unacquainted is difficult to follow in the dark, and it was not very long before he lost the track. He made blind attempts to find it again, failed, and tottered wearily on with the consoling thought in his mind that at any rate he was increasing the distance between himself and his ferocious pursuers.

Then unexpectedly he stepped on nothing, caught the sound of swirling water and plunged into the stream. As it chanced he had stepped into a pool which was sufficiently deep to drown a man. He went down and came up gasping. The shock of his unexpected immersion was tremendous, but the instinct to live asserted itself, and, an indifferent swimmer, he began to struggle to reach the bank.

He achieved the outer edge of the pool, was caught by the current and swept down-stream. There he had the luck to be whirled into the boughs of an over-hanging willow touching the water. He grasped them desperately, hung on, and finally after frantic efforts dragged himself on to a bank. There, his mind tottering with the strain of his varied adventures and perils, he lay long enough to get back his breath; then, still lashed by the fear of pursuit, he rose slowly to his feet, turned his back on the water, and once more tottered blindly on in the darkness, having lost all sense of direction.

OUT ON the road at no great distance away, Carroll caught a sharp whistle from Swanny, and hurried to him.

'Seen the swine?'

'No! But there's somebody just stepped on the road ahead there. I heard him. Listen! He ain't makin' too much noise, but you can catch his steps.'

Carroll listened and caught a soft 'plonk, plonk,' of footsteps on the macadamed road.

'Coming this way,' he commented, then asked in a sharp whisper: 'Did that guy wear rubber on his shoes?'

'How the blazes should I know? I ain't his cobbler.'

'No, but—' Carroll broke off. 'It's him as like as not. Guy's stepping carefully as if he was expecting to run against us.'

He listened, and whispered again:

'Taken to the grass. Don't want to make a row. Must be that beauty.' He chuckled softly. 'Walking straight into us! Golly! What a lark! Keep quiet.'

The pair remained quite still. The rustling of heavy feet in the grass grew clearer, then ceased unexpectedly.

'Suspects! Get ready!' whispered Carroll right in his fellow's ear; and both men tautened themselves to spring. The spring, however, was never made. There was the sound of a slight click in the stillness, then the ray of a strong torch cut through the darkness blindingly; and from behind it came the sound of a voice that rang authoritatively.

'Here! What's the meaning of this?'

'Love of Mike!' whispered Carroll. 'A blooming copper.'

He lifted his hand, as he whispered, to shade his eyes from the dazzle, and Constable Upcott, whose hand directed the ray, found something inimical In the action which impelled him to speak again, in stern warning.

'No tricks! Resisting an officer in pursuit of his duty is a serious offence. Just explain what game you're playing.'

'Game!' Carroll gave a short laugh. 'You're an officer, are you?'

'Yes, and I want to know what you are doing here loitering at twelve thirty midnight.'

Carroll laughed again. He was not afraid of any rural constable; and his ready mind was already shaping a half-truth which was better than a whole lie.

'Well, if you must know,' he said, 'we're looking for an escaped lunatic. You haven't seen one up the road, have you, by any chance?'

'Seen no one!' answered the officer shortly, not sure how much of this unexpected statement he ought to believe. 'Better explain a bit more. Who is the lunatic; and where has he escaped from? There's no asylum hereabouts.'

Carroll was not disturbed by the latter information, and the first part of the question he answered quite truthfully.

'Hammersley is the name— Arnold Hammersley, a mining engineer by profession. An' he hasn't broke from no asylum. He's a private patient of Doctor Goddard over Yeovil way. Got loose late this afternoon. Stole a butcher boy's bicycle an' just scooted. We traced him this way, and found the cycle busted in a ditch two miles down the road. We've seen him twice; and know that he's middling close hereabouts. That's why I asked you if you'd spotted him up the road.'

Constable Upcott was more favourably impressed. His first conviction that he had stumbled upon a brace of poachers vanished before Carroll's ready invention. He considered a moment, then he said slowly: 'Maybe I'd better give you a hand.'

'I was hoping you would, Constable,' said Carroll cheerfully, 'and if you will we'd more than be grateful. There's three of us.'

'Three!'

'Jim's raking about t'other side the bank,' explained Carroll. 'An' if you were to search across the road there and work back up along it would be rare an' helpful. It's that dark that he might double back again whilst we're beating the bank here.'

'I will,' said the constable.

'But be careful. The man's dangerous. And don't you take no notice of any wild tale he may pitch. You know what these crazy folk are. If you come on him just whistle us up, and we'll come and take charge of him. He's more than one chap can manage, and you being an officer won't cut no ice with him.'

'I will be careful,' said Upcott. 'Have your truncheon handy, an' hit him a knock-out at first sight. That's the best way with these dangerous ones.'

Constable Upcott had his own opinion about that, and as he walked across to the farther hedge with the idea of beginning the search doubts about the story that seemed so plausible came to his mind. If a dangerous lunatic were loose on the countryside why had the police received no notifications. Less than half an hour before he had met the sergeant, and the latter had said nothing whatever about the matter. Indeed, he had deplored that the lot of Upcott and himself was cast in a district where there was so little in the way of criminal activity that even zealous officers could not hope for promotion.

Reflecting on this, by the time he reached the farther hedge, the constable's doubts became active suspicion. After all, the three men might be anything but what they claimed to be and for a time at least would bear watching. The sound of a rumbling voice explaining who he was to the man beyond the hedge reached him; and it was followed by a subdued laugh which somehow clinched the matter to his mind. That glib fellow with his tale so pat was not all that he claimed— or he claimed less than he was. Accordingly, he flashed his light along the hedge-side once or twice in a pretence of search and kept his ears open. From the sounds that reached him, the three men were continuing their activities, beating the hedge and from time to time giving a low call to each other; but that, as he expressed it to himself, might be all my eye and Betty Martin, just meant to deceive him; and he did not mean to be quite so easily deceived.

Accordingly when he reached the stile which Hammersley had taken in his flight, he climbed it, with a thought that from the farther side of the hedge he would be better able to eavesdrop on the trio without any risk of being surprised, should the glib one chance to turn the flashlight he had across the road.

Unlike the fugitive who had passed that way so brief a while before, he did not follow the field path, but kept parallel with the bank that divided the field from the high road, knowing that there was a gate farther up.

After walking perhaps a score of yards, he stopped to listen. He heard the men's voices across the road, but could not catch what they were saying. Climbing the bank a little he looked over. The glow of two cigarettes gave him the men's position, and apparently they were having a consultation, for after a moment he heard them on the move again. He dropped from the bank to the grass again, and stood quite still considering. His suspicions still persisted and he did not quite know what to do. Had there been but one man he might have taken him on a charge of 'loitering with intent,' but, even for an ambitious man three 'suspects' were too big a handful.

It was whilst he was thus meditating that le caught sounds of movement in the darkness of the meadow. His first thought was that they were made by a horse; his second after listening for a moment, was different. Somewhere not very far away was a man moving in his direction. He remained quite still, wondering who the unseen man might be— his finger on the little switch of his torch, waiting for the psychological moment. The individual for whom he waited came slowly, making with each step a faint squelching sound, which puzzled Upcott sorely.

Then he heard the man stumble, go heavily to the grass, and pick himself up again, muttering to himself as he did so. The constable scarcely breathed. In front he saw a moving shadow, it came nearer, and when it was well within range of his torch, he thrust up the switch. The unexpected ray struck the oncoming man blindingly. He halted as if he had been brought up by a hand clapped suddenly on his shoulder, and to Constable Upcott was given the vision of a white scared face, with eyes that between blinks were stark with terror; with a mat of wet hair flattened over the forehead and still making little streams on the man's cheeks.

For a second the man stood quite still, then like a man afflicted with overwhelming fear, he began to gibber, not loudly, but in a way that made the constable shiver.

Then what seemed the truth broke on him. 'Good Lord!' he ejaculated. 'The lunatic!'

The words seemed to break through, the other's sudden spell of terror. He ceased to gibber.

'Lunatic,' he, whispered hoarsely. 'I'm no lunatic. Who are you? Not one of those devils who―'

'I'm P.C. Upcott―'

'P.C.― Do you mean you're a constable?'

'Yes. What―'

'God be praised!' The man was hoarse and shaking. He began to stumble forward, and Upcott, with a remembrance of the warning he had received, groped for his truncheon.

'Keep off there!' he said, displaying his official weapon, and wondering whether he had not better whistle for the help of the three searchers.

'Heavens! You don't want to kill me like those devils who―"

From across the road came the sound of a man's shouting voice. 'God!'' the man said hoarsely 'that's Carroll―'

'Who?' The constable had remembered the name as that of one of the men who had been in the attack on Keeper Spaxton's cottage three nights before, and his suspicions of the trio came back in a flood.

'Carroll!' Hammersley whispered as if afraid of being overheard. 'I don't know him very well, but―'

'There are two others with him,' broke in Upcott. 'D'you happen to know if one of them is called Swanny?'

'Yes! That's the name. I heard that other— Carroll you know— use it.'

'They say they're hunting for a lunatic and―'

'For me! I shall be a lunatic— no, a dead man— if they get me. They've already killed Lorenzo Joe in a wood down the road.'

'They've what?'

'Killed the man who was with me. They chased me, and I'd have been killed, too, if they'd got me. Constable, you must help me, or I'm corpsed as sure as a gun. I never thought to be grateful for the sight of a policeman, but―'

The man broke off, as again a sound of voices drifted across the road and over the bank.

'For God's sake, man, turn out that light! If they find me, I tell you they'll kill me, and you, too, as like as not. They can't afford to have witnesses with Lorenzo Joe lying there stiff and dead in the wood.'

The man was terribly earnest, and Upcott switched off the light; then the fugitive began again.

'You must get me away from here, Constable. You know the country— I don't. I fell in a river somewhere across there, and if I try to get away myself, as like as not I shall fall in with these murderers. And if I do―'

'Steady, man!' interrupted Upcott, catching a rising note of hysteria in the other's voice. 'I'll get you away. But if what you say about that man in the wood Is right, I've got to get those men.'

'You can't do it single-handed,' said the man. 'They're armed— and they're killers.'

'Oh, I know that, if one of them is Carroll. They were about here at their dirty work three nights ago up at Keeper Spaxton's. Wait a minute!'

Constable Upcott crept to the bank, climbed it, and peeped over. Up the road he caught the flash of a lamp. The men were far enough away to take a chance, He slipped back again to the waiting man.

'Come along!' he said. 'Those rips are up the road. We'll go t'other way. There's a farm quarter of a mile away, and they've an A. A. telephone. You'll have to go quietly.'

'No need to tell me that. I know that a sight better than you do, Constable.'

'All right! So long as you know. We'll start.'

Constable Upcott led the way to the stile. Before he allowed the other man to mount it he took stock of the road. At first he saw nothing, and had an idea that the trio had departed. Then he caught the gleam of a light above the hedge, and knew that the men must be beating the copse thereabouts.

'Sharp!' he whispered— 'an' quiet!' The man crossed the stile, and keeping to the bordering, grass, they hurried in the opposite direction from the searchers. When they had gone a couple of hundred yards in silence Upcott asked a question.

'What's your name?'

'Arnold Hammersley.'

'Um! Don't know it. Stranger, I guess, What were you and that dead man— what do-you-call him?'

'Lorenzo Joe!'

'Sounds foreign! But what were you doing in the wood there where you say he was murdered?' We weren't in the wood to begin with. We got there by mistake, you know. We were going to call on a gentleman at a place hereabouts.'

Hammersley, a little recovered from his bad fright, was improvising a little, but Upcott had no reason to think that, and he instantly fixed upon the point that seemed to matter. 'What place?'

'A house called Thorley Burrow.'

'There's nobody there,' answered the constable with quick suspicion. 'Place is to let furnished.'

'There's some one there to-night. The owner―'

The 'zoom' of a car coming along the road came to the constable's ears He looked eagerly forward and saw the lights coming round the bend of the road. He broke in on the other's words.

'You stop here in the dark. I'm going to stop that car, and get a lift for both of us. The lights of it will show you up to them fellows if you stand on the road. Don't matter much if they see me.'

He slipped into the middle of the road, and as the car drew nearer began to signal with his torch. The car came on at a pace that made him think the driver meant to ignore his signal, and he felt a spasm of official anger at the apparent flouting of his authority.

He flashed his lamp again and raised his arm in the stop signal, and at the same time tautened himself for the leap aside that might be necessary if the car kept on.

'I'll get the number, anyway,' he muttered, 'and—'

The car stopped within five yards of him, and a little dimly he saw the driver beckoning him. He went forward, and the door opened. 'Constable Upcott!' said a girl's eager voice. 'Oh, how glad I am. You're wanted ever so badly. Mr. Huntley—'

The constable, unable to see the speaker's face, flashed a lamp upon it, then broke out in amazement.

'God bless my soul! It's surely Miss Laundy!'

'Yes, Constable. And you are wanted, Mr. Huntley and my brother are in a house back there, where two dreadful scoundrels—'

'Name of the house, miss?'

'Thorley Burrow.'

'Why, that's the house― Here you!' he shouted to Hammersley. 'Come here.'

Hammersley came forward keeping behind the lights of the car.

'There's a young lady here, Miss Laundy— '

'My —―' Hammersley's ejaculation of amazement was lost as he started to run. But Upcott gripped and held him.

'No you don't,' he said. 'You bide here, or as sure as Christmas I whistle up them fellows that are looking for you. What do you know about them fellows at Thorley Burrow?'

'They— they're scoundrels. Those fellows there are doing their dirty, work. If you knew—'

'I don't! But I'm going' to! You'll tell me and the sergeant, I guess. Miss Laundy, I want you to drive me to the 'Bird-in-Hand.'.

'But aren't you going back to that house?'

'Not alone. I'd do, no good. If this man is right, there are five men to be dealt, with, not to mention a murdered man— '

'Oh-h!'

'Not Mr. Huntley, nor your brother, unless he's called Lorenzo Joe. That's the man. I must get to Rawson's telephone and ring for help. That's the best way. Lion's mouth is no place to stick one's head, you know. And my way's the sound one.'

He laid a hand on the handle, and opened the door. 'Get in, Mr. Hammersley, and sit well back. If those beggars see you there'll be trouble. I'll sit with you, Miss Laundy.'

He took, the seat at the girl's side. 'Drive on. Don't stop for anyone. There are three men up there. They may signal, but keep on.'

'What are their names?'

'Carroll, Swanny, and―' He broke off at a sharp little cry from the girl. 'What?'

'Oh, I shall keep on! Carroll, you said. If he stands in the way―'

She left the words unfinished, and before Constable Upcott could voice his curiosity she started the car, changed gears, accelerated, and swept on towards the place where Carroll's lamp flashed once more at the edge of the road. .

Chapter 13

THE CAR SWEPT on. The men to front came fully into view. They were standing at the grassy edge of the road watching the car, clearly interested. Constable Upcott thought they would be even more interested if they were made aware of the passenger in the rear sat, or if they knew on what errand he himself was bent. He gave a caution to Hammersley.

'Keep your head down.'

It was a needless caution, since Mr. Hammersley was on his knees on the floor, with his forehead touching the mat.

The car drew almost level with the watching men, then, unexpectedly, Carroll's lamp flashed its ray directly on the windscreen. Upcott heard the girl gasp, saw her face was white and tense, and then heard a voice fairly roar:

'That blighted cop!'

'Let her rip,' he said to Janet, a little grimly, and the girl obeyed. Behind them Swanny was shouting to his comrades, 'You saw the bobby!'

'And the wench, Swanny,' interrupted Carroll.

'Wench! What wench?'

'That Laundy girl we brought down— '

He got no further. Swanny's profanity poisoned the night. Then he stopped suddenly and spoke like a man confronted with grim realities.

'This game's busted, Carroll. I'm dropping out, pronto. We ain't safe now; an' in an hour if we hang round here we're for it. I'm going back to the Burrow. We'll make that old shark spew the shekels, and we'll quit in his car. They can hang him for that fellow we corpsed; but I'll be shot before they hang me. Come on. Let's hop it. There's no time to waste! To think we should be bamboozled by a country cop. Some guy'll be handing us a' milk bottle next― with a teat to suck through. Of all the blighted―'

He let himself go, but started to hurry down the road, and the other two, without question, began to follow.

IN THE CAR, Janet was explaining to Upcott a little gaspingly. 'You don't know— those men kidnapped me in London— in the open street— this afternoon. They brought me here— to that Burrow house in a car― Roy― Mr. Huntley you know— guessed, and followed. He helped me to eet away— but they caught him— and I'm afraid— desperately afraid for him and my brother.'

'They've got him, too?'

'Yes.'

'God bless my soul! I never heard the like. You'd think this countryside was Chicago. But who are the pair of gents who're at the back of things?'

'Two big business men In London. There's a whole lot to tell. It will take time to explain. But we must save Roy and my brother.'

'There's the sign of the 'Bird-In-Hand.' We'll soon wake up old Rawson. Pull up right under the first window— that's his bedroom— and blow your horn like blazes.'

Janet obeyed him, and within three minutes a lattice was thrown open and a tousled head appeared.

'What for be you making that internal din? One'd think you was Gabriel on the Resurrection morning trying to wake―'

'Shut up, Rawson. Come down, an' don't wait to put on your unmentionables. 'Tis police business, an' I want to telephone sharp. There's been murder done―'

'Murder! God save us!'

The head disappeared, and in less than two minutes there was a sound of bolts being withdrawn, and then the door opened and the landlord appeared, bearing a candle.

'Come in Upcott. You d'know where the instrument be. But what about this tale you'm telling?'

The two men disappeared in the house, and were there for some little time. Then the constable came to the door, speaking over his shoulder.

'Sharp, Rawson. An' don't forget to see there's petrol in the tank. I've got to get back at once.' He moved out into the road, walked to the car, and opened the rear door.

'Step out, Mr. Hammersley,'

'But―'

'Step out, lively.' Mr. Hammersley, a much bedraggled figure, stepped out, to receive a new command. '

'Hold out your hands.'

'What―'

'Hold 'em out. There are instructions from the office that you're to be held— an' I'm just making sure, as I've got to leave you behind here in charge of Rawson' till I come back to gather you. No need for you to ask me the charge; I don't even know if there is one. But you're  to be detained; an' that's enough. Hold 'em out.'

Mr. Hammersley, with becoming resignation held them out. A double snap followed; and then Upcott laughed.

'Me and Miss Laundy have saved your life, and whether you're among them that's due to be hanged or not I don't rightly know, but Rawson'll see that you don't get pneumonia after that ducking; and if you were to pitch him the tale of this night's doings I shouldn't wonder but what he'll run to a friendly glass or two of something hot. Just step inside.'

The handcuffed man entered the inn with Upcott at his heels, and Janet waited. Presently the constable reappeared.

'Don't know what you are going to do, Miss Laundy. I've orders to get back to Thorley Burrow... There's to be doings there and I'm wanted.'

'Doings? What do you mean, Constable?'

'Well, the inspector with the sergeant and two constables are on their way there; two gentlemen, one if them, Mr. Judson, having sworn an information against them that are there. Office didn't know about the murder till I told them, so I'll get credit for finding out that, and as I've got information of where the body is out of that fellow in there, I'll get another good mark for finding it. It's an ill wind that blows no good.'

Janet considered. Harvey Judson was not at home, his sister was in London, and to rouse the servants at Draycombe Manor in the small hours of the morning and demand accommodation was not a course that attracted her. Also it was possible that she would get quicker news of events if she remained at the 'Bird-in-Hand.'

'I think I will stay here for a little while. Please tell Mr. Judson I am waiting here— will you?— and Mr. Huntley if— if you see him.'

'Right, miss. I'll arrange with Rawson― Lor',' he commented, 'just listen to that old bone-shaker of his. It's my luck that my motor cycle should be in hospital just when it would come in most handy. It's odds I'll never reach Thorley Burrow in it.'

'You drive, Constable?'

'Yes, miss. I've learned that pretty well; having a hope that I might drop into one of those mobile officer's jobs.'

'Then why not take this car? It is Mr. Judson's, but I am sure he won't mind helping the law.'

'If you're sure, Miss?'

'Oh, I am quite sure.'

The girl stepped out of the car a little gingerly, and Constable Upcott. observing her bare feet, all bruised and dusty, was immediately concerned.

'Goodness! Miss Laundy, what has happened to your shoes and stockings? You've never driven a car barefooted?'

'But I have.' In spite of the pain of her feet Induced by contact with the harsh and gritty road, Janet was almost moved to laughter by the constable's amazement. Then she explained.

'They are at Thorley Burrow. Those men took them from me. You must tell Mr. Judson or Mr. Huntley to look for them. They are all I have here.'

'I'll see to it, miss. Let me help you. Those cobbles of Rawson's weren't meant for bare feet.'

He helped her by carrying her bodily into the Inn and then by sending Rawson to rouse his wife to attend to her, and two minutes later she heard him reverse the car and drive off in the direction of Thorley. Mrs. Rawson proved to be a motherly woman, who checked her curiosity whilst she revived the fire and prepared warm water to bathe the girl's feet. Then when she had done that, and some healing ointment of home manufacture had been applied. she found a pair of soft stockings, and felt slippers, both miles too larger and insisted on the girl putting her feet up on the old-fashioned settee.

'That'll stop the throbbing,' she said, 'An' now I'll make 'ee, a cup of tea. 'Ee won't be awantin' to drink none of the liquors we sell here, I reckon.'

'I should prefer tea,' said Janet gratefully.

The tea was made, and whilst she was drinking it, Mrs Rawson offered a bed, but Janet shook her head.

'I should not sleep. I should be wondering all the time what is happening at that house. I will stay here by the fire if you don't mind.'

'Mind, maidy. 'Tis just your comfort I be thinking of. You do what pleases you most.'

So Janet remained by the fire waiting for news, her anxiety mounting all the time. Now, for the first time since the door of Thorley Burrow had crashed behind, her, she had time to think of what might have happened in that shuttered house, and as she remembered the circumstances, and the news which, the constable had given her of the man who had been murdered, ,her fear for her lover was not to be restrained...

IN THE MEANTIME Constable Upcott proved that at least he had one qualification for the mobile force by driving at a great rate to Thorley Burrow. When he arrived at the occupation lane he found two other cars standing there with lights out and, blocking his way to the house. Guessing that the Inspector and the other officer were before him, he drew up his car behind the standing vehicles; and drawing his truncheon by way of precaution, moved forward as rapidly, as the darkness would allow him.

There were sounds from the direction of the mansion that indicated  trouble. He thought he heard struggling and shouting and then quite certainly he saw a door open and heard it crash, A second later there was a shout and a shot, which last was followed by the cry of a man who had suffered hurt. Some of the trouble, it seemed was outside the house, and he braced himself to meet it.

He caught a sound of feet running on gravel, then the noise of a gate as it clashed violently, and a second later realised that someone was running towards him at breakneck speed. ,

' 'Tis a guilty conscience makes a man run like that,' he murmured to himself,  and then prepared to stop the fugitive, who could have no idea of his presence.

The man came on, a flying shadow in the darkness of the lane, and as he drew level Constable Upcott thrust out a leg. The discomfiture of the runner was complete. He shot forward and measured his length on the rough metal of the road. As he fell something was jerked from his hand and struck the constable's knee-cap heavily. The pain was severe, but Upcott disregarded it. Flashing his lamp he saw that the thing which had struck him was a pistol; and the next moment he was on the man, who was already lifting himself to his feet. The fellow snarled, and spat a savage oath as the flashlight revealed his face. The latter had  a ferocious  look, which Constable Upcott did not like at all. The fellow meant to fight for liberty, and a desperate man as the officer knew is a dangerous one; so as the man leaped Upcott struck once with his truncheon— a blow that was designed temporarily to disable. It achieved its object. The man went down as if he had been poleaxed and lay quite still.

Constable Upcott suffered no qualms, as he looked into the ruffianly face. The man had dropped a pistol in his first fall, and was no doubt responsible for the shot which had been fired in the grounds. Armed ruffians are not in favour with the police, and callously Upcott felt for his handcuffs; then, remembered they wore at the 'Bird-in-Hand' with Mr. Hammersley. But there were other means. With his belt, the man's own necktie and handkerchief he made a shift to bind the man safely; then he gagged him to the hedge bottom; and gathering up the pistol resumed his way in the direction of the house. Just as he reached the gate the house door opened, arid ho saw the outline of an officer against the light.

The man shouted: 'Hallo-o-o, Poldon!'

'Here, sergeant, I'm' down. A bullet in the leg.'

'Jingo! That follow got away. Which way—'

'Out of the gate—'

The sergeant leaped to the steps and began to race towards the gate. Constable Upcott opened the gate and made his presence known.

'All right sergeant, I've got the beggar.  He's tied up in the lane and insensible.'

'You, Upcott! Thank the Lord, you got the villain. He broke away while we were dealing with the others. Help me to get this chap indoors, and then we'll fetch the scoundrel. The Inspector will be main pleased. What's that you're, carrying?'

'Pistol. Belongs that fellow.'

'Jerusalem! You're lucky he didn't shoot you.'

'Didn't give him a chance,' laughed Upcott; and went forward to give the help required.

Two minutes later he assisted the sergeant to got the man in the lane, dazed but reviving, to the house. Inside, there was a scene that was more than interesting to him as a poIiceman. Two rather elegantly attired gentlemen, to whom in ordinary circumstances he would have given a salute, were standing handcuffed to each other, both of them white and sick-looking.

Across the room were two other men, also handcuffed, and very dishevelled as if they had been struggling, whilst near the Inspector and the constable who was keeping an eye on the prisoners, stood Judson and Huntley, whom he recognised instantly, though he did not, know the third man who was with them, nor yet another, who looked sick, and who had been accommodated with a divan chair.

'I'm glad you got that ruffian, Upcott,' said the inspector genially. 'He completes the bag, But what is this story about a murdered man?'

'Quite true; sir. The man—'

'Yes, Inspector,' broke in Roy, 'I've seen the corpse. The man is Lorenzo Joe, in whom Sergeant Lamington is interested.'

'Sergeant!' Upcott registered the title mentally, and made the mistake of an otherwise perfect night. 'Um, Scotland Yard!' he thought disgruntledly. 'Come to take, the credit, I suppose.'

Aloud he was quite cheerful.

'Corpse is in the wood at the side of the house, sir.'

'Well! It won't run away. When we have shepherded the prisoners into the car you can get it into the house. By the by, which of the crowd is responsible for the corpse, Upcott? You seem to know, everything about this affair.'

'I'm not sure of that, sir. But the men who saw the deed is at the 'Bird-ln-Hand, quite safe.'

'Good! We shall want his evidence. You must bring him along to the office. I'll send a man over to take charge here.'

'Yes, sir.'

'I should like a word with the 'Bird-In-Hand' man, Inspector,' said Lamington. 'He was working with the murdered man, and may be able to give me some information that I need.'

'Well, if you are staying with Mr. Judson you will be driving that, way, I suppose I have no objection.'

'Thank you, sir.

'And now I think we will make a start,' said the Inspector, whereat Constable Upcott addressed himself to Roy Huntley.

'Beg pardon, Mr. Huntley, Miss Laundy is at the 'Bird-in-Hand.' She's mortal anxious about you and another gentleman— her brother.'

'This is Mr. Laundy,' said Huntley, indicating the sick man in the divan chair, Constable Upcott saluted. 'I promised to let you know, and I came here in Mr. Judson's car.'

'Where did you get it, Upcott?' asked Judson quickly.

'From the young lady who — '

'That's part of the story, Judson, You'll hear the details later. I understand that Lamington has his car here. Suppose that I run Laundy along to the inn in yours. I rather want to got there myself, you know. Janet will be worrying pretty badly, I expect.'

'Well, if Laundy feels able—'

'Got me out of here!' interrupted the sick man. 'I've had more than enough of the place.'

JUDSON AND HUNTLEY helped him to the car, and made him comfortable; then Roy Huntley took the wheel, backed out of the lane, and turned towards the 'Bird-in-Hand.'

As they ran on, Archie Laundy asked a sudden question: 'How did you come Into this business, Huntley?'

Roy Huntley laughed. 'When you dropped out of the train at Newton-Porcorum.'

'You saw me?' cried the other.

'I certainly did. And when I descended at the station I was promptly kidnapped in your place, and taken to that house there, where the kidnappers discovered their mistake, and went back to look for you. It was most unfortunate that you should have mistaken their car for your sister's, and walked straight into their clutches. I went to look for Janet, whose car those brutes of Stallworthy's had smashed up on the road. By-the-by, Stallworthy wore goggles and whiskers that night, I wonder why?'

'Didn't want to give himself away to me, I suppose. He wore them when he interviewed me, but I recognised him, and addressed him by name. He laughed then, and took his goggles off. But his laughter was not good to hear. It made me shiver. I think that from that moment he meant to get rid of me somehow.'

'I wonder why he didn't?'

'Oh, you were the stumbling block, I fancy. He didn't feel quite safe, I expect. But there was another reason. He wanted me to sign a prepared report about a mine he is interested in, and which—'

'Yes, I know. Janet told me about it.'

'The report would have made the company he was going to float fairly boom; but the property isn't worth sixpence. It was that fellow Hammersley who wrote the report— the scoundrel. Stallworthy threatened and tried to bribe me, doped me, and then tried to get me to sign while I was all muzzy, and to-day he told me he had got Janet and that if I didn't sign he'd railroad her to Buenos Ayres.'

'The scoundrel!... I hope they'll hang him.'

'So do I. But I'll dish him as a financier for good and all to-morrow, in any case. He won't float any more dud properties again for a while.'

'He's certain to have time to think over a few schemes in Dartmoor,' laughed Roy. 'I hope some of the crowd will turn King's evidence, so that he may get his full deserts. Funny how Carroll and Co. walked straight into the hands of the police on their return to the Burrow. But here's the inn— all lit up to welcome us, by the look of things.'

The welcome was as warm as either man could wish.

'Archie!' cried Janet, as her brother entered the room, and forgetting her sore feet, leaped from the settee to hug him, then Huntley entered.

'Roy!' she cried. 'Roy!' with a quite different note in her voice, and a flush on her face that had not been there for her brother. 'Thank God!' she whispered. 'Thank God— for you both.'

'Yes, it was touch and go when the scoundrels got me the second time, but the police arrived before Stallworthy could make up his mind what to do with me.'

IT WAS on the following day that Sergeant Lamington, dining at Draycombe Manor, gave a brief resume of the situation.

'That fellow Carroll will take the nine o'clock walk for certain. He was the man who killed Lorenzo Joe. Lorenzo and Hammersley had concocted some fine scheme to get hold of Laundy here, and blackmail Stallworthy and Arnheim. Hammersley let that cat out of the bag. But they'd better have planned to blackmail a brace of tigers. Something went wrong with their precious scheme when they started to put it into action, and Stallworthy turned Carroll and those others lose on the pair―'

'One minute,' interrupted Roy. 'I've never been quite able to fit Carroll and Co. into the picture with Stallworthy and Arnheim. They are all scoundrels together, but Carroll and Swanny aren't quite in the same class with the financiers.'

'No,' Sergeant Lamington laughed. 'Swanny has explained that. He knows he's in for a few years at Dartmoor, but he doesn't want to keep Carroll company on the scaffold, so he's made a confession to clear himself as much as possible; whilst he pulled both Stallworthy and Arnheim a little deeper in the mud. He and Carroll and that fellow Jim were a smash-and-grab lot, operating on Jewellers and small banks; and Stallworthy and Arnheim both acted as receivers.

'Swanny says that Stallworthy is really one of the biggest fences in London, and that he used that house, Thorley Burrow, for his operations with thieves. When a haul was made, those in the know about Stallworthy just passed the word to him, and whilst the police were watching the ports and combing London the thieves just slipped down here into the country where Stallworthy met them and did the deal. Swanny is scared, and he's telling the truth, and to-morrow that house will be gone through from floor to attic for evidence.

'Anyway, Stallworthy's goose is pretty thoroughly cooked. And Arnheim knows he hasn't a dog's chance, though he's already engaging counsel. I have a notion that I may drag him in as an accessory to the murder of the man which they tried to put on Laundy here. Trouble is that with Lorenzo Joe dead there's no personal murderer to charge. Anyway, we shall see. What matters to you all is that Laundy will be quite cleared— in fact, the thing will never reach the papers at all. I don't know that there is much more to be said, but if any of you have questions to ask, I'll do my best to answer.'

Harvey Judson laughed. 'I've a question, Lamington. But it is for Huntley and not you.'

'Well, Harvey? If I can tell you anything―'

'You can! When is the date of the wedding?'

There was a little shout of laughter, at this. Janet Laundy flushed rosily, but Roy Huntley was quite unperturbed. He looked at Janet and joined in the laughter.

'You must address the question elsewhere, Harvey. The lady's privilege is still a fashion.'

'Well, Janet?' Judson laughed again, and got his answer given smilingly.

'As you are to be best man you must—'

'Yes?'

'Wait and see!'— and this time all the laughter was with Janet.

End

Table of Contents

- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13