MYSTERY OF

BELVOIR MANSIONS

Ben Bolt

(Otwell Binns: 1872-1935)

Ward Lock 1929

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 14 | Chapter 15

Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18

Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21

Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24

Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27

Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30

Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33

Chapter 34 | Chapter 35 | Chapter 36

Chapter 37 | Chapter 38 | Chapter 39

Chapter 40 | Chapter 41 | Chapter 42

Chapter 43 | Chapter 44 | Chapter 45

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Chapter 1

THE TAXICAB came to a standstill on the wrong side of the street, as Dick Singleton, awaking out of a doze, marked with some irritation; and a second later the driver opened the door.

"Sorry, sir! This is as near as I can get. The street is up. Belvoir Mansions is just opposite, and there's a gangway handy."

His fare stepped out of the cab, noted the line of lamps, the fire, with the watchman's box at the corner; then gave a laugh.

"When some philanthropist has Guy-Fawkesed the County Council, they'll leave the street where it should be. Just put that suitcase out. I'll swagger across somehow."

"Yes, sir!"

The taxi man set the suitcase on the side walk, received his due with largess, saluted, and drove away, leaving his fare at the edge of the pavement.

From that point of view. Dick Singleton surveyed first the street, and then Belvoir Mansions, where his flat was situated. The hour was late, the Mansions were in darkness; but at the moment a rather unusual spate of traffic, streaming westward, blocked his way across the street, compelling him to wait. He lit a cigarette, and, as he did so, caught the soft plunk of padded feet behind him, and, turning, found himself face to face with a policeman. who promptly saluted, and then grinned familiarly.

"Case of safety first, hey, sir? The way them navvies messes up London fair beats creation. When it ain't this street it's the next one: and when it ain't the next one it's this."

Captain Dick Singleton laughed; then, with an eye on the dark front of Belvoir Mansions, asked a question.

"Anyone in residence yet, constable?"

"I think not, sir. You're the first back; but the caretaker was telling me yesterday that he expected most of the gentlemen by the week-end."

Singleton nodded carelessly, looked at the stream of vehicles, and then asked:

"Where is all the confounded traffic coming from?"

"The Palace, I expect, sir. There's a State Ball on to-night."

Singleton grumbled, "Looks as if I should have to wait here till daylight."

"Hardly that long, sir!" laughed the constable . "The procession will break in a minute or so. Goodnight, sir."

He passed on, and a moment later the plunk of his rubber-shod shoes was lost in the purr of the automobiles. Dick Singleton glanced impatiently across. the street, and then an alert look came into his eyes. The door of Belvoir Mansions, closed when he had last looked at it, was now ajar, and, as he watched, a face appeared in the dark gap— a man's face, as he saw clearly by the light of the street lamp almost directly in front of the entrance hall. A passing vehicle hid him for a second; but before the next one whirred, along. Singleton saw the man glance hastily up and down the empty sidewalk across the street, and, when the next vehicle had passed the door of Belvoir Mansion was closed and the man was hurrying up the street towards the end of the excavation where the rear light of a stationary taxi glowed redly.

"Topper must have been mistaken," he muttered; "but who—"

The man who had just left the Mansions was more than usually tall: but that told him nothing, for four out of the five residents of the flat had that distinction, and the street was too dark for. him to make any clearer examination of the hurrying figure; whilst a second later he forgot the man in a new interest.

A flash of light impinged on his eyeballs, making him turn to his front. Someone had switched on the light in one of the flats, and, as he looked at the illuminated windows, he whistled sharply.

"Phew!"

The windows on the third floor from which the light streamed belonged to his own chambers.

He stared at them with incredulous eyes, and, whilst he stared, the break in the traffic for which he had waited occurred; but he never noticed it .

"Now who the deuce—" The muttered words of excitement found an answer before they were completed'. At one of the illuminated windows a girlish figure suddenly appeared, glanced swiftly into the street, then drew the heavy curtains. He had no more than a glimpse of the intruder, and of her face he saw nothing; but in the light he caught the sheen of hair, red or golden, and the flash of uplifted white arms. Astonished beyond measure, his eyes turned to the second window. He waited almost breathlessly.

An instant later the intruder once more appeared and for one fleeting second as she stood with the light on the side, he glimpsed a white face and a pair of eves that he could have sworn were wild with fear, when again the white arms were raised, a ring on one hand flashed a miniature star, and the window was veiled like its fellow, hiding her from view .

"Well I'm damned!"

As the ejaculation escaped him he realised that the way to Belvoir Mansions was open; and snatching up his suitcase he began to hurry across the street. A minute later he was at the door of the entrance hall, fumbling for his key. When he had found it, he opened the door, very quietly, lifted his suitcase into the hall, and then with hand on the knob of the door stood listening.

Except for a little sough of wind the suites of flats were as silent as the grave. The caretakers, whose rooms were in the basement, had evidently retired for the night, and but for a single splash of light far up the open staircase, the place was in complete darkness.

He released his hold of the door and felt for the switch, and then changed his mind. A second later, caught by a draught, the door was snatched from his hand and closed with a resounding crash. A whispered exclamation of annoyance escaped him, and as he looked up the splash of light disappeared whether by the swift and silent closing of a door or the turning of a switch he could not tell.

Again he listened. The noise had been enough to wake the dead; and that it had warned the intruder in his rooms seemed certain, but still there was no sound of movement, either from above or from the basement. He crept towards the lift, but changing his mind as he reached it, felt his way to the foot of the circular stairs. His groping hand found the newel-post, and guiding himself by the rail, he began the ascent.

He moved stealthily as a thief, his heart-beats quickened by excitement, his ears straining for any sound of movement. He heard none. The place was still as a cemetery at midnight, and but for a gleam of stars through the skylight, as black as pitch. He passed the first gallery in silence, reached the second; and there again stood listening. Only a little moan of the wind and his own heart-beats broke the oppressive silence. Had it not been for the vision he had glimpsed at the window, and that swift extinction of the light when the door had crashed, he could have taken his oath that but for himself there was no human being in the precincts of Belvoir Mansions.

Yet he knew there was. In the sitting-room on the floor above there was a girl who had no right to be there. He wondered what she was doing. He pictured her panic-stricken, breathless with apprehension, crouching in some corner of the room, hoping that her presence had not been observed, praying that she might go undiscovered. He remembered the white face that he had glimpsed at the window in the second or two before the curtain had been drawn, and he was conscious of a little compunction as he thought of the acute anxiety which the intruder must be enduring. Then he hardened his heart. The intruder was perhaps a thief— or no better. She deserved Whatever stress of apprehension she was suffering; and on such as she he need waste no pity. His mouth grew, suddenly hard; and with his hand on the rail, he began to mount the last flight of stairs to his own flat.

When he reached the landing, he tip-toed to the door of his sitting-room, and, holding his breath, once more stood to listen. At first he heard nothing; then to his straining ears came a most desolate sound— that of a girl sobbing― great choking sobs at irregular intervals. Again, he visioned the girl intruder inside, shaken by fear; and in the same instant caught a whispered cry: "Oh, my God!"

Did the girl know that he was standing there? It was just possible. He had made the ascent noiselessly as a cat; but feminine intuition, as he knew, is a marvellous thing; and further, it was just possible that her strained senses had caught some sound of his approach that he himself had not noticed.

Again the sound of a suppressed sob reached him; and then he stretched a hand for the doorknob and began to turn it slowly, striving to avoid making the least noise. He was not altogether successful in the effort. Twice, ever so slightly, the turning handle clicked, the clicks sounding portentously in the stillness. At the last click he thought he caught a sound of movement, the frou-frou of a silk garment; but he was not sure, or by now his excited mind was in a condition to imagine anything. The handle turned the whole way and as he felt the door yield a little he knew that the key, if it were in the lock, had not been turned.

For a second he stood hesitating as to what course to pursue. The intruder might be waiting to make a rushing escape in the darkness when he opened the door. As that thought occurred to him he wished he had turned the switch on the landing and so obviated any such possibility. Then he remembered that just within was the switch which was for the sitting-room lights. He had but to open the door a little, insert a hand, and in an instant the room would be bright as day. He acted on the thought as quick as lightning.

Thrusting the door open a foot or so, and holding it with one hand, with the other he groped for and found the switch. He pressed it. the click that followed was absolutely normal, but the room remained dark; and realising that the intruder must have removed the lamp, he slipped inside swiftly, closed the door, and, with his back against it, waited for what was to follow, the while he groped in his coat pocket for the box of vestas that he knew was there.

Chapter 2

HE WAS STILL fumbling, unable to find the matches, when something hit the table in the middle of the room, and the sound was followed by a miniature explosion, which made him duck instinctively. Then out of the darkness came a little gasping cry.

"Oh!"

He first thought that the intruder had fired an air pistol at him was dismissed by that cry. The explosion, whatever its cause, had been as much a surprise to the, girl in the darkness there as to himself, and if occasioned by her act had been entirely involuntary. As he reached this conclusion he found the vestas, and a second later struck one.

As the wood kindled he held up the tiny flame; and, ghost-like in its dim radiance, saw the girl standing by the table, in shimmering white; her face whiter than her dress, her eyes wide with terror.

For a second he stood looking at her wraith-like form, then he remembered the reading lamp upon the mantelpiece, and as the wood, burning down, scorched his fingers, he dropped the glowing end, and crossing swiftly to the wall-plug he turned the switch. This time the light answered, flooding the room with soft radiance; and as it did so, he backed quickly to place himself between the door and the intruder in his apartments.

Then for the first time he saw her clearly. She was quite young, under twenty, as he guessed, and, in spite of its. pallor, her face was of a quite startling beauty. As he had marked from the street, the hair was of red gold, her eyes, now gleaming with apprehension, were of the blue of sapphires with  the same inner sparkle, her features of an aquiline cast, with a mouth that was softly strong. All this he noted in a glance, then his eyes caught the sheen of pearls at her throat; next the hand gripping the edge of the table, on which flashed the ring that he had seen when she had drawn the curtain, and from that travelled to the table itself, where, among a thousand points that flashed and gleamed, lay a key identical with the one in his pocket.

Near it was the metal end of an electric light bulb, and as he saw it he understood also the cause of the explosion which had made him, duck in the darkness. He laughed suddenly.

"You let the bulb fall."

"Yes," answered the girl— a little tremulously. "You startled me almost to death."

The voice was a cultured one, the accent that of a quality which told him she belonged to the higher end of the social scale, with a melodiousness that oddly enough reminded him of the soft chime of bells across the still Sabbath fields.

"And I thought it was an air-pistol," he said with another laugh.

The apprehension in the girl's eyes died down a little, and a slight flush came in her face.

"You thought that I was trying to shoot you?" she asked in amazement.

"I beg your pardon— yes! You see I was a little on the strain; and in the darkness that 'plop' was remarkably like an air-shot."

"But I would not dream of...of..."

"Well," he answered lightly. "I am not accustomed to the ways of lady-burglars "

"Burglar? You think I am that?"

"Yes," he replied cheerfully; "You cannot claim to be a house-breaker. It is now one o'clock in the morning, and between the hours of nine p.m. and six a.m. that kind of thing is counted burglary."

As he spoke his eyes wandered to an open drawer of the antique bureau at one end of the room, and came back to hers fully of smiling accusation.

"I assure you I have not touched anything in the room," replied the girl earnestly.

"But the drawer was locked when I went away," he answered, "and in any case, in law, the intention to commit a felony is more than sufficient for a conviction."

The girl moved uneasily. "But... but—" Then her self-possession deserted her.

"Oh," she cried, "it is all a mistake. I did not know this was your flat, as I presume it is. I thought... I thought―"

"You thought it was some other man's?"

"Yes! Yes!" she answered.

He looked at her in secret wonder.

The thought of some evil assignation crossed his mind; then as he gazed into her face he dismissed it. In spite of the trouble written there; and the flame of apprehension in her eyes, she had the vestal look of one who had kept herself unspotted from the world. He was puzzled, intrigued, and as he met her gaze once more something in her eyes moved him strangely. Yet there were things that needed explanation. His gaze turned to the table where the remains of the shattered bulb winked in the light.

"You did not knew you were a trespasser in my flat? You thought it was some other man's, and yet you took off that bulb in order to be in darkness, that you might escape notice, I suppose?"

Her face flushed again, and a little appealing note come in her voice as she offered an explanation. "I had just discovered my mistake, Captain Singleton."

"You know my name?" he cried in surprise.

"Those letters there on the mantelpiece told me it; as they revealed the error into which I had fallen. I was just about to leave when I heard the door below bang, and, listening, heard someone ascending the stairs. I had an intuition that it was the owner of these rooms; and in sheer panic I acted as I did. It was very foolish of me: but I did not want to be discovered in this house to-night. My visit is a secret one. I am supposed to be at the State Ball. You will believe me, will you no? Oh! you must! And will you let me go? You will not call the police?"

"No!" he said slowly. "I will not call the police — on one condition."

"What is that?" she asked in a whisper.

"That you will tell me the name of the man whom you came to see."

"No! No!" she whispered hurriedly. "I cannot do that."

"But it is a very reasonable condition," he answered stubbornly. "You will observe I am not asking for your own name: but merely for a name which win prove your story authentic; and on which I vow my lips shall be sealed."

"But I cannot tell you," she said deliberately. "I— I dare not."

"You dare not?" A note of scepticism crept into his tones as he echoed the words. "There are those who would say your refusal covers ignorance―"

He broke off as the girl started as if she had been struck.

A strange, wild look of mingled horror and terror leapt into the beautiful eyes. The colour receded from her face, leaving it almost ghastly. She swayed, and grasped the table to save herself from falling; her eyes directed downwards towards her corsage. Wonderingly he followed her gaze, and there, just where the low neck of the dress hinted at hidden beauty, he saw a spot of a ruddy and sinister hue, whilst on the edge of the white silk against the creamy skin there was another. He was a soldier who had seen much fighting, and he recognised the baleful hue instantly.

"Blood! "he cried. "My God! Child, you are hurt?"

She was swaying alarmingly now. He knew she was going to faint, and he leaped to save her. Just as he did so, the girl's wavering eyes, sick with terror, met his; then with a little broken cry, before he could reach her, her knees gave way and she slid to the carpet, where she crumpled up, and lay still as death.

Chapter 3

IN A MINUTE Dick Singleton was on his knees beside this girl, whose name he did not know, and who was a trespasser in his rooms. He lifted her from the crumpled position in which she had fallen, looked down into the white face, so death-like, and something like fear shone in his eyes as they turned to that spot of blood between the swelling breasts, and to the red stain on the white dress. A sense of tragedy oppressed him. Whilst he had been talking to the girl she had been in suffering, hurt perhaps to death. As he looked down at the beautiful face, still as chiselled marble, the blue eyes closed, the lips like a Cupid's bow wearing the pallor of death, his heart smote him.

Then gently he lifted the silken corsage to look for the wound, which, as he was convinced, lay just beneath. To his amazement he found none.  The splash on the skin had no visible source; the stain on the corsage covered no hideous wound as he had expected.

Surprised, he examined her more closely— her mouth, her nostrils, even her ears. There was nothing there to account for the stains, and as he remembered the girl's sick look of terror, a momentary fear gripped his own heart. What mystery was this? What was the meaning of it?

Closely as he had examined the beautiful intruder into his flat under the light on, his first entrance, had he been careless enough to miss these sign-manuals of tragedy. It was just possible; but he did not believe that he had. No man looking at that figure with the skin like satin, and the dress of shimmering white could have missed seeing those ruddy stains. They had not been there at the beginning of the strange interview, of that he was convinced; yet they were there now, unmistakable; hinting of things mysterious and terrible, and driving the girl herself into this faint of sheer terror. Utterly mystified, he leaned back on his heels, staring first at the beautiful face, then, at the sanguinary stains, and at last gave utterance to his feelings.

"Here's an almighty twister!"

The necessity to do something to revive the girl forced itself upon him, and, rising from his knees, he went to the sideboard where stood a tantalus. and took from it a decanter of brandy. Half-filling a wine glass, he returned to the unconscious girl, slipped, to his knees again, and, raising her head, put the glass to the pale lips, and succeeded in pouring a little of the spirit into her mouth. Then he waited, and presently caught the sound of a sigh, and a second later the golden-lashed eyelids fluttered.

Encouraged, he tried again.

"Drink," he said, quietly. "You will be all right in a moment." This time, the girl of her own volition swallowed a mouthful of the spirit, a little dash of colour flamed in her cheeks, and the blue eyes slowly opened. For a few seconds they stared vacantly, then a light, of wonder came in them, to be followed again by that sick look of horror.

"Oh-h-h!" In a shuddering moan the word broke from her; the eyelids closed, and it seemed to Singleton that she was about to slip into unconsciousness again. He acted promptly.

"Quick, little lady," he said. "Take another sip of the brandy. It will pull you together, steady you."

As he spoke, he raised her head a little, and was in the act of putting the glass to her pallid lips when something splashed upon the back of his hand, making an irregular blotch of red. For a moment he was like a man turned to stone. He stared at the serrated blot, hypnotised; and even whilst he stared the thing was repeated "Splash!"

A second red spot materialised on his hand; and at that he looked up to learn where it had come from. An instant later he knew.

On the white ceiling, almost directly over his head, there was a scarlet stain of irregular shape. It glistened in the electric light, seemed to quiver like a live thing, and the quivering concentrated itself in a dark bubble of moisture, which a second later detached itself, and, flashing like a ruby, fell, making a new stain on the girl's dress.

"God in heaven!" he ejaculated.

He rose slowly to his feet,  set the wine glass on the table, and stared with fascinated eyes at the ceiling. Another scarlet drop was forming: in a moment it would detach itself, and, gripped with swift horror, he stooped and dragged the senseless form of the girl clear of the place where it must fall. A second later he caught the dull sound of it as the double drop splashed upon the carpet.

"Phut! Phut!"

A moment later, he moved towards the door. Something dreadful had occurred in the flat above, and it was incumbent upon him to learn what it  was. For the moment the girl was forgotten, and, stumbling in the darkness, he raced up the stairs.

On the dark landing he halted, groped for the switch that he knew to be there; found it, and then as the light flooded the landing he looked round. The main door of the flat was slightly ajar, and the room as he could see was in darkness.

For a moment he stood listening. Two sounds broke the stillness— the ticking of a clock, and a beat was almost as regular, but not so quick: "Drip, drip, drip!"

He took a deep breath, moved towards the door, thrust it open, and stood looking in. The light from the landing, supplemented by the dull glow of a dying fire, lit the room dimly. The place, however, was full of shadows, and he could see nothing to account for the ominous sound that marched with the tick-tick of the clock.

He took a step into the room, saw the dull gleam of the switch and a second later had turned it, filling the room with light. Then he looked round again, and, as he did so, caught his breath, sharply.

In a big leather chair, drawn up to the fire, the back of it to the door, he beheld the huddled form of a man, his chin on his chest, one arm hanging, limply over the chair, the fingers almost touching the floor.

"My God!" whispered Singleton, as the certainty of tragedy was thrust upon him. Then he crossed the room and faced that huddled form in the chair.

His first glance told him that the man was dead. His second gave him a hint of the manner in which death had come, for on the white evening shirt was a red stain, in the midst of which was a triangular cut. From this cut the life-blood had welled, dripped down to the chair, and thence to the polished oak at the edge of the rug. That the man had been stabbed was evident, and that he had been taken unawares seemed equally clear from his position in the chair.

Stooping a little, he stared at the dead-face: and then a look of wonder came in his eyes; for it was the face of a stranger, and not of his neighbour, as he had half-expected. He examined the dead face carefully. It was that of a man about his own age— say, thirty years: lean and strong, and even though grey in death, the tan still showed with the faint white line of the chin-strap; on either cheek who had recently returned from service abroad or a man who had travelled extensively in tropical lands.

Singleton, regarding him, wondered who he was, how he had come to be in this flat where he was a stranger, to what evil chance he owed his tragic fate,  and whose hand had dealt the death-stroke? He looked round again. On the floor, where doubtless it had fallen when he had been attacked, was a book. He read, the title automatically. "Men, Beasts and Gods." He knew the work, and the fact that it dealt with wild, almost incredible adventures in Asia seemed to confirm a deduction that, he had already made. At least, the man was interested in the East: if he had not recently been there.

He looked further. On a Moorish coffee-table to the dead man's right was a glass half  filled with wine, a decanter of port, and a broken bundle of black cheroots. Evidently the man had not been anticipating the fate which had overtaken him, probably quite suddenly, and had been much at his ease when death had surprised him.

A closer examination, revealed the fact that the man's pockets had been searched, for the lining of the left pocket, of the dinner jacket had been pulled inside out, and on the floor were some, papers and a small wallet, whilst a desk near, the window had every drawer open, with papers littered on the floor about it.

Apparently the motive of the crime had been robbery of some sort; but certainly not the ordinary sort, for on the man's hand gleamed a ring of considerable value; whilst the studs in his shirt front were of true pearl, Dirk Singleton saw at a glance. No ordinary thief worth his salt would have left things of such value behind him.

Seeking a clue to the murdered man's identity, Singleton stooped and picked up the wallet. As he did so, something slipped from the leather pocket and slid to the floor. He glanced down at it, and saw that it was a miniature painted on ivory and framed in gold. Stooping he retrieved it. and as he looked into the face it portrayed, a sharp exclamation broke from him.

"By the nine gods!"

It was the face of the girl who lay in the flat below. He looked at it closely to make sure. Yes! True, there were differences! In the portrait, instead of the ghastly pallor that he had seen in the living original, the face had the soft cream-and-roses complexion that goes with the characteristic type of English beauty. There was moreover the further difference that the portrayed blue eyes were gay and smiling, instead of sick with terror as he had seen the living ones.

But that it was the portrait of the intruder whom he had surprised he had no doubt at all, and that he should find it here indicated that this dead man was the person whom the girl had come to see.

Had she seen him? Was hers the hand which― He did not finish the question. He thought of her lying senseless on the rug where he had dragged her clear of that scarlet drip: and following a swift impulse he moved to door. He must go to her, revive her, question her, find out what she knew of this dead man before communicating with the police.

Switching of the light and closing the door of the flat, he hurried downstairs carrying both the wallet and the miniature in his hand. Reaching the landing below he swung across it to the entrance of his own flat.

The door was open as he had left it; the lamp upon the mantelpiece still burned; the dark spot on the ceiling had grown larger, and a tiny pool of blood was forming on the thick rug below it, but the girl no longer lay where he had dragged her. "Gone!" he ejaculated hoarsely. Gone!"

Chapter 4

FOR A MOMENT after making the discovery that the intruder in his rooms had vanished, Dick Singleton stood a man turned to stone, staring at the place where she had lain. Then his eyes wandered round the room to make sure, searching the recesses and the corners for any sign of her presence. He found none. Beyond all doubt the girl had gone.

Whilst he had been absorbed in the discovery of the dead man in the room above the if her last faint had been real and not assumed, had revived and had fled. There was no question of that; and, as the realisation of the truth came to him, swift suspicions of the intruder leaped in his mind. Had she been as innocent as she had seemed.

Did she know of the tragedy, the scarlet evidence of which, dripping on her corsage, had so appalled her? it was more than possible. The mystery of her presence in his flat; her inadequate explanation; her refusal to give the name of the man whom she ha a come to see, and the portrait of her which had fallen from the dead man's wallet all pointed to her association with the crime.

As his mind reviewed the situation, he was a little appalled by the conclusion to which he was driven. Then, with suspicion mounting almost to conviction, he looked again at the miniature in his hand, staring at the loveliness it portrayed.

As he did so the surging suspicion was checked, turned aside as by some invisible barrier. Those eyes so gay and smiling— the eyes of a murderess? That face of such sheer loveliness— the mask of a spirit capable of black crime? It seemed impossible; and, as he remembered the sense of vestal purity attaching to the living face of which he had been conscious, he whispered sharply to himself, "No! No! It can't be that― she―"

He broke off as another thought came to him. Except for the caretaker downstairs he was alone in the mansions with a murdered man. It was necessary that he should report the matter quickly if he himself were to avoid suspicion. As the thought came to him he moved towards the door, and then remembered the wallet in his hand. If he were found with that—

A moment later he was running quickly upstairs to the flat above. Switching on the light anew, he crossed to the chair where the dead man was huddled so grotesquely, and stood for a second in thought. The miniature had been in the wallet, and before throwing the latter where he had found it, ought to be replaced.

For a moment he stood hesitating, looking into the starry eyes. And as he looked the gaiety of them seemed to fade and to give place to the appealing apprehensive look that he had seen in the living eyes as she had protested her innocence of wrongdoing. If she were innocent, this portrait found among the dead man's possessions might cause her quite terrible trouble.

His thoughts went no farther. The appeal, of which he had been conscious, mastered him. Deliberately he thrust the miniature in an inner pocket, dropped the wallet carelessly to the place where it had originally lain; looked round swiftly to see that there was nothing else that might inculpate either himself or the girl, then turned and left the flat, this time without extinguishing the light.

On the landing he paused for a second, considering his mode of procedure, then began to race downstairs at a break-neck speed. When he reached the basement he was flushed with running, and his breath was a little short. Before him was a door that led to the rooms occupied by the caretaker and his wife, who between them did the work of the mansions.

A second later his thumb was on the bell push, and from within came the whirr of an electric bell of such a quality that in the silence it sounded like a fire alarm. Not content with that he knocked at the door, resoundingly and inside a minute heard a voice within inquiring angrily:

"For the Lord's sake―"

He interrupted with well-stimulated excitement. "Quick, Jackson! Open the door! There's been murder done in No. 5."

A moment later the door was flung open, revealing a man in pyjamas and a rather faded dressing, gown. His brick-red face, cropped moustache, and general air proclaimed him as an ex-service man; whilst his manner was that of the well-trained servant whom nothing could betray into appearing startled.

"A murder, did you say, Mr. Single—"

"Yes! In the top suite. A stranger who―"

"That will be the gentleman whom Mr. Tracy sent along yesterday. He—"

"Quick, man!" interrupted Singleton. "Climb into some clothes, and go find Topper. He's on the beat here. I saw him just now. I must telephone to Scotland Yard at once."

"Yes, sir! In two ticks―"

Jackson disappeared into his quarters at a run; and Singleton turned towards the lift. As he did so he became aware of his suitcase standing near the doorway where he had placed it on his entrance.

"Phew!" he whispered softly, and muttered, "What traps there are for the innocent. That would have wanted some explaining , if—"

Without finishing the comment he retrieved the suitcase, and ascended to his own flat by the lift. Then he went to the telephone on the desk near the window and rang up New Scotland-Yard. He was put into communication almost immediately and, without preliminary, plunged into explanations:

"Captain Singleton speaking from Belvoir Mansions, Sarony Street. There has been murder done here— or at least it looks like murder— in the flat above mine. You had better send some one along immediately. I am informing the officer on the beat."

"Man or woman?" came an official voice.

"Man! A stranger to me! Appears to have been stabbed."

"Um! I'll send a man along to investigate, immediately. In the meantime touch nothing, and please convey the same instructions to the constable."

"Right."

He set down the instrument, lit a cigarette, and looked round the room thoughtfully. His eyes went first to the, dark blotch on the white ceiling. It had spread considerably, but now the scarlet , drip had ceased. His gaze wandered from that to the open drawer of the bureau, and crossing to it. he stared intently.

He could have taken an oath that it had been closed and locked on his departure for Scotland six weeks ago. The drawer was half full of papers and note books of lectures he had suffered at the Staff College; and contained nothing that by any stretch of imagination could be counted valuable to any man looking for plunder. Further, so far as he could see, the contents had not been disturbed.

"Queer thing!" he muttered to himself and then thrust the drawer to, and once more looked round the room. The shimmer of the flaky glass on the table caught his eyes. It would be as well to remove that before the police arrived,  since any small thing might lead to questions over which he might stumble.

In a twinkling he found a crumb tray and brush, cleared the wreck of the bulb from the table and shook it into the fire-place, then he lit a cigarette, and whilst he waited the coming of the officers, once more considered the miniature which he had found in the dead man's wallet. Its beauty drew him strangely. Those gay laughing eyes, so carefree, held his own hypnotised. He felt his heart, quicken as he gazed, wondering who she was, what the purpose of her visit to Belvoir Mansions, and in what relation she stood to the dead man upstairs, a look of reverie came in his eyes. She had fled; but he must find her, must assure her—

The sound of steps in the hall broke on his meditations, and as he moved to the door, Jackson's voice drifted up the stairs.

"Haven't seen the corpse yet, Topper, but Captain Singleton has, an—"

"Better' come right up, Topper," he cried out down the well of the staircase.

Two. minutes later, the constable and Jackson were standing at the door of his flat, the officer much more excited than the man-servant.

"Is it true, sir, that there's been murder done?"

"That, is what it looks like, and I haven't a doubt of it myself. The dead man is in the flat above. I have telephoned Scotland Yard and the instructions are that nothing is to be touched, until the officer from there arrives."

"As if one would," grunted the policeman. "But there's no reason why we shouldn't take a look round is there, sir?"

"None at all," replied Singleton, and led the way to the room where the dead man was.

Chapter 5

"MY AUNT, but he's got his sure enough," said Topper, after his first glance at the sagging figure in the chair. "Been robbed, too, by the look of things. Who is he, sir?"

"I don't know. You had better ask Jackson here; I never saw the man in my life till I found him there." The constable looked at the man-servant, inquiringly, and Jackson shook his head.

"Don't know. Captain Tracy occupies this flat; and yesterday morning I got a note from him saying, that a gentleman would bring his card, and that he was to have possession of the flat till Captain Tracy returned. No name was mentioned; and the dead gentleman himself gave none; but he had the Captain's card and I followed instructions. That's all know about him, Topper."

"Must be a friend of Captain Tracy's then, I guess!"

"Seems likely. He—"

The whirr of a bell broke in on the words, and Singleton spoke quickly.

"That will be the man from Scotland Yard, I expect. Better fetch him up, Jackson."

"Yes, sir."

As the caretaker disappeared the constable looked at Singleton.

"Odd sort of thing for a gentleman to take possession of another's flat without a name being given, sir?"

"Captain Tracy may have forgotten to mention it."

"Yes! An' by Jackson's tale that poor gentleman there forgot to mention it too. Looks as if between them they'd meant to keep it dark."

It certainly had that appearance, thought Singleton to himself, but did not say so; and, as he stood in thought, he heard the lift gates open, and Jackson's voice saying, "This way, sir"

Quick steps sounded on the landing, and a moment later a tall, thin-faced man with extraordinarily alert eyes, entered the room, followed by Jackson. He nodded to the constable, and addressed himself to Singleton, crisply:

"Captain Singleton, I presume. I am Inspector Lavers." He looked round, saw the huddled form in the chair and without another word moved towards it. After a moment he looked up.

"Dead. Stabbed from behind, I should say. Any weapon found?"

"Haven't had time to look for one yet, sir," answered Topper. The inspector nodded his understanding and inquired sharply: "Who is he?"

This time he addressed Jackson, who replied promptly:

"Don't know, sir. Captain Tracy is the tenant here, and he sent that gentleman along-yesterday. No name was mentioned."

"Um!" The inspector caught sight of the wallet, and picking it up, examined the papers it contained. From the disappointed look on his face the information he sought was not forthcoming. Stooping, he gathered up the papers lying on the floor, perused them rapidly, and then offered comment.

"No information here of any use!" He waited a. moment, then he asked sharply :

"Who found him?"

"I did," answered Singleton.

"That so? How—" He broke off abruptly. A flash came in the alert eyes, then he took a swift step forward, gripped Singleton's right wrist, and lifted the hand. The two drops of blood, which in his horror at the discovery of the dripping ceiling Singleton had forgotten, had smudged and dried, but the character of them was unmistakable.

"How did that come there?" asked the inspector. There was accusation in his tones, and a light of suspicion in the keen eyes.

Singleton smiled. "If you will come down into my flat I will show you, Inspector Lavers, and at the same time show you how the discovery was made."

"Very well! Remain here, constable, but touch nothing."

Without more ado he turned and accompanied Singleton to the flat below; and as they entered the captain pointed to the blotch in the ceiling. "That will explain— partly," he said quietly. "I had just come in from a journey— the constable will bear witness as to the time of my arrival— and had poured out a little brandy from the decanter there, when this stuff splashed on my hand, and looking up I saw that. I guessed at once, that there was something wrong—"

"And set the glass on , the table without drinking the spirit?"

"Well— I was surprised you know."

Inspector Lavers took a step forward and picked up the glass, holding it against the light. Then he set it down with a short laugh.

"The glass bears out that part of your story, Captain Singleton. There are two tiny drops of blood upon it, splashed there as that stuff hit your hand, I suppose. A father startling experience for you, I should say."

"Very."

The inspector looked round and noted the stain on the rug. "Seems to have  made a mess of your rug, sir," he commented carelessly, and then stooping swiftly, he picked up something from the rug, and held it up. At first Dick Singleton did not see what it was; then, his heart leaping a little, he perceived that it was a long hair of ruddy gold.

"You have had a lady visitor lately?" asked the inspector sharply.

Conscious as he was that the alert eyes were watching him closely, Singleton maintained his self-possession.

"I have been away from the flat for six weeks," he answered curtly, "so you can judge how recently I entertained any lady here."

The inspector laughed. "Don't be touchy, Captain Singleton. I was bound to ask you that question. You see I found that at the bottom of the stairs in the hall."

As he spoke he thrust a hand into his pocket, and produced a wisp of silk and lace— a handkerchief, a dainty thing that such as the girl who so recently had stood in that room might be expected to carry. As the inspector shook it out and held it up between finger and thumb, a red smudge showed on it; and, whilst Singleton, stared at it like a man hypnotised, the inspector spoke again. "That is a blood-stain. Captain Singleton— fresh as paint, for it has scarcely begun to turn brown yet―

"And if you have not had a lady visitor recently, I imagine the man upstairs must have had one."

"But.... God in heaven, man! You don't think a lady did a thing like— like that ?"

"This handkerchief is rather significant as you will see, but who killed the man remains to be discovered. There is an initial on this handkerchief— 'B'— which may help us a little, but not very much, I am afraid. However, your explanation is quite satisfactory, and if you will excuse me. I will go upstairs and complete my investigations."

He turned and left the room; taking with him, not merely, the handkerchief, but, as the other did not fail to note, the golden thread of hair.

A perturbed look came on Singleton's handsome face, and he whistled softly to himself. That handkerchief was a corker. It gave the clue that the police would not be slow to follow, and for a moment he had a vision of Inspector Lavers touring the drapers' establishments of Regent Street, handkerchief in hand, seeking the vendor of that wisp of lace.

Then he laughed abruptly.

"He will have his job cut out! But if he knew—"

His hand went to his pocket and drew forth the miniature. He considered it with absorbed eyes, and then he muttered again:

"Yes, if he knew about you, little lady, it would be most damnably awkward— for both of us."

Sounds of movement in the flat overhead reached him— evidently Inspector Laver was making a thorough search, and wondering whether it would reveal anything he began to pace the room. Presently his eyes fell on the letters on the mantelpiece to which the late intruder had drawn his attention, and stepping across the stain on the rug, be began to con them rapidly.

A couple of tailor's bills, a note from the garage in reference to some car repairs, three envelopes holding invitation cards―he threw them on the table, and then as he saw the last, his eyes grew suddenly bright.

"Tracy!" he ejaculated, and ripped the envelope quickly. The note it contained was brief enough.

Dear Dick (it ran),

I shall not be back for another ten days, so the little shoot arranged at my place in Herefordshire is postponed. In the meantime you may expect a new neighbour. I have loaned the flat to an old chum, Charley Southwell, of whom you have heard me talk. I met him at Marseilles the other day; and as his own place is being decorated, and having particular reasons for desiring to be quiet just now and for avoiding the publicity of hotels, he's going to stable himself at Belvoir Mansions. You might look him up. He's a secret sort of beggar, habitual to his job, I suppose, but if you can get him yarning you'll find him interesting enough. So long!

Aleck.

As he finished reading Singleton's eyes grew thoughtful.

"So that explains the man upstairs!" he murmured; and then began to try and recall what Tracy had told him of the dead man. It was little enough that he could remember, and at the end of four minutes he left the room and ascended to the flat above. As he pushed open the door the inspector who was examining some papers evidently taken from a small kit bag, looked up, and Singleton spoke .

"I can tell you who the dead man is," he said crisply.

"You can," cried the inspector. "Then I shall be glad to hear. There isn't a mark on his linen! Not a letter among his papers, nor a word in the latter giving the faintest clue to his identity. Who—?"

"His name is Southwell— Charles Southwell. I have an idea that he was in the Intelligence Department during the war; and undertook some difficult work."

"But how do you know? I thought , you said you knew nothing about the man."

"Better read that!" replied Singleton handing him the letter. "It was among some correspondence awaiting me, which I have just gone through."

The inspector read the letter quickly.

"Southwell!" he ejaculated. When he looked up his mind was concentrated on an effort to remember. Then he cried out, "I remember the name now! You're right, Captain Singleton. He was engaged on some ticklish jobs and—" He broke off.

"Great Harry!" he cried. "I wonder if he was on some investigation when this overtook him. His letter seems to hint at something of the sort. 'Particular reasons for desiring to be quiet .... avoiding the publicity of hotels!' It looks like it. I must find out; get into touch with your friend—"

"He is in Paris!"

"Yes! Yes! But a wire will bring him here to-morrow. And I must find out where poor Southwell and his permanent quarters. I may learn something there. Here there's nothing but the corpse; and. no clue but that handkerchief. With your permission I will keep this letter.— Topper, I'm going to leave you in charge until another man comes along from the Yard. I expect the surgeon will be along presently to have a look at the poor fellow. Captain Singleton you are remaining in town?"

"Yes, for the present."

"Good! You'll be wanted for the inquest. Not that it's likely to reveal much. I imagine it will be a case of identification, formal evidence and adjournment. I'll let you know the time in the morning. I must get away now. But I'll take these papers with me, and have another look through them. I may tumble on something useful."

He thrust the papers back in the bag. snapped it up and took up his hat.

"No need to remain here, Topper! You can wait for the surgeon on the landing. We'll lock the door, and you can hold the key till the man I send arrives. In the meantime nobody is to come up. You understand."

"Yes, sir."

"Then—" He looked at Singleton and, the caretaker meaningly. Singleton led the way out, and Jackson, followed him, and on the stairs the latter whispered. "Lor' but that girl must have been a cool one, Captain."

"Girl! What girl?" demanded Singleton, with a sharp catch of his breath.

"The one the inspector talks about, the one who left that blooded nose-rag downstairs. Saw it at once he did when he stepped into the hall. Regular ferret he must be!"

Singleton breathed again. Evidently the caretaker knew nothing about the girl who had paid the secret visit to Belvoir Mansions, leaving the incriminating evidence behind.

Relieved he turned into his own room, lit a cigarette, mixed himself a stiff brandy and soda, and gave himself up to thought. But though he thought long, no key to the mystery appeared, and at the end of his long reverie he found himself visioning a pair of sapphire eyes gay and smiling and innocent, which like a transformation picture on the cinema screen faded and changed, and whilst he visioned them grew stark and sick with terror.

Chapter 6

THE CORONER'S inquest on the following day duly followed the lines which Inspector Lavers had suggested. A friend of the dead man's from the War Office identified the body. Dick Singleton gave evidence of the discovery of the crime without revealing anything of the intruder whom he had discovered in his rooms, whilst the inspector himself stated that he had gone through the dead man's papers and possessions without finding anything that would indicate a motive for the crime or afford any clue to the perpetrator of it.

But as Dick Singleton observed with a little stab of anxiety, the officer made mention neither of the blood-stained handkerchief nor the strand of hair that he had found. That omission struck him as being a little ominous and he was wondering what it might portend, when chancing to glance round the courtroom his attention was arrested by two of the few people present.

The first was a gentlemanly-looking, man in horn goggles of the American variety, who was taking notes of the proceedings; the second, a girl or woman in a hat, the deep brim of which, in conjunction with a heavy veil, quite concealed her face.

Whilst some quite unimportant and prosy evidence was being given he observed the two carelessly. The man, whom he judged to be a Press reporter, was very diligent over his task; and Singleton was thinking it was rather odd that he had not taken a place at the Press table, when a movement brought the lady's head sideways to his vision, and for one moment he was afforded a glimpse of a heavy coil of red-gold hair. His heart leaped at the sight. He had no doubt whatever that this heavily-veiled spectator of the proceedings was the girl whom he had surprised in his flat on the previous night; and he rejoiced as he thought that at the end he would have; an opportunity of renewing the acquaintance begun in such an extraordinary fashion.

A second later he grew cold at the peril of discovery which she was running. If Inspector Lavers, who had picked that strand of hair from the rug, chanced to observe her closely, anything might happen. Following that thought, he sat tormented by anxiety for her, until just as Inspector Lavers was asking for an adjournment on behalf of the police, the girl rose and slipped quietly towards the door.

As she did so, the man with the note-book and pencil ceased to write, and with a rather curious smile, watched her progress towards the outlet. Singleton noticed the smile, but did not stop to wonder what it meant. The girl was very near the door. In moment she would be gone, and the immediate chance of speaking to her would be lost. That must not be.

Rising swiftly from his seat, he followed her, and, as he reached the outer door, saw her just stepping into a waiting taxi-cab, which moved off before he could reach it. He looked desperately round, and as he did so the driver of another taxi, crawling slowly down the street, looked at him inquiringly. Instantly he signalled to the man, and in two seconds gave him instructions.

"The taxi in front there. Follow it! Don't lose it at all costs!"

"Right, sir!"

From his seat within, he watched the chase anxiously for a moment or two, then his tension relaxed. The vehicle in front was making no great speed; and quite clearly the occupant was in no anticipation of being followed. Nor was the pursuit a long one; for within seven minutes his driver stopped and reported that a lady had descended from the taxi in front, and was apparently about to enter a certain famous restaurant. Singleton himself lost no time in stepping out on to the sidewalk.

Glancing hastily ahead, he realised that he had not been mistaken. The intruder in his flat last night was just passing through the large glazed door which a tall commissionaire was holding open for her.

"Good!" he ejaculated, paid his driver handsomely, and then followed his quarry quickly.

As he entered the great room he looked swiftly round, and saw he lady being bowed into her place by an obsequious waiter. He stood in the shadow of the doorway whilst he considered the menu, then, when the waiter had departed, he walked softly towards her table.

A sudden start, a surge of rosy blood in her face, which, receding as swiftly, left it white and strained, told him that she had become aware of his presence, and had recognised him. That she would have fled if she could he was sure; but that was not possible, and she sat there pale and discomposed. As he reached the table, he set one hand upon a chair opposite her, and seeking to reassure her, bowed smilingly.

"I hope you do not mind my presuming on a brief acquaintance," he said apologetically, "since for your sake it is most desirable that we should have a little confidential talk."

The girl tried to speak. He saw her lips move, soundlessly. Then she waved him to a seat, and as he took it again he strove to reassure her.

"Please do not let my presence distress you. Believe me I am your friend."

At that the girl smiled a little wanly.

"Oh," she whispered. "I know that. I — I was at the inquest. I know how you kept me out of the inquiry. I— I—"

"I kept you out of the business altogether," he answered cheerfully . "No one but myself knows that you are the lady who visited Belvoir Mansions last night."

"They — the police know of... of a lady―" she said with a gasp. "They guess that there was one," replied Singleton quietly. "You see you dropped your handkerchief in the hall; and it was not of the sort to be mistaken for a man's. Further, the officer from Scotland Yard found long, golden hair on my rug, which I am morally certain was yours— indeed, it could be no one else's. I was asked if I had had a lady visitor lately—"

"And you told the man?" interjected the girl apprehensively.

"No!" answered Singleton cheerfully. "I flatter myself that I evaded the question rather neatly."

"But why did you not speak... tell the truth?" As she asked the question her blue eyes, full of wondering inquiry, met his own; and Singleton was conscious of a sudden surge of fierce emotion.

"Oh!" he said, "if I were to tell you that— " he broke off; and as he did so the girl, in a low voice that was almost a whisper, echoed the words.

"Yes — if you were to tell me that?"

"You would not believe me !". he answered with a short laugh.

"I am not so sure that I should not," she said quickly. "You have befriended me so much that your word— your mere word— would be sufficient to compel belief."

He nodded. "Possibly! I have befriended you even more than you know!"

"How?"

He thrust a hand into his inner pocket before he spoke; and took from it something that for a moment he held concealed, then, whilst the girl watched him tensely, he placed upon the table the miniature of herself.

"You recognise that?" he asked quietly.

A look of utter amazement leaped to the girl's face, and then in the blue eyes there flashed a light of apprehension. "Where— where—?"

Her voice failed her. She could not complete the question, and thinking she was about to faint he spoke sharply.

"Pull yourself together," he said. "If you swoon―"

"Tell me— where―"

"It was on the floor by the chair where Southwell sat dead."

The amazement in the girl's face grew even more pronounced and now her eyes were wide with terror.

"But ... but how did it get there?" she asked in a frightened whisper. "I— I did not know that poor man at all. I―"

She started and broke off abruptly. A subtle change came over the beautiful face. Her gaze, as Singleton observed,  was fixed on something or someone behind him, and, turning his head quickly, he saw the head waiter in the act of bowing three people to a table— a lady and two men. One of the latter he recognised as the goggled man, who he had observed taking notes at the inquest, the other man and the woman he had never seen before.

Then he heard his companion gasp, and, divining that the entrance of the trio had disturbed her profoundly, he inquired curtly : "Who are those people?"

Chapter 7

AS SINGLETON made his inquiry the girl's eyes turned swiftly from the trio to. himself, their blue depths revealing mingled emotion. Before she could answer, however, the waiter appeared with the consommé, and. as he set it down, looked a little curiously at the lady's white face, then glanced at Singleton, who cut short the man's interest by a sharp order.

"A bottle of Pomeroy at once. Two glasses!"

"Yes, sir!" The waiter hurried away, and the girl looked up as if about to speak. He saw the mobile lips quiver, and guessed that it was only with an effort that she kept her self-control.

"Don't speak," he said, "Never mind my question for the moment.  Swallow your soup. It will help you."

The girl made an effort, but it was no more than a spoonful or two of the soup that she was able to consume; then she sat crumbling the roll-bread with agitated fingers. Again she made an effort to speak, but Singleton intervened with smiling authority.

"Not yet! Wait!"

The waiter came with the champagne— almost at a run, filled the two glasses, received a fresh order, and disappeared.

"Drink," said Singleton smilingly. "All of it. You need it."

The girl obeyed him almost to the letter— leaving but a dribble of the wine in the glass. As she set the latter down a little flush of colour appeared in her cheeks, and he looked at her approvingly.

"That is better. Now if you like you can answer my question. Who are those people behind me, whose presence. I am sure, you find disturbing? Please do not think me vulgarly curious. I have a good reason for the question."

For the moment the girl hesitated, then she answered him frankly in a voice that, though low, was steady enough, "Two of them, the gentlemen, I do not know at all; but the lady I know by― by repute."

"Who is she ?"

"Her name is quite unknown to me," was the answer given with a little catch in her voice

"But why should her coming disturb you ?"

"I— I did not expect to see her here !" she stammered.

"You will pardon me," replied Dick. Singleton smilingly, "but that is no answer to my question."

"I can give you no better, Captain Singleton," she answered in a low voice, "and I beg of you not to press me."

The blue eyes were full of appeal as they met his and he yielded to it.

"As you will," he said. "I can wait until you give me your confidence. But I think that there is something about the goggled man that you ought to know."

"What is that ?" she asked. "He was at the inquest— taking notes. I think he must have recognised you; for I saw him watching you, and he smiled rather curiously as you went out. It is an odd coincidence that he should have followed us here, don't you think ?"

If she shared his thought she did not say so. Her eyes wandered over his shoulder to the man of whom they were speaking; and as they came back to his, thoughtfully, the waiter again appeared bringing fish for her and soup for Singleton. Whilst the man was there neither of them spoke, but as he fell back the girl broke the silence.

"I do not know what to think. Since last night my head has been in a whirl. Mystery has followed mystery, and to me the crowning mystery is that you should have found that portrait of me by the side of that murdered, man. It fills me with horror—"

She broke off, and whilst he waited he sipped his soup, then suddenly, she spoke again in an agitated whisper. "

"Oh! How can it have got there?"

He glanced at her swiftly. She was not looking at him, and it was clear that she was not aware that she had voiced her thought aloud.

"I do not know," he answered; and as she gave a start he asked a question.

"You have seen the miniature before, of course, it is familiar, to you ?"

"Yes," she replied quickly. "It was painted in the spring. I gave it to—"

The words , were clipped off sharply, as if she had caught herself on the verge of an indiscretion ; and. as Dick Singleton looked at her inquiringly, her face flushed rosily and a look of embarrassment came in her eyes. As he noticed that. Singleton was conscious of a swift stab of jealousy. For whom had that quite charming portrait of herself been painted? To whom had she given it?

That rosy tide in her face, with the embarrassed, expression, seemed to indicate that she stood in some tender relationship to the recipient of the portrait. Instinctively his eyes went to her shapely hands. She still wore the ring which had flashed across the darkness of the street last night, but with a swift sense of relief, he noted that it was on the right hand; that the left hand was ringless. Then he gave a little laugh.

"I suppose that is another of the things on which I am not to press you?"

"Yes!" she answered simply. "I would rather you did not."

"Then I won't," was the prompt reply. "And yet I would give the world for your whole confidence."

"You would give the world—"

"Yes, arid the moon and the stars as well," he broke in smilingly.

"Why?" He knew why, and for a second he hesitated, then he leaned forward a little. His face was very earnest and there was a dancing light in his eyes as he answered, in a low, urgent, voice, "Because I am sure you are in need of help ; and I should like to be your knight-errant."

"Help!" The echo of the word came in a distressed whisper. "Yes. God knows! But— oh! I cannot drag you deeper into this affair."

"You will not be able to keep me but of it," countered Singleton quickly. "I will not be kept out. I am intrigued by the mystery, but more than that I am much concerned for you. You are moving in deep waters — dangerous waters, of that I am certain. You said just now that the situation fills you with terror. You must have someone upon whom you can rely."

"Yes, but you! Why should you—" her voice broke, and Singleton, guessing what she would have said, answered promptly: "I will help you."

The words were spoken in a half whisper. Again he leaned forward. His lean face was a little flushed. The dancing light like a leaping flame was in his eyes once more; and as the blue eyes met his a little wonderingly a sudden flash of understanding came in them. The girl's flower-like face grew scarlet, and a whispered ejaculation came from the mobile lips:

"Oh!"

"Yes," he said quickly, "that is it. You understand? I love you. Forgive me for being so abrupt— for the presumption. But it is the truth; and between us truth is best. Since last night..."

"But― but—" she whispered, "you cannot mean that!"

"I do! Just that! All of it. That is why I want to help you, why—"

"But till last night you did not know me?"

"What of that? Is the kindling of love an affair of years? I know it is not. All my life I have been waiting for you—" He broke off. In spite of the quietness of his tones, there was an urgency in his voice, a hunger in his face that must have been convincing. The blue eyes wavered and fell, in the girl's face the blood came and went, leaving it very pale, and there was a tremulousness about her lips that betrayed her agitation. Then she stammered, "And you do not know my name?"

"What matter?" he laughed a little recklessly. "I know you. And the name— well I have a name that will do for both of us. You will think I am mad; but what matter so that you give me your confidence; so that you let me serve you and—"

He broke off sharply, as the waiter materialised from nowhere as , it seemed. The man had a salver on which reposed a letter, and notwithstanding the repelling frown and the quite fierce look that Singleton gave him, he approached the table, though manifestly with some trepidation.

"For you, miss," he said, as he held out the salver. And then in apology and with an evident desire to stave off Singleton's wrath at the interruption, he added. "It is marked urgent, sir."

The girl looked up and took the envelope, glancing at it wonderingly.

"It has no name," she commented. "You are sure it is for me?"

"Quite sure, miss. There is no mistake."

Thus assured, the recipient took up a knife, slit the envelope, and took out a single folded, sheet. As she opened it, Singleton watched her closely. The message in the note must have been very brief, for the girl seemed to read it in a flash; but the purport of it, as he divined, was startling, for her face, assumed an extraordinary pallor, and there was a stony, apprehensive look in the radiant eyes when she looked up. The waiter was already in retreat, too far away to hear anything; and Singleton, shaken by anxiety for her, spoke quickly:

"What—"

"I must go,' she said in a low voice, the note dropping from her shaking hand to the table. "I must go at once."

She rose as she spoke, and Singleton also got to his feet. His intention was evident, he; meant to accompany her. But the girl forbade him.

"No," she whispered, "I must go alone. It is important that" I should. You must allow me. You must not follow me. If... if you love me you will not:"

"But" he protested. "You are troubled. It is not right that I should let you go; not fair that you should set so hard a demand upon me. We met again by accident this morning— No! It was Fate that brought us together again, and now you would go away, leaving everything incomplete, in the air. How do you know we shall meet again?"

"You believe in Fate?" she asked quickly.

"Yes."

"Then trust your destiny. I have no doubt we shall meet. It is even possible that I may send for you, Captain Singleton."

She held put her hand. He knew that it was useless to plead, that her mind was made up. There was nothing for it but to acquiesce.

"Very well," he said, "but at least you will allow me to accompany you to the door."

A wan ghost of a smile appeared in the blue eyes as she answered.

"There can be no harm in that."

A second later they were moving down the long room together. As they went they passed quite close to the table of the trio whose presence had proved so disturbing, and a certain-nervousness in his companion's demeanour told him that she found their proximity trying.

Neither of the men so much as glanced at them as they passed; but the woman's eyes meeting Singleton's had in them an odd enigmatic look, then quite suddenly they turned to the man by her side, flashing a strange , warning glance. Singleton was started, puzzled. The brief episode was beyond his understanding.

The man at whom she had directed the warning glance was the silver-haired, handsome-looking man whose air was so benign. Why she should have given that warning he could not fathom, and when he had taken leave of the girl, he stood for a moment looking down the room wondering what was behind it all, his eyes turned towards the man against whom the silent warning had been given.

A waiter was standing obsequiously at the table, where the trio were seated, and was evidently receiving instructions from the man in goggles.

A moment later the waiter began to move up the room in the direction of Singleton's own table; and as he did so, the soldier had a sudden intuition of the man's purpose, and swiftly began to follow him, so swiftly that the waiter was no more than four yards ahead when he reached the table, and picked up the note which had fallen from the girl's trembling hand.

Then Dick Singleton knew that his intuition had been right, and as the waiter turned with the note crumpled in his hand, he was met with a peremptory order.

"Put down that paper!"

The man visibly hesitated. There was a mutinous, half-truculent look in his eyes, quite different from tile ordinary meekness of his caste. But Singleton was in no mood to suffer impertinence from a waiter.

"Put it down;" he said with a sudden ferocity, "or by heaven I'll twist your hand off."

The man flashed a helpless look down the room, stood uncertainly for a moment, then dropped the note upon the table, and moved away.

Singleton seated himself, garnered up both the note and the miniature by which it had fallen, and put them in his pocket; then he looked over his shoulder. The silver-haired man and his goggled companion were apparently engrossed in the viands before them; but the dark-eyed woman was smiling; whilst the thwarted waiter was just disappearing through a side door.

Somewhere an unseen orchestra began to play selections from "Cavalleria Rusticana," and at the same moment Singleton's own waiter appeared ; eyeing the half consumed soup inquiringly.

"Yes," said Singleton, "take it away. Bring me the fish — sole au gratin."

The waiter hurried away, and Singleton deliberately changed his place, so that he might keep in view the three people who had suddenly become extraordinarily interesting to him. It was a wasted effort. All three were just rising from the table, to leave the restaurant.

For a moment he was tempted to follow them; then discretion prevailed. After all, he had no knowledge that they were directly connected with the mystery in which he was involved, though the goggle-eyed man's attendance at the inquest and his attempt, to get possession of the note which had apparently driven his late companion from his side seemed to require some explanation. In any case the explanation might be simple enough— just the action of a newspaper man ferreting for news. But the note—

He took it from his pocket and smoothed it out on the table just as the waiter appeared with the fish, then, since it was no occasion for niceties, he deliberately read it.

"If you would save one whom you love you will be discreet."

That was all ; but as he finished the perusal he whistled softly to himself...

A threat or a warning— which? As his mind asked the question he fell into deep thought. The fish was forgotten, and whilst the waiter watched him with the pained eyes of one. to whom every meal was a ritual, and all choice food a thing to be worshipped he tried to solve the problem of the note.

Presently his mind fixed upon one expression in it. "One whom you love." Who could that be? Again jealous thoughts surged within him. Who was it for whom the girl walked in peril, and whom her discretion could save? He did not know, merely to guess was useless torment, and as, the waiter, coughing discreetly, ventured to ask if there was anything he lacked, he remembered that he was there to lunch, and attacked the half-cold fish, and afterwards the liver wing of a chicken and cutting the sweet and the cheese, drank a cup of Cafe noir and called for his bill . As the waiter set it on the table, beside it he laid a closed envelope.

"What is this?" Singleton asked carelessly. "It was left just now for you, sir, by a lady."

"Ah !"

He picked it up eagerly. It had his name written, in a rather sprawling feminine hand; and his heart leaped as he considered the superscription. He could think of only one lady who was likely to have so written him, and that the lady who but a few. minuter, before had shared his table. As he opened it, he was conscious of a jubilant feeling. After all, he told himself, the girl had relented, had—

The thought was broken half-way as he opened the folded sheet contained in the envelope, and saw what was written there— three words only, in French.

"Garde a vous!"

"Look out ! he translated freely in a whisper and then stared at them wonderingly.

Who had sent him such a warning . Not the girl whom he had so recently escorted to the door, surely? He turned swiftly to the waiter.

"What lady was it who left the note?"

"I do not know, sir. No name was Given. But she was dark and handsome, sir, and there were two gentlemen with her."

"Ah!" He remembered the look which had been given by the lady who had been with the goggled man and his companion. Now it appeared that he been right in his interpretation of it. She had meant it to warn him against the elder man; and now she had enforced the warning by leaving for him this strange cryptic message. Who was she? Why should she so warn him?

He could answer neither question, but as he left the restaurant his mind was busy with them, and with more tormenting questions. Who was it referred to in the message she had received whom the girl loved? Was it the man to whom the miniature had been given? For that it was a man he never for a single moment questioned.

Chapter 8

WHEN HE REACHED Belvoir Mansions and entered his own flat, he had a surprise. A tall typical young Englishman of the army class, seated in a chair by the fire, rose to meet him.

"You, Aleck?" cried Singleton, in surprise.

"In the flesh, my child. I got the Scotland Yard message this morning, and crossed in the air-liner. Nasty kind of happening you had here last night. To think of poor old Southwell being done in in my rooms. Jackson tells me he was stabbed."

"Yes."

Aleck Tracy considered a moment, then he said: "Jackson informs me there's only a slight clue— a lady's blood-stained handkerchief."

"Which is no real clue at all," replied Singleton sharply.

Aleck Tracy looked at him quietly; then in an even voice he answered :

"I'll take your word for that, Dick, though I'd like to know why you are so sure."

"You shall," said Singleton. "Never was a secret more willingly given— for I want your help, Aleck, old man."

Faithfully he recounted the events of the previous night as they were known to him; described the encounter of the morning and what had followed down to his receipt of the cryptic warning; and Aleck Tracy, who had a gift of silence, listened to the end, when he offered comment.

"Seems to me, Dick, you've tumbled right into the middle of a first-class mystery yarn."

"There's mystery enough!" replied Singleton.

"And more to follow, I guess," answered Tracy, holding out his hand. "That miniature?"

His friend passed it over, and as Tracy bent over it a puzzled look came on his face. Presently he shut his eyes and his brows creased in an effort of thought. Singleton waited without speaking, and then the other opened his eyes.

"I've seen that face somewhere," he said thoughtfully. "But I can't remember where. Maybe it will come to me presently. He looked at the miniature again, and added, "Handkerchief or no handkerchief, that girl never killed Charley Southwell."

"Of course not!" cried Singleton. "But what was the miniature doing there? The girl was appalled when I told her where I had found it."

"Don't wonder. It may have been dropped by the one who killed Southwell— someone with whom she was closely acquainted, you know."

Singleton was forced to admit that as a possibility. As he recognised, such ail explanation would explain the apprehension the girl had betrayed when he had told her where the miniature had been found.

"Yes!" he owned. "But even that leaves the ultimate mystery unsolved. Why was Southwell killed?"

As the question was asked an odd look came on Aleck Tracy's face. Rising from his chair he crossed to the door and looked out on the landing; then, closing the door again, he returned, and seating himself anew, met his friend's astonished gaze.

"That policeman on the landing above," he explained, "might take a fancy to do a little eavesdropping, you know, and I've no intention to tell all I know to the authorities yet. They might write down poor old Southwell as a madman if I did."

He broke off, evidently waiting for Singleton to speak; but the latter offered no comment, and Tracy resumed.

"You know that Southwell belonged to the Intelligence crowd?"

"Yes?"

"It's a fairly exciting occupation; and Southwell was keen. When the Geddes axe fell he was in India, and he was among those who went down under the hatchet. He came back here, and tried to settle down as an ordinary citizen. But secrecy and excitement were the breath of life to him, and he just couldn't fall into humdrum ways, and soon he chucked the effort, and started to play the old game off his own bat."

"You mean he turned detective?"

"Not in any ordinary pottering way." said Tracy with a laugh. "He wasn't that sort. Big game was his line, and he went after it. Sometime during the war he tumbled on something that intrigued him, but circumstances at the time didn't permit him probing into the business, but after he'd been 'axed' he took the thing up."

Tracy broke off to light a cigarette, and then continued:

"Exactly what the business was he never told me. but the last, time I saw him he opened out on a line that made me sit up."

"When was that?" inquired Singleton sharply.

"Six days ago in Paris! The time when he borrowed the flat. He was keen on having it, because he wanted to lie perdu for a week or two till he linked up some threads of the business he was on. He swore Paris was dangerous for him, that his own chambers were not safe— no safer than a dynamite dump with a concealed time-fuse ticking off the seconds; and at first I had an idea that he was a little cracked. But he soon raked that thought out of my head. I can't give you chapter and verse, Dick, because I only got the thing in a sketchy way myself; but from Southwell's account he was after some big gun in the financial world, who was the complete rotter, and whose transactions were amazing. According to poor Charley, the fellow had a finger in every queer pie from Pekin to Peru; and he'd a crowd to do his will, every man jack of whom had once been a gentleman and then a convict; or ran the risk of being the last if the big financial bee choose to buzz.

"It may sound thin as I'm telling it, but you wouldn't have had that idea if you had heard Southwell. He was in dead earnest. He swore he had identified seven of the fellow's acolytes, and he showed me a list of the tribe under their nicknames— Toc H style, you know, with the initials of the seven opposite their gang-names There was an eighth whom he was after, one whom he said he knew, a good sort, and what that one was doing in the crowd Charley couldn't understand; but guessed that the financial boss had put the screw on in some way.

"Southwell's idea was that if he could get hold of this member, whose nickname I remember was Bebe, and true family initial was B―"

"What?"

Singleton fairly jumped from his chair, and stood staring at his friend with amazed eyes.

Tracy looked at him wonderingly, and asked quickly, "What's stung you, Dick?"

"B? Did you say that was the initial of—"

"Yes! Sticks in my mind, because in Southwell's list, it was the only one among the lot that he'd worked out where the initial letter of the nickname and of the real name coincided. But how does it bite you?"

"Well, you can guess if you'll just recall the initial that, was on the bloodstained handkerchief which Lavers—"

"B! By the nine gods!" cried Tracy.

"Yes," was the answer; and for a moment Singleton stood like a man who had seen a black gulf yawn suddenly at his feet.

Aleck Tracy was silent also for a minute, then he said tentatively, "Looks as if that girl might—"

"Don't be an idiot, Aleck!" interrupted his friend sharply. "You haven't seen the girl. I have. She just couldn't be in at such a ghastly business."

"There's no saying," answered friend, ponderingly. "In my time I've seen some sweet angels of light who were witches of the Pit. Southwell might have made a mistake as to the sex—"

"But you said he knew the fellow?" protested Singleton.

"No!" said Tracy slowly. "Come to think of it I don't ever remember him saying that Bebe was a man at all. He just used the nick-name, and— by Jove!"

"What is it?"

"Well, Bebe is the sort of nickname you'd just naturally give to a girl; whilst for a fellow it sounds a misfit!"

What Singleton thought was shown by the troubled look on his face, but he offered no comment. Instead he jerked Tracy back to the point at which the diversion had been made.

"You were saying that Southwell had a hope of getting hold of this Bebe?"

"Yes. Seemed pretty certain of it. Said that there would be risks for both of them, but that if he could prevail and get Bebe to tell the truth there'd be a bigger sensation than there'd been for twenty years. He was big on that, and sure of it; and it looks as if he had been dead right. Men aren't skewered like he was mysteriously for nothing. Looks as if he'd hit against the risks hard, and that this precious Bebe was the ultimate one. That girl―"

"I wonder what became of Southwell's list of names— you said he had one."

"Yes, in a twopenny note book, blue-backed and ruled for cash. I remember seeing it— kind of thing the laundry-men keep their customers' washing accounts in. I expect the police bagged it."

"That seems likely, unless the man who stuck him took it away. His pockets and papers had been gone through."

"Then it is gone for certain. Those who sent the killer here aren't likely to have left anything to incriminate the gang... More's the pity. With it in our hands, working quietly we might have got the crowd. As it is―"

A knock at the door interrupted them, and as Singleton gave the word, the door opened and Jackson, appearing, addressed Tracy:

"Inspector Lavers' compliments, Captain Tracy; and he would like a word with you, if convenient."

"Where is he?"

"In the hall talking to the constable on duty there, sir."

"Then show him up."

"Yessir," answered the man and as he withdrew, Tracy looked quickly at his friend.

"Dick, old man, are you game to tackle this business with me— I mean, to hunt out Southwell's assassin or assassins?"

"I'd jump at it !"

"Then we'll do it. I'll tell this inspector fellow just nothing.

"We've got Southwell's idea to go on, and what with one thing or another it should lead us somewhere, and rounding up that gang will be as exciting as the night-snatching of Fritzes out of their trenches used to be. There'll be no end of fun in it, and—  Ah! Here comes the C.I.D. man. Now just sit tight and watch my play."

Dick Singleton sat tight enough, and admired the consummate skill with which his friend presented Inspector Lavers with much useless information. Presently, however, he lost interest, and began to think of the story which he had heard. On reflection it seemed to him sufficiently wild; and there was only one thing that in his mind gave it credulity, and that was the murder of Southwell. There had been risks, the dead man had said, and he had taken them— and died!

There was no getting over that grim corollary of the wild story he had just heard. It was a portentous fact; and as he considered it he was driven to the conclusion that there was more in Tracy's account than the ordinary sane man, listening to it, would be inclined to credit. His reflections turned to the blue-backed book which Tracy averred that he had seen, and just as they did so, he caught his friend's voice.

"There was a blue-backed memorandum book on which Southwell was very keen. It had some secret information in it, he told me, and―"

"There was no such book among his possessions when I went through them," broke in the inspector sharply. "What was the nature of its contents?"

Tracy shrugged his shoulders. "How should I know?" he drawled. "I've told you Southwell was a secret sort of beggar, and inclined to be mysterious over things. I remember the book because in Marseilles he nearly had a fit when he thought he had lost it."

"H'm!" said the inspector, "I guess that whoever put him through got that book."

"Looks that way!" agreed Tracy nonchalantly, and watching his friend Singleton guessed that he had merely mentioned the book in order to learn whether it was in the possession of the authorities. Again Singleton's mind wandered from the conversation, and as he fell into deep thought, his eyes rested on the bureau across the room.

As they did so by some trick of the mind he seemed to see the middle drawer standing open as it had done on the previous night when he had surprised the fair intruder in his flat. The mystery of that open drawer intrigued him. He had been quite certain that, the drawer, like all the others, had been shut when he had departed from the flat six weeks before. He tried to remember when he had last looked in it; and could not recall opening it at all since he had stacked in it the books and papers which it contained. The girl had said she had not opened it; and he believed her. He had questioned Jackson about the matter, and the ex-soldier had shown complete ignorance that the drawer had been opened at all.

It was very curious he thought, and then into his mind flashed an idea, which made him start. It was an absurd idea, an incredible one; but he could not dismiss it; and whilst the pair talked he stared at the bureau as if fascinated. Once he looked at the. inspector, impatiently as if wishing him gone; and he rejoiced in spirit when at last that officer rose to depart.

"I'm much obliged, Captain Tracy," said Lavers. "What you have told me is interesting; but I'm afraid not particularly helpful. I guess I've got my work cut out to find the man who killed your friend."

"Looks like it, worse luck!" agreed Tracy, and as the officer departed, he closed the door behind him.

"Well, Dick, what do you think of my veracious—" He broke off in amazement. Singleton was already on his knees before the bureau, tossing out books and papers with a careless haste that revealed he was searching for some particular thing.

"Why, you beggar, what's—"

Again he interrupted himself, as with a little grunt of triumph Dick Singleton rose swiftly to his feet, holding something in his hand. As Aleck Tracy's eyes fell on that which the other held, they grew round with, amazement.

"My God," he cried. "That's Southwell's twop'ny laundry-book !"

Chapter 9

FOR A MOMENT after Tracy had made the recognition of his friend's notebook neither of the two men spoke, then Dick Singleton sharply:

"Are you sure, Aleck?"

"Sure! As sure as ever I was of anything ! Just open it and you'll see the list of nicknames with their corresponding initials which Southwell had worked out."

Singleton had no doubt that his friend was right in his declaration that the book was the dead man's property: but to make sure he opened it and swiftly turned over a page or two. At the third turn he came upon a list of names that were obviously nicknames, opposite several of which, written in green ink, was a capital letter with a dash behind it.

"You're right," he said. "This is Southwell's book. The list is here, just as you said."

"Of course it is! But how did you know it was in that drawer there?"

"I didn't know. But whilst you were talking with I Lavers I had what the Americans call a hunch. When I surmised that girl in my rooms last night, that drawer was open. It was that which made me think at first that she belonged to the light-fingered fraternity; for I was positive that when I went away the drawer had been shut. As a matter of fact I had not opened it for months. The girl knew nothing about it. I was certain of that, after calling her attention to it, and the fact that it was open and that it must have been opened in my absence puzzled me a great deal. Jackson, When I questioned him, swore that he never touched the bureau except to polish it; and knowing him as I do I didn't doubt his word for a moment, and just now it came to me with the force of a conviction that Southwell's book was there. I don't knew why. I just had the idea— probably because it would explain the open drawer."

"It was a sound hunch anyway," laughed Tracy. "You ought to be good at spotting winners."

"But how did the book come to be here? "That girl—"

"Fudge!" interrupted Singleton crossly. "For heaven's sake put it out of your mind that she had anything to do with this crime, directly. I am convinced that she is very much the victim of circumstances. She never put that book there."

"And the fellows who stuck Southwell didn't, that's certain. It follows, therefore, that Southwell himself— By Jupiter!"

A swift light of understanding flashed in his eyes.

"It was Southwell!" he cried excitedly. "It must have been. He was curious about you; asked rather a lot of questions; and I told him what pals we were. I remember telling him jestingly that if he wanted to burgle your rooms it would be an easy job, as the keys were the same; and—"

He broke off again and an odd look came on his face as he stared towards the door.

"What is it, Aleck? Something's hit you."

"Your keys?" cried Tracy. "You have two?"

For answer Singleton produced his key ring and held it up.

"Both here."

"And I have one of mine and the other—"  He pointed towards the door. "In your lock."

"Great heavens!" There was a strained, startled look in Singleton's eyes as he stared at the door; and Tracy cried out anew.

"That, girl again! She must have got it from Southwell, or how did she get into your flat?"

Singleton felt the punch in the question, but fought against the suspicion awakened.

"God knows! The thing is beyond me, but I'll stake my life that she's nothing to do with the murder."

Tracy offered no comment on this, but held out his hand.

"That book! Let me look at it, Dick."

His friend passed it over; and Tracy turned the leaves rapidly until he found the page with its list of names. At the very bottom he came on the nom de guerre for which he was looking. He read it aloud.

" 'Bebe'— with initial 'B'!" Then he added quietly. "And that handkerchief—"

"Oh! confound the handkerchief!" cried Singleton irritably. "Your idea is clean impossible. The girl is incapable of crime."

"H'm!" The ejaculation expressed a suspicion that was unmistakable. "What was she doing here then? After midnight, mark you; with a key to which she had no right, and in rooms above which a dead man—"

"How should I know? But I'll pledge my life she is innocent."

Tracy shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, for argument's sake have it so. But look at the business dispassionately. If there's one thing certain in this business it is that someone upon this list murdered Charley Southwell, and the first question is who hid this book in your drawer— Southwell himself; or someone else— that girl, for instance, when she heard you coming?"

"I tell you—"

"Wait, you firework! I'm not urging the girl did it. I merely mention that as an alternative to the idea that Southwell hid it."

"But why should he—"

"Why was he stabbed? For this book or I'm a Dutchman. Whoever killed him searched the flat— his pockets. For what? This twop'ny book, for a guess. They didn't find it because Southwell, knowing they were after him, took the precaution of hiding it where they would never think of looking for it. Sounds a bit thin, I know; but it's the only explanation; unless you are prepared to admit that, the girl—"

"I'm not!" Tracy's face grew thoughtful. "You don't think she was here looking for this?"

"How could she know it was here, on your own suggestion? I tell you she had merely mistaken the flats."

"H'm !" Aleck Tracy's face showed that he was still unconvinced, but he did not argue the matter. His eyes turned to the list before him, and he considered it closely for a little time, then he said quietly:

"Whoever did the thing, the big gun at the head of the precious organisation is ultimately responsible, and for a shot it's the fellow who wears the name at the top of the list here. 'The Doctor.' I'd give a cool thousand to know his identity."

"I'd treble it !" cried Singleton earnestly. "Apparently, Southwell himself was not sure, for across the page there is a query and a name written after it— the only name that isn't an obvious nickname."

"What is It?" asked Singleton quickly.

"Steinmetz! German— of course. But that tells us little or nothing, for the name is a common one."

"But it tells us the sort of man to look for," was the other's reply, "and simplifies the matter to that extent."

"Simplifies!" Aleck Tracy laughed as he echoed the word. "If I know anything about it there's going to be nothing simple about this business, unless Charley Southwell left some further clue."

He began to turn over the leaves, dipping here and there; and as he did so a perplexed look came on his face.

Singleton watched him interestedly for a little time, and, when the other gave a sharp exclamation, inquired curiously:

"Anything there ?"

"Tons! But the queerest jumble! And yet there's a sort of relation and sequence in it. All sorts of international stuff such as you'd expect Southwell to be keen on. Here's a note on the rebellion in Afghanistan last year— which worried the Indian authorities a good deal; and, at the end of it in black capitals is one of the names of this precious list— Rheingeld."

He turned a page or two. "Newspaper cutting here; about the kick-up in Georgia against the Soviet— with another name; something Russian and a regular tongue-twister."

He read again and then cried: "Here's 'The Doctor.' His name's at the end of a note about a big drop in Chilian Government Bonds. He must be the financial big gun of the crowd."

Half a minute later he gave a sharp whistle of surprise.

"Phew! Whatever the secret is, Southwell was up to date. There's a note in reference to a reported daring delivery of machine guns to the Riffs in Spanish Morocco; and under another of these precious names; 'The Dove.' Having wings I suppose he's the airman of the bunch."

He laughed carelessly, turned back to the list of names and as he did so a look of extreme amazement came on his face.

"By the nine Gods !" he cried. "What—"

"Who do you think 'The Dove' is ?" interrupted Tracy excitedly.

"Haven't an idea, of course? But Southwell had; and, by Jove! I believe now that he was on something real. Opposite "The Dove" in this list there are initials— 'G. de St. P.' What do they tell you, Dick?"

"Nothing!"

"Nothing, you duffer! Remember that mad Frenchman who used to go up. and do such crazy stunts over the German line down Messines way?"

"Gerald de Saint Pierre!" cried Singleton as his memory quickened, "A queer fish !"

"Queer? Rotten, you mean. Don't you remember what happened . on Armistice night in Paris ?"

"Great heavens! Yes; he killed a girl ! A brutal business—"

"And got away! Don't forget that! Disappeared off the face of the earth apparently and was thought to have gone out— by his own hand. But here is his name or his initials opposite 'The Dove', which, mild as it is, has wings. Running arms to the Riffs is the sort of business that he would take to like a duck to water. It's a guess―just a guess. I know; but the initials, are those of an airman; and the fellow fits in with Southwell's description of the kind of declassé crowd that he was after. I'll lay a hundred guineas that Saint Pierre is alive."

"Seems so," agreed Singleton thoughtfully, and then added, "if we could find him we should have hold of one end of the string."

"Yes ! But it will be the deuce of a job. The Paris police were looking for him for months, I remember."

"But since they presumed him dead, he'll have grown careless. The fact that Southwell identified him shows that. If we can get on his track—"

"We've just got to. The identity of one of the crowd may be the key that unlocks the whole mystery. We—"

He broke off as the clock chimed. "My hat! Time I was off. I've, got to go down to the club to see a man whom I wired this morning, and who travelled from Paris with Southwell. He may know something. You had better go carefully through this book. Dick. You may tumble on some item that will be helpful."

And leaving his friend with the book he rushed away.

Chapter 10

LEFT TO HIMSELF, Singleton studied the cheap memorandum book for a solid hour without discerning anything particularly helpful. There were other notes of events similar to those which Tracy had quoted, mixed with others of seeming lesser import— the death of a British officer in Russian Turkestan; and a financial panic on the Bourse at Brussels; but there was nothing that gave the slightest clue to the correlation of the events recorded; or to the assassin or assassins of the man Southwell.

After a time he gave up the endeavour to find the clue, and with his eyes fixed on the last name of Southwell's list fell into a reverie. . Was 'Bebe B' a reference to the gin to whom an hour before, he had declared his love? The question troubled him greatly. He had been confident in his repudiation of Tracy's suspicions; but as he remembered the initial upon the blood-stained handkerchief, so oddly coincident with this initial in green ink; her miniature by the dead man's side; and the mystery in which her presence at Belvoir Mansions was shrouded, his friend's suspicions assailed him with a force that shook his confidence. If it should be she; who had—

"No!" he whispered to himself, fighting down the doubt. "No! It is impossible."

He took out the miniature. One look at the beautiful face restored his faith. Those blue eyes with their innocent gaiety could not be the eyes of a murderess! Other things came to buttress his confidence, a memory of her as she stood in his room last night, pleading to be believed: the look she had worn, and last the love which had suddenly quickened within him of which he  had made such daring avowal.

The circumstantial evidence was strong against her; but he could and would trust his instincts. They were a surer guide than — The ringing of the telephone bell on his desk broke on his meditation, and he rose to answer the call.

"Hallo! Are you there? Is that you, Dick?"

"Yes."

"Agatha sneaking. I have only just learned that you were in town from a special edition of the evening papers in an account of that mysterious murder at your place. You must come along here to-night and tell me all about it. I have a reception and dance on, all our political crowd and some others, rather a crush I am afraid: but it will be what the papers call a brilliant assembly, so you really must come."

"But I—"

"Excuses net accepted. I shall send you a card round by hand . And if you do not come and see me greater than Solomon in all his glory. I will never forgive you, never! Besides, if you don't you'll miss the chance of a lifetime. That man of millions and mystery, Shottelius, is coming, practically self-invited; and he has a wish to meet you. Telephoned to me just now—"

"Agatha," broke on her brother. "You know I detest these international financiers. Why does this Shottelius fellow crave my humble acquaintance?"

"I don't know, but he does. I believe he is really eager."

Dick Singleton laughed. He was tickled at the idea that a millionaire whose name was in all men's mouths should be anxious to make the acquaintance of a mere staff-captain; but a second later his sister's voice sounded rebukingly.

"Don't laugh, Dick! I'm serious. Samuel Shottelius really wants to meet you."

Singleton considered, then he laughed again.

"You make me curious, Agatha. The great Shottelius shall have the pleasure."

"Good boy!" came the laughing answer. "I will tell him you are coming, also I shall look out for you myself, for I want first hand news of that murder. You know how I dote on crime. Au revoir."

"Au revoir, old girl!" he answered, and putting down the receiver stood staring into vacancy.

Lady Agatha Carew was his sister, the wife of a baronet, and widely known as a political hostess; and Singleton hated with a consuming hatred the people whom he met at her house, as is the way of men of action with men who only talk. He seldom accepted his sister's invitations, and would not have done so on this occasion but for the mention of Shottelius. Why should the millionaire desire his acquaintance? His mind furnished no answer to the question, and after a little time he gave it up.

"Find out to-night, I suppose ?" he murmured to himself and was just turning anew to the previous question when the telephone bell whirred again, and a moment later he was listening to his friend Tracy.

"That you, Dick? Right-oh! I've got something— not much; but something which explains why poor old Southwell hid his laundry book in your bureau. He sent a letter here for me and— My God!"

With the exclamation the message ceased abruptly, and communication was cut off entirely. Wondering what had happened, Singleton rang up the Club, and inquired for Tracy.

"One moment, sir," came a servants voice. "If you will hold the line, I will find him." He held the line for what seemed an interminable time; then again the voice sounded.

"Captain Tracy is not on the premises, sir. He was here a few minutes ago, but he left hurriedly without a hat. The hall porter says and that is all I can tell you. Shall I ring you up when he returns?"

"Do!"

Dick Singleton set down the instrument once more and whistled softly to himself. Something most unusual must have occurred to take Aleck Tracy into Piccadilly without a hat. What could it be? Once more he was confronted with a question tor which he could find no answer; but as he recalled the tone of the exclamation with which Tracy's communication had so abruptly closed, he was sure that his friend had experienced some shock of surprise.

Further than that he could not get, and though he rang up the club three times in the course of the hours, he learned nothing.

Before going to his sister's house he called at the club; was shown Tracy's hat and coat, learned from the hall porter that when last seen his friend had rushed down the stairs, had hailed a taxi, and driven off.

A little perturbed he took his way to his sister's house. When he arrived there, three automobiles had precedence of his taxi, and looking out of the open window he saw a girlish figure in a light cloak of silk and fur moving under the temporary awning that had been erected. His heart leaped at the sight. It was the girl who had occupied his thoughts for the last twenty-four hours; and he exulted at the thought that they were to meet again so soon.

The girl was followed by an elderly lady with silvery hair; and as the pair disappeared up the steps, too impatient to wait his turn, Dick Singleton stepped out to the pavement, paid the driver generously, and hurried forward. Before he reached the awning, however, two other people descending from the second automobile blocked his way, and moving slowly compelled him to follow suit.

When he reached the place where his sister and his brother-in-law stood receiving, he nodded carelessly at the latter, and as he took his sister's hand, asked in a hurried whisper:

"Agatha, who is the girl in the silk and fur cloak who came in just now?" His sister laughed. "My dear Dick, there are at least a score of such cloaks—"

"The girl has blue eyes— sapphire blue, and hair like kerning corn."

Again Lady Carew's laughter trilled. "Dick! Dick! your scalp gone at last. And to a girl whom—" she broke off abruptly. A sharp light of curiosity flashed in her eyes.

"Mr. Shottelius— to meet you, Dick!" she whispered softly. "He is coming up the steps—"

"D―― Mr. Shottelius!" he whispered back impolitely, but nevertheless turned in the direction of the entrance. As he did so an expression of amazement came on his face. The man indicated was the silvery-haired individual who had been with the goggled man and the dark woman at the restaurant. For a moment he stared in astonishment, and then caught his sister's whisper.

"You know him, Dick? You know why he desires your acquaintance?"

"No!" he answered sharply. "And for the moment he can continue to desire it!"

Without another word he plunged towards the great ballroom, from which came the sound of orchestral music. He wanted time to think, to get a grip on things before making the acquaintance of Mr. Samuel Shottelius.

As he moved forward his mind was busy with the new conundrum presented. In what relation did the millionaire stand to the man in the goggles and to the dark woman who had left that cryptic warning. And why was the man anxious to make acquaintance with him as Lady Agatha had averred? Had it anything to do with the girl who had been at Belvoir Mansions in such tragic circumstances on the previous night?

Chapter 11

DODGING AN acquaintance here and there, he made for a quiet recess behind some palm-ferns, which, whilst he himself was screened from view, commanded the entrance to the great room. Whilst his mind groped with the problem, his eyes were on the bringing either Shottelius or the girl for whose appearance he was watching.

Then there was a little stir about the doorway, a look of interest or curiosity on the faces of those nearest, and a moment later the millionaire entered with the girl on one side of him and the silver-haired chaperone on the other. The man was talking animatedly, entertainingly, for just as they came to a halt both ladies broke into laughter; in which, following some gay retort of the girl's, Shottelius joined.

Dick Singleton considered them narrowly. The girl's blue eyes were apparently unshadowed by the apprehension that he had seen in. them earlier in the day; and her flawless flower-like face wore no sign of care. As she stood chatting there, it seemed to him that she must have experienced some deliverance from the terrors that had so recently beset her; but as he continued to watch he realised suddenly that she was acting a part; that whilst she was outwardly unperturbed, the vultures were gnawing at her heart.

As Shottelius turned to address the elder lady, he saw the girl's sapphire eyes sweep round the room, searchingly. Scarce half the circle was completed when he saw her start and a sharp look of despair came oil the beautiful face. It was there for but the briefest space of time— a fraction of a second; then it was gone like the shadow of a swiftly-drifting cloud on sunlit water, leaving the flower-like face once more serene. But Singleton knew how that the serenity was but a pretence— a mask for hidden terrors. Somewhere in the room, so gay with its decorations of flowers, its delicately shaded lights, its soft music and laughter, was one whom the girl had cause to fear. Who was it?

His eyes searched the assemblage closely. There were faces there that he knew, men of brilliant reputation, women who played great parts in political and social life, but whilst many seemed to have eyes for the millionaire and his companions, in none did he observe anything that-might account for that look which he himself had surprised. A man or a woman? Which was he to look for?

His mind had scarcely asked the question, when he had the answer. He saw Shottelius turn to her again to address some remark, saw the girl begin to smile, and then the smile was cut in half, wiped away by some invisible sponge, and the beautiful face took a sudden, startling pallor.

In the same second he became aware of a tall man, of dark, saturnine countenance, who wore the ribbon or some order, and who had approached the little group plainly with the indention of joining it.

The intention, however, went unfulfilled. The millionaire half-turned, as if for a casual glance round the room, and for a brief space of time his strange eyes, beneath frowning brows, looked at the tall man, who, without giving the least sign of recognition, passed on.

That look, Singleton decided, had been a warning or a command, whichever it was, the tall man's purpose had been changed by it, and convinced as he was that this man was the one whose presence the girl knew to he inimical, he followed the man with his eyes, striving to fix the face in his mind. Whilst he was doing so, Shottelius gave a little how to the ladies and moved on, apparently without having noticed the girl's discomposure.

The elder lady spoke to companion, and the pair turned towards the entrance. In a second Singleton emerged from his leafy screen and began to follow them. People got in his way, hindered him,  but luck was with him, for just as the two ladies reached the doorway, they were halted by their hostess— the Lady Agatha. He made a spurt, and, as he drew near, saw her sister's eyes light up with sudden laughter; and a moment later he was being introduced.

"Lady Arthwaite, may I introduce my brother, Captain Singleton." Lady Arthwaite smiled graciously, made the conventional reply, and then introduced the girl. "My niece, Miss Berrington, Captain Singleton."

The girl held out her hand and Singleton took it. As the blue eyes met his own appealingly, he smiled his understanding; and his voice was reassuringly conventional as he said:

"Delighted to meet you, Miss Berrington, I hope―"

As that moment the orchestra struck up a waltz tune, and breaking off he seized the opportunity it offered. "A waltz! I wonder if I may have the pleasure?"

The girl smiled acquiescence and a moment later they were moving across the floor, in and out, among the throng of dancers.

"I want to talk to you," he said urgently. "The conservatory is over there. If you don't mind―"

She gave no sign either way, her silence only consenting, and he piloted her to the entry to the conservatory, slipping out of the dance as they reached it. With her hand on his arm he led her to a seat half-hidden in the greenery, and a moment later he spoke smilingly:

"Fate is kind after all Miss Berrington. But I did not anticipate such precipitate business."

"Nor I," she answered, quietly.

"It really looks as if out stars moved together," he laughed.

"I hope not," she said with a sudden fervency that startled him.

"You hope not?" he exclaimed in a hurt tone. "That is not very kind."

"It is more kind than you know," was the reply. "When I hope that, I am thinking of your welfare."

"Then you must forget it," he answered quickly. "I have already explained my welfare is yours. If our stars do not move together nothing else matters to me. I think I was the most excited man in London when I saw you mounting the steps of my sister's house; and if you will give me your confidence, Miss Berrington, I know I shall be the happiest."

A look of trouble came on her face.

"You do not know what you are asking, Captain Singleton," she answered. "You can have no idea—"

"Perhaps I know mere than you think," he broke in earnestly. "I have made a discovery since lunch time, something of which the police, know nothing."

He felt her start and as the blue eyes met his they were bright with apprehension.

"What have you discovered ?" she asked in a shaking voice.

"The reason why poor. Southwell was murdered, I think. You see he had talked to the mutual friend whose rooms he was occupying at the time of his death. The story he had told was one that on the face of it was wildly improbable— but in his world as often as not it is the tall yarns that are true, particularly when they are sealed with a man's heart blood, as Southwell's was?"

"Yes! yes! What was. the story?"

"Southwell was after a gang— a rather unusual crowd of crooks judging by their operations; and they must have known it, for they got him as you know. But he left a note-book behind, with a sort of list of the crowd — "

"A list?" she whispered in a stricken way, as her face grew white as milk. He knew that she was utterly shaken by his news  that stark fear was looking forth from the blue eyes, and in a flash, as by some obscure mental process he visioned the last name on the list in Southwell's book, he himself was overtaken by swift apprehension. For a moment he looked at her without speaking.

Her name was Berrington, that much he knew, and the initial letter was that of the last one on the list. Did she answer to the nom de guerre as well? Scarcely had the question occurred to him when he asked abruptly:—

"Miss Berrington, you are not by any chance, called Bebe?"

"Bebe?" She was appalled. Her face and eyes told him that, and the rustle of her shaking hand on the soft silk of her gown was further witness.

"No! No!" she whispered stammeringly. "My... name... is Nerica!"

He was glad to have her name; but he did not know what to believe. For a moment he was silent, then as he looked at- her for a second he saw her eyes, full of troubled fear. Impulsively he stretched a hand and caught hers.

"My dear," he said appealingly. "I want to help you. Won't you be frank with me ? You know that name Bebe? Tell me for whom it stands that I may—"

"I can't!" Her whisper cut on his like a sword. The hand he held was restless in his, but he did not let it go.

"You know I love you!" he said.

"You have told me so!" she answered stonily, as if with a desire to check his declaration.

"And you believe me?"

She did not answer, but sat with eyes downcast, her lips quivering, and again he spoke.

"Nerica, look at me."

Slowly she lifted her head. Her eyes met his. He read understanding in their gem-like radiance, and suddenly he whispered, "You believe me?"

"Oh!... I must!" came the broken whisper.

"And you ?" he asked in a voice that shook with passion. "You—"

"Hush! some one comes."

There was a sound of quietly-moving feet near them, and a second later a man emerged from behind a group of massed ferns. Singleton felt the girl start;  and then he recognised the tall dark man who at Shottelius's cold stare had turned aside. The man looked round, saw them, and began to move towards them, just as voices sounded. Two other people appeared round the green bank of ferns— Lady Agatha and her millionaire guest Shottelius.

Singleton heard his sister cry cheerfully: "Ah, there's Dick!"

And almost at the same moment the tall man halted in front of Nerica Berrington, and said in a suave voice, "My dance, I think, Miss Berrington !''

Chapter 12

AS THE dark man claimed Nerica Berrington, Singleton heard her give a little gasp, as of fear, and was himself conscious of a surge of anger at the intrusion. He did not believe that the girl had promised a dance at all. For one thing she had no card; and for the second, remembering how Shottelius's cold stare had driven the man off in the ball room, he was morally certain that this was the first time he had addressed the girl since her entry into the house.

Sure that that mans advent was unwelcome he was about to claim the dance himself when to his surprise the girl rose quickly to her feet and placed a hand on the others offered arm.

"I had forgotten," she said with a nonchalance that astonished Singleton almost as much as her apparent willingness. The man's dark face creased in a smile.

"I could not forego the pleasure, Miss Berrington."

The next moment they were, moving away, and before Dick Singleton had recovered from his astonishment, his sister and the millionaire were upon him.

"Dick," cried the Lady Agatha laughingly, "I have brought Mr. Shottelius to make your acquaintance. He won't confess it, but I believe his real interest is in the murder at your place. It is very morbid of him, don't you think?"

Mr. Samuel Shottelius laughed quietly, and lifted a deprecating hand.

"That is unkind to me, Lady Agatha, and uncomplimentary to your brother, whom I am really glad to meet."

"Oh," laughed Lady Agatha, "there is no need to be ashamed of a really human interest! Since Cain killed Abel the vivid patches of life have been supplied by murderers. When I can get Dick alone I'm going to make him tell me all about that business at Belvoir Mansions. I simply love murders— in books and out, though as a rule those in books are the most interesting."

Mr. Shottelius laughed the quiet laugh once more.

"I imagine that is because the literary murders are the creation of men's brains, whilst the real ones are just the bald, brutal outbursts of their blind passion. Don't you agree with me, Captain Singleton?"

The man had a certain charm of manner, and a rich soft voice of wonderfully ingratiating quality. He was far removed from the ordinary conception of the pushing millionaire who has climbed ruthlessly to financial power, and his odd-looking eyes twinkled merrily as he asked the question.

As they met his, Dick Singleton was a little startled. They were the strangest eyes he had ever seen; a cold blue with specks of light brown, and the iris of the right, eye was parti-coloured, having a wedge-like section of brown in the midst of the blue. His mind registered the oddity, and then he replied affably.

"I am afraid I am not an expert, Mr. Shottelius. One swallow does not make a summer, you know, and I detest the kind of fiction in which Agatha revels."

"His taste is crude— barbaric," laughed the lady. "Boxing stories, novels about impossible horses, and 'Lorraine, Lorraine, Loree' things in which lady steeplechasers break their pretty necks, but save their worthless husbands! Appalling creations! But I must hurry back. It's a perfectly canine life to be a hostess."

She laughed and flitted away, whilst Mr. Shottelius seated himself in the place vacated by Nerica Berrington.

"You will talk with an old fogey for a little while, Captain Singleton?" he asked smilingly. "I really don't know why I came here to-night. Dances are not old men's delights."

Dick Singleton sat down quite sharply. There was a smile on his face.

"I can't stand Agatha's crushes myself," he said cheerfully. "The political shop stuff thrust on one here nearly makes me weep."

He spoke lightly, but the thought in his mind was serious enough. Agatha had telephoned that this man wanted to meet him; and having made the recognition he had, one question marched in his brain.

"Why? Why? Why?"

The millionaire did not long leave him in doubt. He laughed tolerantly at the younger man's confession.

"I do not wonder at that," he said. "Politics is really an old man's game; and why pretty women and vigorous young men should concern themselves with it is an abiding mystery. Youth should find its distraction in life — and love."

He laughed over the last word, then as he drew out a cigarette case and offered it to the other, he laughed again.

"You must have found interest enough in the last twenty-four hours, Captain Singleton. Dick Singleton nodded, and as he did so his mind registered the conviction that Agatha's jesting words had made a bull's eye.

"It hasn't been dull," he admitted as he lit the cigarette.

"No. Mysterious crime is never dull, and that at Belvoir Mansions, certainly does not appear to lack mystery."

"Police seem in a complete fog," agreed Singleton carelessly. As he spoke he looked through a thin veil of smoke at the man by his side. Mr. Shottelius was staring up the green avenue in front of him, a thoughtful look in the strange eyes, his face almost in profile. With its clear-cut features, wide brow crowned with wavy hair of silver, and Vandyke moustache and beard of the same hue, it was, Dick Singleton thought, a face that with its fineness had a hint of power.

Then as if he were conscious of his inspection, Mr. Shottelius's eyes left the greenery in front and turned to him, smilingly.

"The police!" There was a faint shrug of the shoulders. "What do you expect? In their youth they are chosen for their brawn, and are matched against the cleverest brains in the world. No wonder they move in a fog. You require wit, nimble minds, and swift intuition for the detection of crime— and we—" There was another shrug of the shoulders, a little laugh of contempt, and then the remark was completed— "Well we have the police."

Singleton offered no comment, and after a moment Mr. Shottelius laughed again lightly.

"I am always intrigued by any mystery of crime. Sometimes I have played with the idea of starting a research bureau for my own amusement, to offer aid to the befogged police as the experts do in the stories. I am quite sure if I were in your shoes I could not rest until I had elucidated the mystery of that dead man whom you found last night."

As he finished speaking his keen eyes fixed themselves upon the young man. There was. Singleton thought, a light of expectancy in them  an expression on the handsome face that seemed to Invite confidence. He did not give it.

"That's the job for Scotland Yard!" he said carelessly.

"Then you are not tempted?" came the laughing question. "You are not Intrigued by the mystery as I am? You do not covet the thrill that the risk of such investigation would beget?"

Singleton looked at the other wonderingly. "Risk!" he echoed. "Why should there be any risks?"

Mr. Shottelius shrugged his. shoulders. "Surely you do not think that the murder at Belvoir Mansions was an ordinary crime? It has elements that lift it out of that category altogether. As an amateur I have studied the case closely so far as the newspapers have reported it. I even sent one of my secretaries to the inquest to take notes for me—"

"The goggled man!" exclaimed Singleton taken by surprise.

The millionaire's alert eyes beamed. "Ah! you noticed him. You saw him. With me afterwards at the Medici Restaurant? It was little enough that he had to report. The police were very reticent; they gave an amateur little to go upon, but their reticence was instructive. Added to what the newspapers have ferreted out about Charles Southwell it convinces me that there was much more than a mere vulgar crime of violence whether of passion or of robbery. That is why I used the word risk. The man who did that killing would kill again before would be taken. The pursuit of him would have all the charm of tiger-hunting on foot without a shikar."

Mr. Shottelius laughed as he concluded, and Singleton looked at him with a new interest.

"You have hunted tigers?"

"Yes! And all other big game! But I grow old for such strenuous pleasures, and find my excitements and thrills in other ways; in trying, instance, to work out deductively such mystery as that presented in your friend Tracy's flat last night. It is quite an entrancing pursuit— and when one is on the verge of age and rich, such diversions are very welcome; for with most of one's ambitions realised there is not much left in life. 'Vanitatus Vanitum' you know. It is the wail of what the world calls successful men."

There was a gentle melancholy the rich voice, a shadow in the blight eyes, as he spoke, and Singleton looked at him wonderingly. It was not so that he had conceived the life or millionaires. He did not speak, however. He was still curious as to why this man had sought him out; and as he wondered there leaped in his mind a remembrance of things that in view of the interest Shottelius displayed became very significant. There was the odd smile of the goggled secretary as the girl had left the coroner's court, the incident of the dropped note in the restaurant; the warning glance the dark-eyed woman had flashed at Shottelius, the cryptic message she had left for himself. An appalling thought leaped in his mind. Had this man by his side, with his dilettante interest m criminology, already connected Nerica Berrington with the crime at Belvoir Mansions?

He saw peril for the girl whom he loved in the millionaire's interest; and when next his companion spoke, resuming where he had left off, he was completely on his guard.

"A hobby, however, is the foe of ennui. It gives life a flavour, the interest that life itself denies, and if it is an intriguing one like the solving of mysteries, it may become really exhilarating."

The millionaire gave a quiet laugh. "I positively envy the men at New Scotland Yard. They can never find life dull― but by withholding knowledge they can succeed in making it dull for other people."

"How?" asked Singleton. "I do not understand."

"No?" Mr. Shottelius shrugged his shoulders. "I will explain to you. That inquest this morning revealed practically nothing except that a man, late an officer in the Intelligence Department, had been stabbed in a borrowed flat. It gave no lead as to any motive, it was silent as to any possible clues; it brought to light, well— just nothing!"

"It was certainly a very bald proceeding!" agreed Singleton. "Yes! Too bald, Mr. Singleton. There must have been something more than the police made known— something left behind or something in the dead man's papers indicative of―" He interrupted himself. Then he said crisply, "You, I gather, were first to discover the crime. You went into the dead man's flat, you saw everything before the police arrived— tell me, was there anything that could indicate what was behind the crime?"

As the question was asked the pale blue eyes with their brown motes transfixed Singleton with a gaze that was extraordinarily piercing. It seemed to the young man that they were striving to read his very soul. He found the stare sufficiently embarrassing, and for a second he felt his own eyes flicker; then he replied carelessly: "I saw nothing. The flat had been gone through. The man's papers were disturbed; but he had not been robbed. He had a jewel on his finger, his money―"

"Oh, money! It is not for that only that men do murder. There are other things. Captain Singleton, as you must know."

Mr. Shottelius' tone was almost contemptuous. Singleton had a feeling that the man did not believe him; but he gave no sign of it.

"As I have explained, Mr. Shottelius, I am not an expert— or even an amateur— in crime detection. If you wanting any further light on poor Southwell's death I am afraid you must apply to Scotland Yard―"

"Scotland Yard !" The millionaire made a gesture of impatience. Would you have me draw water from a rock?"

He leaned forward suddenly. "You were talking with Miss Berrington when I came to find you? Lady Agatha introduce you a quarter of an hour ago. Tell me, was that really your first meeting with her?"

For one moment Dick Singleton stared at the man, astonished. All the implications of the question were at the gallop in his mind. Shottelius knew more than he had professed. How far did his knowledge go? As he asked himself the question he was aware of a surge of panic feeling; then conscious of the other's watchful eyes, he pulled himself together, and knowing that he was telling the man nothing replied coolly enough.

"I saw her at the inquest this morning. and afterwards at the Medici―"

"Yes, Yes ! I know. You were there together. I saw you. All that is within my knowledge ; but just now you were introduced as strangers―" He broke off, laughed in a way that sent a cold aura through Singleton, and then with a cool impertinence said quietly: "I wonder why? I wonder if this morning witnessed your first meeting? I wonder if you met — last night?"

The last two words were spoken quietly, but with a significance that was not to be mistaken. Dick Singleton started as they impinged on his ears. The man knew! How or by what means he had reached the knowledge. he could not even guess, but that he knew was beyond question. For the moment, as he thought of what it might mean to Nerica Berrington, he was appalled by the revelation.

Swift anger surged within him. He rose sharply to his feet and stored wrathfully down into the other's benign-looking face. Then he broke out: "You can wonder till the cows come home, d―— n you!"

He cried the words in a mingled heat of indignation and apprehension, and swung on his heel. As he did so he heard Mr. Shottelius laughing softly behind him, and then caught the rich suave voice. "Captain Singleton—"

He heard no more. At that precise moment a figure appeared at the entrance to the conservatory which drove the millionaire clean out of mind — a rather dishevelled figure, in a lounge suit, and with a bandaged head.

It was Aleck Tracy; and without so much as another glance at Shottelius. Dick hurried forward to meet his friend.

Chapter 13

"WHAT—"

"I want you, Dick! Sorry to break on the festivities, but we must hold a council of war. Come along to the Club. I have a taxi waiting—"

Impressed by the urgency of Tracy's manner rather than by his words, Dick Singleton made no demur.

"Wait ! he said. "I will get my coat."

He hurried away, and when he returned found Tracy smoking a cigarette looking nonchalantly in the direction of Mr. Shottelius, who, also smoking, was pacing slowly to and fro in the green aisle.

"Who's that old bird there?" he inquired in a stage whisper, as Singleton touched his arm.

"Mr. Samuel Shottelius— the millionaire."

"Phew ! And you were tête-à-tête with him?" Tracy laughed lightly. "I hope he's letting you into something on the ground floor?"

"I had just, d――d him!" replied Dick shortly.

"You had?" Tracy laughed again. "I should say it was an extravagant pastime to swear at a millionaire to his face. He—"

"Shut up and tell me what's happened!" broke in Singleton. "You've been in the wars by the look of things."

"Had a little scrap down Limehouse way. Nothing serious in itself, but significant. Wait till we're in the taxi and I'll tell you."

They slipped from the house and as it had begun to rain waited under the awning until the taxi drew up, then Tracy gave directions, and as the vehicle glided forward, Singleton spoke impatiently.

"Well?"

"You remember me telephoning?"

"Of course. You cut off suddenly, and I tried to find you. All I could learn was that you'd left the club without hat. I guessed something unusual had occurred."

"Something unusual!" Tracy laughed. "You may call it that. It isn't every day that one sees a murderer walking out of a perfectly respectable club."

"A murderer?"

"Gerard de Saint Pierre!"

"You don't mean it?" cried Singleton.

"I just do! I was at the telephone when through the glass door I saw the fellow crossing the hall. He saw me, recognised me I think; for I caught just a flicker of his eyes, and then he almost bolted. I followed as fast as I knew how, but was hung up for a second at the door. When I got into the street the fellow was already moving away in a taxi. I signalled for another, told the driver to follow cautiously: and then settled down for what was to follow.

"It was a long time before anything did follow. Nearly three hours by the clock. I never knew there was so much of London before; but I think I must have made the complete tour, including some acres of the suburbs. That the fellow knew l was after him and was trying to shake me off is certain; for nobody but a lunatic would have taken the route he went, for a joy-ride! From time to time the Jehu reported and at last woke me out of a doze with the welcome news.

" 'Taxi stopped at a public house down the street, sir. Man inside is paying the driver off.'

" 'Then wait here!' " I said. 'I'll be back presently."

"I stepped out into the street myself, a dirty fane of a place running down to the river, just in time to see Saint Pierre entering the house. He never so much as glanced behind him, which ought to have made me careful, but it did not.

"I plunged into the house almost at the heels of him, but when I passed the doors he was not in sight, though there were two loafers one side of a long bar; and a potman on the other.

" 'A gentleman came in just now―' I began, and before I could finish the question, the barman jerked a thumb in the direction of a shut door labelled 'Parlour.'

" ' In there, guvnor.'

"I turned the handle and went in carelessly, and a second later I— er— crashed! helped down with a life-preserver. That's about all I remember, till I came to myself on a wharf on the south side of the river with a dock watchman bending over me and chucking filthy river water in my face.

"I got my senses presently, and was taken to a doctor who stitched and bound me. and then insisted on my lying on a couch in his surgery for an hour: said I'd have concussion if I didn't. It was whilst I was there that I found my pockets gone through. I hadn't a stiver left. My watch was gone—"

"I thought Saint Pierre was rich!"

"So he was ! But there was something else gone— the letter which Charley Southwell had sent to the club, which would be of no value to any common robber."

"Someone— say the watchman or the fellows who transplanted you to the wharf, may have taken it on the chance "

"You think so?" Tracy laughed sceptically. "Wait! I had read that letter . It stated that Southwell knew of his danger; and that for safety's sake and to ensure that his work would not be wasted, he had used my key on your rooms and had put that memorandum book of his in your bureau drawer, and a full account of his investigations in a foolscap envelope in a Times Atlas of yours. The letter said that if anything happened to him the papers and the book ought to be taken to Sir James Selsey of the Foreign Office Department."

"He's in Constantinople just now. I saw it in the morning paper."

Tracy laughed dryly. "Makes no difference. He's not due to see Southwell's statement yet awhile—"

"No?"

"Nor anybody else that matters," Tracy laughed again. "When I got to Belvoir Mansions both your flat and mine had been gone through by a detective."

"A detective?"

"Bogus!" Aleck Tracy laughed once more. "Must have had a nerve considering that there's a policeman still on the premises. But whoever the fellow was he was most convincing, and neither Jackson nor the constable suspected him; the latter having been prepared for the visit by a telephone message... I hadn't the ghost of an idea- that anything was wrong about that visit till I went into your flat, and saw your bureau had been ransacked and that the Times Atlas was on the floor— then I tumbled to it!"

"That crowd of Steinmetz's— of course! They've got Southwell's statement!"

"Yes. and the book too, I guess―"

"No," said Singleton quickly. "I have it. I did not leave it at the flat. I have it with me."

"Good! That's one to us; but all the same you're due for a knock on the head; for whoever burgled the flat must guess that you have the book―"

"Who do you suppose it was? Not Saint Pierre?"

"No! That's not his line I fancy: though he took the letter from me I expect. If I could only run against, him again."

"He must be known at that public house where you were knocked out."

"Yes, but the public isn't known to me. It was on Limehouse Reach, somewhere on the north side of the river; but where heaven knows; for when the watchman half-poisoned me with Thames water I was on the south side. But there's one hope! Somewhere in London there's a taxi man who is swearing he's been bilked — badly. He'll be hunting for me and probably he's already been to the club to find me. If I can only get in touch with him. But here we are. Well inquire now."

The inquiry was vain. The taxi-driver had not made any inquiry for his vanished fare, and assured of that the pair turned into the smoke room, and finding, a quiet corner called for refreshments. Whilst they waited Singleton asked a question.

"Aleck, do you know anything about Shottelius?"

His friend laughed. "No more than what is common knowledge. He is the mystery millionaire dear to the sensational Press. Nobody seems to know how he made his pile, but that he has one is sure, big as Mont Blanc from all accounts. He's a patron of the arts, and a philanthropist in a big way. They say he's the man who gave that anonymous quarter of a million to the hospitals, and I believe it's a fact that he refused a peerage! But why this thirst for information?"

Singleton told him, and Tracy whistled softly.

"Phew! Here's a complication." He was silent for a few seconds, then he cried sharply: "But how did he find out that the girl— Miss Berrington didn't you say— had been to Belvoir Mansions?"

"I was waiting for you to ask that," replied Singleton. "It struck me as queer that he should know. But, of course, he may have heard about the handkerchief—"

"It hasn't been in the papers. It wasn't mentioned at the inquest."

"No! But that is not to say that Shottelius hasn't heard of it! A fellow with his purse might easily buy the knowledge."

"Yes! Yes! And if, as you say, he is an amateur investigator of crime, he'd go to some trouble to get his data. He may have heard of the handkerchief, and learning that Miss Berrington had been at the inquest have put two and two together and made then into five. But it's awkward that he should butt in! You say he knows the girl ?"

"Yes! Recent acquaintance. I am sure she didn't know him this morning. She—" He broke off and a worried look came on his face, which made his friend ask:

"What is it, Dick ?"

"I must go back to Agatha's at once, I think. Miss Berrington ought to be warned about Shottelius' interest; and put on her guard. I'll go at once."

"Right," said Tracy, holding out his hand. "But I'll take Southwell's book and put it in the club safe. Those fellows didn't find it in the flat, they know it isn't about my person, they'll naturally conclude that you have it."

He laughed cheerfully. "If they should knock you on the head it is just as well they should draw a blank."

Singleton agreed, and producing the book handed it to his friend.

"I shan't come back here. I shall go to the flat when I leave Agatha's."

"Right-o! I'll sit up for you. But keep an eye lifting. Life preservers are unpleasant implements to encounter, as I can bear testimony."

And with a laugh he waved his friend away.

Chapter 14

THE RAIN had passed, but the wet street was glimmering under the electric lights as Dick Singleton stepped out of his club and looked round for a taxi. There was none in sight, the usual prowlers having been snapped up by pedestrians caught m the shower. Impatient of delay he began to walk forward; and absorbed in his thought did not notice a woman who had slipped by him seeing his face by the brilliant light streaming from a club doorway.

He reached a point where a rather badly-lighted street joined the main thoroughfare, and just as he stepped off the pavement he caught the sound of a woman's scream for help, and as he turned instinctively, saw a feminine figure running towards him pursued by two men. In the hands of one of the latter there was something that gleamed, a knife as he guessed, and instantly he ran forward to intervene.

As the fugitive reached him she gripped his arm, and in a shaking, breathless voice, cried:

"Oh, sir― help... help..."

A second later before he could shake his arm free, the woman's two pursuers were on him, and though he struck at the first with his left hand they closed bearing him down, and the woman with him.

A heavy hand fell on his mouth, half suffocating him and effectually preventing an outcry. A thumb and finger found his eyes, pressing on them with hideous threat.

"Lie still or―"

Someone dropped on his legs, making it impossible to kick; but he had one arm still free, and in spite of the unfinished sentence so full of dire significance, he was still struggling he became conscious of a light, deft hand, searching him.

With that, understanding came to him, and could have laughed aloud. He had fallen to a common ruse of the violent underworld of all cities; and now was being robbed. Well, it was not worth while risking his life for such possessions as he had with him; and he collapsed supine. The light hand worked swiftly through the few pockets of his dress suit; then he gave a start as the woman's voice whispered, "There is nothing!"

"Try again! His clothing!" whispered a man's voice hoarsely. "Quick, "

The light hand moved over his body pressing here and there, searching all places where anything might be concealed, silently, swiftly, with the sure touch of a practised hand.

Stumbling steps were approaching. He heard them distinctly, and then a tipsy voice raised in flippant and discordant song:

"Does the shpearmint looshe ish flavour

On t-the b-bed posh..."

Then again, there came the masculine whisper: "Quick! Quick!"

"It is not here," answered the woman's voice.

"Are you sure?"

"I will stake my life upon it!"

The pressure on Singleton's mouth and eyeballs suddenly ceased. The weight was lifted from his legs, and as he opened his eyes, with the staggering steps and song of the reveller there mingled the sound of running feet.

He heaved himself up. and looked up and down the street ; but could see nothing. The pressure on his eyeballs had been severe, and for the moment his vision was obscured by concentric rings whirling like so many catherine-wheels, and stabbing with a thousand points of fire; whilst there was an intolerable ache behind his eyes.

The shambling feet of the maudlin singer were almost upon him, but he could not see the man; and with a sudden fear that his sight had suffered some moral injury he backed against the wall to allow the man to pass. Then as the reveller reeled by, to Singleton's relief the whirling wheels ceased to revolve, the stabbing points of light faded into darkness, and as his vision cleared he looked up and down an empty street. He straightened himself, caught sight of his opera-hat lying in the gutter, picked it up, then quite suddenly gave a sharp laugh.

"A near, shave," he muttered; "If Tracy hadn't had the forethought—"

He interrupted himself and moved thoughtfully into the main thoroughfare, running his hands over his pockets as he did so. His wallet was gone as also was his watch and gold cigarette case, but he knew that the lifting of these things was no more than a blind. Those who had robbed him had been looking for the note-book which he had left with Tracy. He was convinced of that, and as he walked on he reflected that whatever might be the vices of those against whom Tracy and he were ranged, slackness was not amongst them.

Absorbed in his thoughts, he came opposite the green Park, and at one of the houses became dimly aware of an automobile halting at the edge of the pavement. Two people descended, a lady and gentleman, but in his absorption he would never have noticed them had it not been that their ways crossed each other so closely that, instinctively, he halted to let the lady pass. As he did so, she half turned, and he caught sight of a white, tense face— the face of the girl so much in his thoughts.

So amazed was he by the unexpected encounter that he cried out:

"Miss Berrington!"

The girl flashed him a single startled glance, and then with averted face hurried forward towards the house opposite. Her escort did not so much as look at Singleton; but the latter looked at him closely. It was the tall dark man who had claimed the dance from the girl an hour before— the man whom, as he suspected, she both feared and hated.

Amazed, he stared after the couple until they entered the house; then he looked round for someone from whom he could obtain information. The automobile was already moving away; but a policeman was coming down the sidewalk, and waiting until he drew level, Dick Singleton accosted him.

"I say constable, do you know who lives in that house there?"

"That, sir, is the residence of Mr. Shottelius the millionaire!"

"The devil it is," cried the young man, and stood staring blankly at the house, whilst the constable, moving slowly forward, watched him over his shoulder with evident suspicion.

Chapter 15

"IN  GOD'S name—" Dick Singleton's whisper broke off unfinished as he stared at the lighted front of the house which he had seen Nerica enter. Questions galloped through his brain. What was the girl doing here at this hour? Who was the dark man— her escort? In what relation did the man stand to Shottelius, to whose house apparently he had unfettered entry?

He found no answer to any of them. But he remembered the change in the girl's face when the man had approached her in the ballroom and the start and gasp of fear when he had claimed her in the conservatory, and as he thought of these things apprehension mounted within him. He was morally certain that she had not come here of her own will. The tense drawn face that he had seen was evidence that she was in some great stress of mind— and the house belonged to Shottelius; who had hinted at her presence at Belvoir Mansions last night!

A little light broke on , him as he remembered that. Had the millionaire, following his taste for criminal investigation, by some threat induced Nerica to visit him, possibly with a view to incriminate her? Anger surged within him at the thought. Impulsively he turned towards the house with some thought of interfering. But before he reached the steps he changed his mind. The hour was late; at least one in the morning; and he had no shadow of excuse for calling at such an hour. Besides it might be as well to find out if Shottelius himself had left Ascham House before venturing oft any unusual course. He turned from the house again.

The driver of a crawling taxi-cab passing at the moment looked towards him inquiringly.

Singleton gave him a signal and as the man pulled up instructed him.

"Ascham House— quick as you can!"

During the short drive he was tormented by the questions to which he could not find answer; and when he arrived at Lady Agatha's, telling the footman on duty, to whom he was known, to pay the fare, he hurried into the house. Another servant took his begrimed coat and hat, and just as he did so, a little group came from the ballroom. It consisted of Lady Agatha, Nerica's aunt and Shottelius, whose odd eyes flashed curiously as they alighted on him. His sister, a little flushed and worried, hurried forward.

"Dick, have you seen Miss Berrington? Lady Arthwaite is tired and desires to leave."

For one moment Dick Singleton hesitated and his gaze went to Shottelius. Did the man know where Nerica was? He could not tell. The man's face was now bland and expressionless, and gave no clue, and baffled, Dick replied, "I have been out, and have but this moment returned, sis."

Lady Agatha nodded understanding.

"I expect we shall find Nerica in some corner of the supper-room, Lady Arthwaite. Suppose we go there?"

The two ladies moved forward; but the millionaire did not follow. Instead he looked rather whimsically at Singleton.

"I hope you have got over your heat, my young friend," he said with a soft  laugh. "Perhaps I ought to apologise for a rather pressing curiosity—" He broke off, looked after the two ladies, and then laughed again as he deliberately changed the subject. "Chaperones are ever anxious over their charges. I expect that your sister  and Lady Arthwaite will spoil some quite delightful tête-à-tête."

"I don't," answered Dick shortly.

"You don't?" There was a hint of surprise in the voice as if at the other's brusqueness.

"No! Miss Berrington is not here. She is at your house by the Green Park."

Mr. Shottelius gave a start. His strange eyes grew round with surprise. He stared at the young man in wonder.

"You amaze me," he cried incredulously. "How can―"

"I saw her enter. She was with the tall dark-visaged man whom you frowned off when you were talking to her and Lady Arthwaite just after your arrival."

Mr. Shottelius looked at him reflectively for a moment, then he smiled. "You are very observant my young friend, but nevertheless you are mistaken if you think I knew that man―"

"But he has the entree to your house. He did not even ring. He used a key and you tell me―"

"That you are under some misapprehension, Captain Singleton. That key is decisive. It could not possibly be my house that Miss Berrington and her companion entered." He smiled as he caught the look of bewilderment on the other's face; and stepping forward, laid a light hand on the younger man's arm.

"You must believe me, Captain Singleton," he said, suavely. "There is a mistake somewhere."

He paused, then he said tentatively, "I was about to return home. Suppose you accompany me that your mind may be set at rest on the matter. And we might have a I little talk. I desire to serve that young lady in whom you also are— er— interested." He paused again after the last word and smiled at Singleton almost affectionately, then resumed: "I think she is in deep waters; that she is in great need of help; and you might be doing her a service, and myself a favour, if you were to accompany me to my house and talk over matters. At least it would enable me to prove I that you are under a misapprehension as to Miss Nerica being under my roof."

Singleton thought rapidly. He need tell the man nothing if he went; whilst he might learn something that would be helpful.

"I will go with you," he said abruptly.

"Good!" The elder man laughed softly. "Then, perhaps, you will call my car whilst I make my adieu to Lady Agatha. Thank you; I am infinitely obliged."

Quarter of an hour later, the millionaire's car came to a standstill outside his house; and as Dick Singleton stepped on to the sidewalk, he looked quickly round. The vehicle had halted at the next house to the one which he had seen Nerica enter, the front of which was now in darkness, and as he moved forward with the other's hand on his arm, he understood.

"That house there—" he began.

"Is not mine, Captain Singleton," replied Shottelius, smilingly. "I presume that it was there you saw our young lady enter ?"

"Yes! Who lives there?"

"I am afraid I cannot tell you that! Ordinarily it is inhabited by Lady Bellington; but just now it is let. Who the tenant is I do not know. You see," he added, "I am a busy man and not greatly interested in my neighbours, whose interests are not usually mine."

Dick Singleton nodded, and stared again at the dark front of the other house. He was greatly perturbed as he thought of Nerica Berrington, in a house with a man whom she feared, and who was unknown to his near neighbour.

"I have half a mind " he began, as he halted irresolutely.

"To make an inquiry? Yes! I can understand that," answered Mr. Shottelius. "But it would do no good! From the look of things my neighbour has retired for the night ; and no doubt by this time our young lady is driving home with her aunt. You will be wasting time, Captain Singleton."

The millionaire moved forward, the door in front of them opened, as if by magic, proving that Mr. Shottelius was well served. A man m some dark livery relieved them of their coats, and two seconds later Singleton was ushered by his host into a large room which from the books which lined the walls was evidently a library, a cheerful fire of logs burned on the hearth; and the room was lit by the soft light of candles, which stood in silver sconces, on the walls, and in fine candelabrum on the table.

"Be seated, Captain Singleton. That chair by the fire is a cosy one. Please excuse me for deserting you for a moment. You will find cigarettes and cigars on that table to your elbow."

He went out, and left alone, Singleton looked round the room.

Chapter 16

IT WAS A wonderfully soothing apartment. The books that lined the walls, morocco or vellum bound, were, Singleton guessed, the collection of a bibliophile, whilst the well-known artistic taste of the owner found expression in a few pictures which Dick judged were priceless. The furniture was antique, the floor was of polished oak that gleamed in the soft candle-light, with here and there a rug of Eastern manufacture to give warmth. There was nowhere any obtrusion of the vulgarity of wealth; but as a library the apartment was the word in luxury, or so it seemed to Singleton.

He had just reached this conclusion when his eyes were arrested by one of the pictures— a portrait that hung over the oak mantelpiece, the eyes of which seemed to be staring directly at himself, with a quite marvellous resemblance to life. Intrigued, he rose from his chair, and planted himself directly in front of the picture. The portrait was that of a man in the late thirties, with clear-cut features of an extraordinary handsomeness, clean shaven, with dark wavy hair, and arching brows from beneath which looked forth those marvellous eyes.

As he met them squarely recognition leaped into his own. The painter had faithfully reproduced the parti-colour of the right eye, its pupils of light blue with brown motes and with its curious segment; and he knew that he was looking at a portrait of his host when a much younger map. A sprawling name in vermilion on a dark corner of the canvas caught his eyes; and he read it almost automatically.

"Niccolo Barbalano."

Italian of course, he told himself, and it seemed familiar to him but he could not place it at the moment, though he had a hazy feeling that he ought to have remembered it by reason of some unusual circumstance associated with it. He tried to recall the circumstance, but failed, and as he seated himself in the chair again, a soft-footed manservant entered the room with a tray of drinks. A second later the master of the house followed, slippered and in a velvet smoking jacket for which he had discarded his evening coat.

"You will forgive an old man's weakness for comfort," he said smilingly, as he took the chair opposite his guest, "and you will permit me to offer you refreshment. At this hour I myself am limited to a single liquor, but you―" He waved a white and shapely hand to indicate the tray; whilst the manservant looked at the visitor for instruction.

"Whisky and soda," Singleton gave instruction; and after placing the glass on a small coffee table at his side, the man softly withdrew. For a moment Mr. Shottelius did not speak, but seated in a deep arm-chair stared abstractedly at the fire. Then as his guest made a little movement of impatience, he broke the silence.

"You are wondering what I can possibly have to say to you about the charming young lady, who is in your mind, Captain Singleton?" he said in his soft rich voice.

Singleton nodded without speaking, and his host continued:

"That depends in a measure on the extent to which you are prepared to reciprocate my confidence." His odd eyes flashed a, searching glance at his guest as he spoke, and then he laughed softly: "I do not want to be left wondering till the cows come home, you understand."

Dick Singleton did understand. His host was inviting the confidence that had been so violently refused in the conservatory at Ascham House. His mouth hardened a little; and a stubborn look came on his face, as he replied brusquely: "I cannot tell―"

"Wait!" interjected the other, lifting a deprecating hand. "You are concerned for Miss Berrington― not without occasion I fancy. As I said a little while ago she is in deep waters, how deep you have some idea; what I can guess."

The quiet tones were weighted with a significance that filled Singleton with apprehension. Again the conviction assailed him that this suave, smooth-voiced man knew what he had thought was known only to Tracy and himself, and he asked hoarsely:

"What do you guess?"

A smile flickered on his host's face and passed, as he answered in the same quiet voice: "Perhaps guess is scarcely the word for a conclusion reached by sound deductive processes. But I may tell you that almost certainly Miss Berrington was at Belvoir Mansions last night when or about the time that the unfortunate Southwell was murdered, and almost certainly she had an encounter with you―"

"How can you know that?" demanded Singleton, his voice betraying the agitation that he strove hard to repress.

"As I said— by deductive reasoning. The premises? A lady's handkerchief, blood-stained; with a worked initial, and the presence at the inquest of a young lady heavily veiled, whose surname begins with the same letter, the said inquest being the very last function that one of her social standing might be expected to attend."

"The premises do not warrant such a wild conclusion," cried Singleton protestingly.

"By themselves— no! That handkerchief, for instance, might be belong—"

"How do you know about the handkerchief?" interrupted the other sharply. "It was not mentioned at the inquest."

"No. The police gave nothing away there But—" He broke off and smiled broadly, "Well, you know. Captain Singleton, every man has his price, and I can indulge an extravagant whim without having to consider my account at. the bank."

Dick Singleton did not question it. His host's word was no more than confirmation of the possibility he himself had mentioned to Tracy; and he sat there crushed, waiting for the other to continue.

"As I was saying," the millionaire resumed in his rich, impressive voice, "the handkerchief might have belonged to any lady whose name began with the  initial it bore― my neighbour Lady Bellingdon, for instance, but the fact that a young lady to whom it conceivably belong was present at the inquest; and was observed and followed out of the court room by yourself, who discovered the dead man, added to the further fact that when you invited yourself to her table at the Medici Restaurant she showed― well, shall we say very considerable agitation, seems to point—"

"You did not witness our meeting," broke in Singleton sharply.

"Pardon me, I did, fortunately. I was waiting at the Medici for my secretary, who had attended the inquest. I saw Miss Berrington, who I knew by name, enter. I saw you, a stranger to me, follow her; and I was interested in a little human drama to which I had not the key until my man gave me your name, and informed me that Miss Berrington had been at the inquest on the dead man found in your friend's flat. Then since I already knew of that tell-tale handkerchief, I had one of those flashes of intuition that are supposed to be the prerogative of the fairer sex and which whilst not to be compared to sound deductive processes may help to bridge gaps in them. The gap was bridged for me by that intuitive flash! I arrived at the conclusion that Miss Berrington's interest in the inquest was due to something more than curiosity; that her manifest agitation when you appeared was the outcome of some previous encounter of— well, shall we say an unusual character? And the initialled handkerchief loomed portentous, its blood-stain like a red seal to my conclusion."

"But―" began Singleton a trifle helplessly, only to be interrupted a little impatiently.

"By your leave, Captain Singleton. Tonight I saw you introduced to the young lady as if you had previously been utter strangers, which to my knowledge you were not, That was— well—significant. To myself, already entertaining certain suspicions, it was an indication that your earlier encounters were of a character not to be proclaimed from the housetops, and it added force to my conviction; whilst one other thing made It absolutely irresistible."

Mr Shottelius paused, and as he observed the perturbed look, on the face of his guest permitted himself to smile slightly.

"What was that?" snapped Singleton.

"It was when I pressed you rather closely a little while back." This time the speaker smiled broadly. "Your—er —impoliteness was a self-betrayal. It showed you had something to conceal. It proved that my blind inquiry had found its mark. You were touched to the quick. You were more than a little afraid. To me it was conclusive." He broke off, looked at his guest and then laughed lightly. "May I recall the fashion of our school days and say 'Q.E.D.', Captain Singleton?"

Singleton made no reply. He sat there a little overcome by the other's cogency. It was all so amazingly simple, so straightforward and so appallingly right. Denial seemed utterly futile, and he did not know what to say. A great fear shook him suddenly. If this man, a confessed amateur, could reach this correct solution then the police with―

The other's smooth voice broke on his perturbing thoughts. "I will not ask you if I am right. I know I am. Your silence as well as your face tell me that. But I should like an answer to one question, Captain Singleton—if you will indulge me."

"What―" The young man's voice, hoarse and shaking, broke; and Mr Shottelius took the indulgence he had risked.

"It is this! Inspector Lavers, setting forth the facts of the crime at the inquest, made no mention of the one clue afforded by the handkerchief: and yon did not mention anything about the owner of that article, whom, as I presume, you had somehow encountered in suspicious circumstances, was there collusion between you and the authorities there or may I hazard the guess that you had kept back from the police the vital evidence relating to the young lady's presence at Belvoir Mansions last night?"

"I told them nothing!"

"Good!" The millionaire laughed softly, "I was sure of that, but I congratulate you and your discretion. I think, yes, I think, if you will give me your confidence, we may together save our young friend from grave trouble in this matter."

Dick Singleton looked at his host sharply. The strange eyes beamed with benevolence and goodwill. There was a look of expectation in the pale handsome face, and the man's whole bearing invited complete confidence. Very conscious of that invitation and moved by the other's apparent sincerity. Singleton asked impulsively:

"What do you want to know, Mr Shottelius?"

At the question a swift blaze of triumph leaped in the other's eyes. It was there but for a fraction of a second, and was immediately displaced by a grave sympathy; but Singleton saw it and somewhere in his mind the alarm was rung. His distrust of his host experienced a sudden revival. The impulse to confide was checked; and though he gave no sign, he was on his guard, alert, watchful, waiting for what was to follow.

Mr Shottelius leaned forward in his chair, a look of friendliness on his face.

"There is much that I want to know," he remarked, "but first let me say that no matter by what strange circumstance the charming Miss Berrington may have become involved in last night's affair, I am convinced that her association with the crime was altogether innocent. I say that for your reassurance; because I want you to trust me altogether."

"I understand," answered Singleton as the other paused as if for an answer.

"Good!" said Mr Shottelius cheerfully. "As we both have the young lady's interest at heart, it simplifies matters, and a mutual interest in her welfare will redeem my curiosity from impertinence!" He paused again, his elbows on. the arms of the chair, his long, tapering fingers tip to tip, his strange eyes fixed in vacancy; then he resumed in a manner almost judicial.

"The murder of Charles Southwell was no ordinary crime with the common motive of robbery or jealous passion. Of that I am certain. Yet the slayer was in expectation of finding something that was to him very important. The fact that the dead man's possessions, money and so forth, were untouched; though his pockets had been searched and his papers gone through, proves that. Whoever killed this unfortunate man had an ulterior motive. He had gone to Belvoir Mansions, as I said, with certain expectations. That at any rate is how I read the situation from the evidence available. You agree with me, perhaps?"

"Yes!" replied Singleton, unreservedly.

"Then the question that remains is did the slayer find what he went to seek or did he leave it behind for someone else to discover?"

"The police searched diligently, but they found nothing."

"The police!" Mr Shottelius made a little gesture of contempt; and then he leaned forward again, his strange eyes fixed on his guest as if he would read his soul. "I was not thinking of the police or any discoveries they might have made. I was thinking of you, my friend. Did you find anything that would indicate the motive of the crime? You were first on the scene. You had an opportunity accorded to none other. I will be plain. Did you find a paper or a— er— anything that would afford a clue to the murder?"

Dick Singleton was not disturbed by the question. He had seen it coming for a full two minutes, and he was prepared for it. He shook his head almost carelessly.

"I found nothing!"

"Ah!" said Mr Shottelius suddenly loaning back in his chair, apparently bitterly disappointed, his arched hands half-concealing his face, For a moment he said nothing more; then his hands dropped and he looked keenly at his guest, When he spoke his manner no longer appealed for confidence; and there was a marked dryness in his tones.

"Captain Singleton, you are not practising on me the .reserve you used in dealing with the police?"

"No," answered the young man sharply. "Why should I?"

"I do not know!" The rich voice seemed to harden with a sudden menace. "A lack of candour on your part may involve that beautiful Miss Berrington in toils that would be— very troublesome, shall I say? I am sure you would not desire that."

"Of course not!"

"And you cannot help me to save her from that? Remember that at the least the young lady will, be involved in social disaster if It wore made known that she had visited a sot of bachelor flats at midnight."

Flaming anger surged In Dick Singleton at the suggestion.

"I'll wring the neck of the man who dares to do it," he cried wrathfully.

The millionaire shrugged his shoulders. "The police may yet stumble on the truth. If they do―" He broke off leaving the sentence unfinished. "But we really cannot let that happen. It would be too disastrous. If you are unable to help me now, reflection may recall something to your mind that may appear significant. I think we must have another talk. There is your friend— er— Tracy, who lent his flat to the unfortunate Southwell. He may have noticed something— found some papers or documents. I think I should like a little conversation with him. Perhaps you could bring him to see me?"

"With pleasure— if he will come! He's rather a wilful beggar!"

"I am very keen on this matter," said Mr Shottelius half apologetically. "It is not every day one stumbles on a first class mystery. I wonder if tomorrow you could bring him to see me? Stay! I was forgetting. I am due to go to my place near Watlington in the morning." His smooth brow contracted in a frown. Then he said tentatively, "You have a car? Yes! Then perhaps you would not mind a spin. I can give you lunch; or if you prefer it dinner, and whilst I may have company I have a spare room or two. What do you say?"

"If Tracy will agree "

"You must compel him, Captain Singleton," said Mr Shottelius, rising from his chair. "You will find means I have no doubt," he added smilingly. "We really cannot have unpleasant things befall Miss Nerica for the want of a little trouble."

There was, as Dick Singleton realised, a half-veiled threat behind the words so smilingly delivered, a threat which again made him hot with anger; but this time he curbed his wrath, and understanding the interview was over, he also rose. His host touched a bell, and instantly the uniformed man-servant appeared.

"Captain Singleton's coat!"

The man brought it and helped him into it. As he took his hat from the man's hand, Dick was conscious of his host regarding the mud upon his coat.

"You appear to have had an accident, Captain?" he said carelessly.

"A slip on the wet pavement," answered Dick as carelessly,

"Ah! A slip!" A queer light laugh accompanied the words. "It is well to beware of slips when pavements are wet! They may be— er— dangerous!"

For one second it seemed to the soldier that the words had a covert warning, then as the other laughed pleasantly, he dismissed the thought; whilst Mr Shottelius gave directions.

"My house— Rowant End— is well known at Watlington, though it is a little way off, near a hamlet— Christmas Common. You will have no difficulty in finding it. I thank you for indulging an old man's whim."

He bowed a courteous good night, and Singleton followed the man-servant to the door.

Once outside he stood on the pavement to look back. Conflicting emotions surged within him. His mind was a very tumult of questionings. Then his gaze wandered to the next house. It was still in darkness, but even as he looked a light was switched on, and broad beams streamed through the wide fanlight above the door, Someone was leaving the house. He divined that on the instant, and as he did so he hurriedly set a dozen yards between himself and the house, and then reversing, began to walk back again.

He had taken but a couple of steps when the door of the house opened and a man appeared. A second later a whistle sounded, and realising that the man was signalling for a taxi, Dick Singleton moved forward, passing the door of the house, and without any apparent show of interest, scrutinised him cautiously. Apparently the man was no more than a servant, who yawned sleepily, giving Singleton scarcely a glance as he passed. A little way on the farther side of the house the Captain halted to light a cigarette. Up the road shone the lights of an advancing taxi, and guessing that the driver of it was answering the signal of the sleepy man-servant, he waited to see who might come from the house.

He had no hope of that person being Nerica Berrington, who, as he was sure, must long ago have returned to Ascham House, where her aunt awaited her. His surprise, therefore, was correspondingly great, when, as the taxi came to a standstill, the man-servant stepped aside, making way for a girlish figure which he recognised instantly.

"Nerica!"

For a moment he stood hesitating, uncertain what to do. He saw the manservant hurrying across the pavement to open the door for her, and felt that he must act if he would speak to the girl again that night. Following a sudden impulse, he ran lightly forward to the road and slipped to the farther side of the vehicle. The driver, his head turned towards the side-path, did not notice him, and turning the handle of the door quickly, he opened it sufficiently to clear the catch ready for the moment of action. Then he waited.

He heard the other door close noisily and guessed that the fare had entered the vehicle. The voice of the man-servant giving directions reached him distinctly. Then came a preliminary jerk; and as the chauffeur stooped forward, Dick Singleton swung open the door and slipped inside the cab, closing the door behind him softly. A little startled cry sounded in the dim interior.

"Oh!"

"S-s-h-h, Miss Berrington. It is I! There is nothing to―"

Another jerk of the taxi sent him off his feet almost into the girl's arms, and as he recovered himself and appropriated a seat the vehicle swept onward, its driver all unaware of its second passenger.

Chapter 17

FOR A MOMENT after he had taken the seat by her side the girl did not  speak, then she asked, agitatedly:— "Captain Singleton, what is the meaning of this intrusion?"

Singleton laughed at the word. It might be a true description of his presence, but he refused to be abashed.

"I am here first because I love you," he answered cheerfully, "as I had the pleasure of informing you an hour back. That is the reason; and the second is that I mean my offer of help to stand."

"You mean you will force yourself upon me?" she inquired coldly.

"Yes, if I must," he answered boldly. "I will save you from yourself."

"Indeed!"

"Indeed, Nerica. You believe that I love you, you . owned as much at Ascham House, and you—" He broke off suddenly, and groping in the darkness found her hand. "My dear," he whispered, "my dear; do not set barriers between us. I saw your eyes back there They were wells of truth! Why should we play hide and seek with our hearts? You have, need of me— and I... I— Oh, there is no need for words! And I know you are moving amid perils. Do you think I can leave you to stumble among them alone?"

"But―"

"I will not!" he added violently. "You must tell me what all this mystery means. Why you left Ascham House with a man whom you hate and fear—"

"How do you know?" she broke in tensely.

"I saw you when you became aware of his presence in the ball-room," he answered. "I saw despair in your eyes; and I wondered to what it was due. Later, I saw you when the man approached you, but did not interrupt your conversation with Shottelius; and when he came for you in the conservatory I was sure he was unwelcome. Nerica, what is. all this mystery? What has the man to do with you? Why should you accompany him to the house we have just left— "

"Ah, you saw me enter! I remember. You have been there— waiting— ever since?"

"No!" he answered. "I went back to Ascham House to see if Shottelius was still there."

"Shottelius!" she whispered, in amazement. "What had he to do with—"

"Nothing, I suppose. I was worried for your sake; and I asked the policeman who happened to be passing who lived at the house you had entered. He said it was Mr. Shottelius's house "

"Oh! But it cannot be!" cried the girl protestingly, an incredulous note in her voice.

"The policeman made a mistake," he said. "I found Shottelius at Ascham House when I got back there. I challenged him about your visit to his house— but I was wrong, as he easily proved to me. His house is next door to the one "

"Next door!" again the note of unbelief was there. Then she whispered, "Are you certain?"

He laughed. "I ought to be, seeing that I have been sitting there with him for an hour discussing the affair of last night."

"But what.... I mean why should he want to discuss―"

"Oh," interrupted Singleton, " it seems he is an amateur investigator. The problems of crime are a kind of hobby with him, and he is interested in the affair at Belvoir Mansions. He has taken it up, and he has already discovered quite a lot, by deductive reasoning, he says, and he has made me afraid for you."

"For me!" whispered Nerica in a startled voice. "You mean he knows about... about..."

"He guesses you were at Belvoir Mansions last night; and he knows about the handkerchief. How he found out is not clear. He hinted at bribery."

"And he lives in the next house to that one where—"

Her voice, which had begun on a startled note quavered and broke. He felt her shudder, and then he caught a shaken whisper. "Oh! what does it all mean?"

"I do not know," he said unable to follow her thoughts. "Nerica," he urged pleadingly, "will you not trust me?"

"Tell me what you were doing at Belvoir Mansions last night, why you are afraid of that dark-faced man whom you have been with, why it should startle you to know that Shottelius has the next house to the one you have been visiting secretly? Trust me. I—"

"Oh, I dare not!" she cried in a low voice.

"But I must know." he said masterfully. "As I love you I must know, that I may save you from distress. Some I peril threatens you―"

"No ! Not really! It is—" she interrupted herself, sharply as if, she had been on the edge of revealing her secret, and, remembering the note she had left in the restaurant, hot jealousy surged within him.

"It is some one whom you love who is in danger?" he said heatedly. "That note you received at the Medici and which you left behind—"

"You read it ?" she cried reproachfully.

"For your sake— yes ! A man who was in the restaurant with Shottelius— his secretary, in fact, sent a waiter to secure it. I— er— prevented―"

"You are sure it was Mr. Shottelius's secretary?" Her voice was quivering again, and there was in it a note of acute apprehension.

"I have the millionaire's own word for it!" he answered.

"Then―"

The sentence was not finished. Her voice broke suddenly. He felt a quick movement, and, by the light of a street standard saw that she had buried her face in her hands. That some startling realisation of truth had come to her he was sure ; and, wondering what it was, but with jealousy of the unknown one for whom she was concerned still hot within him, he bent towards her.

"What is it?" he demanded. "Tell me!"

"Oh!" she whispered. "I am afraid ! I am deadly afraid! I cannot understand! I — I―"

Her distress shook him to the reins; her fear made him forget his jealous thoughts. His arm stole round her protectingly, and the touch of her set him afire.

"My dear!" he whispered hoarsely. "You must not give way. I do not know what the trouble is; but you are not alone. I stand in with you. I wish you would trust me; tell me what thought came to you just now, everything, so that I may help you— save you from distress."

"No one can help me," began the girl, and broke off as she cried out.

"Put that idea from you ? I do not know how you are involved, but by my love I swear you shall be extricated from this trouble. Answer me one question, my dear, and I will ask no more. That person to whom you gave that miniature, and who was referred to in the note you received at the Medici, whom you are trying to shield— he— he is your lover ?"

"No!" she whispered. "No! I have no lover!"

"But you have!" he cried, exultingly. "I claim that privilege, and you must not deny me."

He bent again towards her. Again a street-light showed him her face. It was very pale, but the eyes that met his were glowing ; and as he saw 'them the beating of his heart grew tumultuous.

"Nerica !" he whispered. "You do not deny me?"

There was no reply in words, but just a slackening of the slight figure as if surrendering itself to his protecting arm.

"Beloved―" As the word broke from him the taxi-cab drew in towards the curb, slackening speed. As he guessed, they, had reached whatever destination the girl was making for; and the vehicle was coming to a standstill. But a second remained to him. He saw her face again, the star-like eyes, the mobile lips, and instantly he stooped and kissed her. That kiss went to his head like rare wine. He did not notice that the vehicle had stopped; for the moment he was oblivious of everything but her responsiveness .

"My dear—"

The driver's arm stretched backward, opened the door, and Nerica started hurriedly from his arm.

"We have arrived," she said quickly.

"Arrived where?" he asked.

"At my aunt's house. I am staying with her for the present. I telephoned to her that I should come here instead of returning to Ascham House. She will be waiting for me."

She slipped out of the cab whilst, she was speaking; and Singleton followed her, to the amazement of the taxi-driver, who could not understand this decanting of two passengers when he had taken up only one,

"Well, I'm d――d!"

"Sure thing!" laughed Singleton gaily, and then gave the man instructions,. "Wait! I want you to take me to Belvoir Mansions."

He turned and moved with Nerica towards the broad steps of the house, the door of which, opening suddenly, let a broad splash of light across the pavement in which he saw her clearly. The beautiful face was flushed; the blue eyes had a radiant gaiety as they met his, the mobile mouth was smiling. For the moment all signs of fear and care were gone, and she was the girl of the miniature that he had found in Tracy's rooms.

"God!" he whispered passionately. "How beautiful you are, my dear!"

Her radiant eyes flashed answer and warning together, indicating a man-servant standing by the open door. Knowing that further intimate speech was denied by that stolid presence, Singleton, in his heart, cursed the man, and then, as they were at the bottom of the steps, and within earshot of the man, he whispered again:

"Courage, sweetheart!" adding, in a formal voice, "I shall give myself the pleasure of calling on your aunt in the morning, Miss Berrington."

"My aunt," she said, as the blue eyes flashed whimsically, "will be very glad to see you, Captain Singleton."

She gave him her hand in adieu, and for the moment their eyes met, then she moved up the steps, and a second later the door closed. Then Singleton returned to the waiting taxi cab, gave the driver full directions, and as he threw himself into a corner of the dark interior, gave himself up to dreamful reverie, which was presently broken by disturbing questions.

"Who was the man whom Nerica had visited; and why did she stand in fear of him? Why had she been so startled to learn that Shottelius lived next door to the house she had so recently left? Did she suspect that the two were in conjunction?

As he asked himself the question, he recalled the millionaire's denial of any knowledge of his neighbour; and at the same time remembered the way in which without any sign of recognition, Mr Shottelius had frowned on the man who had obviously intended to join the little group of three. What did it all mean? He could not even guess, and he was still considering the conundrum when the taxi-cab drew up at Belvoir Mansions. Jackson was still on duty; and asking him to pay the driver, he ascended to his flat, to find Tracy awaiting him.

Chapter 18

"HALLO, DICK!" greeted his friend as he observed the grime on his coat, "you've been down in the mud."

"Yes," answered Hick with a short laugh. "It was just as well that you took Southwell's book or―"

"Phew!" Tracy whistled sharply. "They tried you, then?"

"In a side street! I fell to a little plan in which a woman was concerned. The old familiar stunt, she was in danger, and like a hero I went to her help. They got me down, and it was the woman who searched me and cleaned me out."

"You don't think they were just common thieves, Hick," asked his friend thoughtfully.

"I know they weren't," replied Singleton, and proceeded to give a full account of what had happened.

When he finished Tracy nodded agreement. "You're right, of course. That gang must be keeping a pretty close watch upon our goings, or they wouldn't have laid for you so soon after leaving the club. They think we've got Southwell's book; and as they most certainly obtained possession of the document he left in the Atlas, they may think there is more in the book than there is, I'll lay a thousand guineas that if either of us were to make a course for Sir James Selsey at Constantinople he'd be shot before he got there. Those fellows mean business."

Singleton nodded. He had no doubt in the matter at all. Then Tracy spoke again.

"But we've one clue to the gang— the Dove! If we can come up with Gerard de Saint Pierre, we may surprise the lot. And after tonight―" He broke off and felt the bandage on his head. "Well, if I do meet him, when I am through with this, he'll be no subject for an academy picture for―"

Hick Singleton did not follow the rest of his friend's words. By some odd trick of mental association the mention of the word picture switched his mind back to that marvellous picture of Shottelius in the millionaire's library; and suddenly he broke in on his friend's words.

"Aleck! Do you know anything of a painter-fellow of the name of Nicolo Barbolano?"

Tracy stared at him in amazement. "In God's name what's he got to do with this business?"

"Nothing that I am aware of I am just a little curious. He painted the portrait of a man whose acquaintance I made tonight."

"Then the man was favoured— and lucky, for Niccolo Barbolano, who was a master, paints no more portraits. The anarchists of his native land got him three years hack. Blew up his studio with a bomb. It was said that in his youth he had been connected with them, and as he was suspected of being engaged on his memoirs, in which he might have given things away, his early friends ensured his decease before he could do them any harm. I've got an account of him upstairs; one of those little art books that ladies anxious for culture buy. Agatha, who crams this stuff, sent it to me, and in a moment of aberration I read it through The fellow could paint! There are some reproductions in colours, mostly portraits

"Fetch it down!" interrupted Singleton sharply. "I want to see it— now!"

Aleck Tracy looked at him and saw that he was in earnest and, rising from his chair, left the room. Singleton awaited his return in a fever of impatience. in asking to see the hook he had acted on an unconsidered impulse, with no clear reason for doing so, except that he had seen one of Barbolano's pictures at Shottelius's house; and when Tracy returned, carrying the little vellum hound hook, he was a little annoyed with himself for having yielded to the Impulse.

"There you are," laughed Tracy, tossing it to him. "I don't know why you are so suddenly interested in Art. One of your confounded hunches, I suppose."

Singleton took the book, and almost at random begun to turn over the pages, reading swiftly. The account of Barbolano given by his friend was substantially correct, except that the writer of the brief memoir stated that whilst the Anarchists had been blamed for the painter's death, there were many of his friends who had knowledge of mysterious and secret associations in his life, who doubted that the Anarchists had any hand in the business at all; whilst Verraci, one of the prominent Anarchist leaders, had written a note to the public Press denying that the Black Brotherhood had any complicity in the master's unhappy end.

Dick Singleton read so far, and then began to turn over the pages, looking at the reproductions which illustrated the text. They were very numerous and mostly portraits, some of the subject bearing names of international renown, but Singleton passed them by with the most casual glance, and went on turning over the loaves until he came upon the one he was seeking, the reproduction of the portrait that he had seen at Shottelius's house. The curious eyes, so life-like even in the reproduction, hold his gaze for a moment; and  then, carelessly his gaze wandered to the description at the foot of the page, As it did so, an amazed expression came on his face. He started so violently that the book was jerked from his hand, and at the same time he cried out in a startled voice:

"God in heaven!"

Tracy stared at him in astonishment. "What in thunder has set you?"

Singleton dived for the book, retrieved it and hurriedly began to turn over the pages again whilst the other watched him curiously. He found the portrait which had so startled him, glanced at it again, and then, as he thrust the book into Tracy s hands, with a voice that had in It a thrilling note of excitement, he cried:

"Look at that! Book at the bottom of the page. Read! Mark! Read! Digest! My God! To think we should stumble on the truth so."

Aleck Tracy looked once at the picture, then read the description aloud.

"Portrait of Dr. Steinmetz!" He laughed sharply. "My hat!" he cried. "If it should be the Steinmetz!"

"It is!" answered Singleton in emphatic conviction. "I haven't a doubt of it, though Steinmetz isn't his name today. Tonight I have seen the original painting of which that picture there is the reproduction— a marvellous thing; and I have seen the living original too—"

"In heaven's name, who?' cried Tracy wonderingly.

"Shottelius!" Dick Singleton almost shouted in his excitement.

For a moment Aleck Tracy stared at him in amazed incredulity, then he gasped: "The Millionaire? Dick, are you serious?"

"As serious as ever I was In my life. The portrait is the mantelpiece picture in his library! It is a younger man than Samuel Shottelius, of course much younger, and there he is beardless; but his odd eyes and the parti-coloured right―"

"Great Scott! I remember noticing them whilst the old boy was doing sentry-go in your sister's conservatory. They―" He checked suddenly and stared at the portrait in his hand like a man fallen into a trance. Singleton did not know it, but as he stared at the face depicted there, his friend was busy mentally transforming those features as they would be after the lapse of twenty years; transmuting the dark hair and brows to silver, clothing the smooth face with a beard:— a trick that most men of imaginative mind can do. Then he cried out again, sharply:

"By heaven, you're right, Dick. It's the millionaire or his twin brother."

"It is no twin brother. It is the man himself. I have been sitting opposite him for the best part of an hour tonight, with that portrait looking down upon us. And the thing can't be just a coincidence. It is too wild for that. And there are other things that point the same incredible way. Think of them, Aleck. Steinmetz's name is at the head of Southwell's precious list, familiarly known as The Doctor, and here's Shottelius, with a portrait that is marvellously like what he must have been years ago— a portrait that we know is that of a Dr. Steinmetz. And Shottelius is deeply interested in this affair of Southwell's death. An amateur interest he claims; but he knows too much. Yes! by heavens! he knows too much!"

In his excitement he began to pace the room; whilst Tracy waited patiently for an explanation. It came presently. In a jerky way Singleton told him of his visit to Shottelius's house; of the long conversation, of the conclusions which the millionaire had reached, as he claimed, by deductive reasoning, and sketched rapidly all that had been said and hinted until he reached the point where Shottelius had questioned him as to anything that he had found that would afford a clue to the murder, where, he broke off and cried excitedly.

"Great heavens! of course!"

"Of course!" echoed his friend dryly. "But why? Turn the searchlight on. I can't connect up with your unspoken thoughts, however luminous they may be to you, you know."

"The fellow knows too much, as I said. He is keen, and in his keenness he nearly gave himself away."

"How?" came the sharp demand.

"He asked me a direct question. 'Did you,' he inquired, 'find a paper or a―?' He broke off sharp there, and made the question general, but I'll swear, I can fit in the conclusion of that broken question. I'll swear the word was note-book."

"It is possible," agreed Tracy lightly.

"Possible? It's a certainty. You did not hear the man. He caught himself stumbling, and jerked into a generality. But he did not believe me when I said I had found nothing. He hinted as much; and later he hinted of trouble for Ner— for Miss Berrington, if I were hiding the truth. There was a kind of threat in his words that made my gorge rise, and I let out; but later I promised to take you to see him at his country house near Watlington tomorrow. I hope you'll go. You simply must, Aleck! This Steinmetz business puts the coping-stone on the affair. We don't need to worry about 'The Dove' or any other of the lesser, names in Southwell's fancy list. We will work at the top name of the lot; round the person of the super-criminal who sent Southwell out; and we ought to get on to a number of rather startling things, whilst if we can prove Shottelius's identity with Steinmetz and can link up the crime to Shottelius through whoever committed it, we shall cause the sensation of the century."

Aleck Tracy laughed shortly. "It sounds a pretty tall order," he said. "But supposing we do it, Dick; and supposing we find that the charming Miss Berrington's implicated in the death of poor Southwell, what then ? Shall we go forward and let justice take its unswerving course?"

"Don't be an idiot, Aleck. That girl had nothing to do with the crime. I'll risk my soul on that."

"All right," answered his friend. "It's your soul, not mine, but it will be as well to take mundane precautions towards keeping soul and body together, I think. Tomorrow, before I go with you to Watlington, I shall slip down to my gunsmith's and purchase a neat and small but effective automatic. One can't lug a big military revolver about England—" He broke off, and then said quickly, "I hope you'll take a like precaution, Dick."

"Yes!" answered Singleton quietly. "It is the obvious thing to do. If Shottelius is indeed Steinmetz, then we have got to be both watchful and prompt in action. If he suspects that we are linking his present incarnation to the concealed one of Steinmetz, then it will be a case of the quickest eye and linger. Southwell's death proves that."

"Yes!" Aleck Tracy laughed cheerfully. "It looks as If things might become lively. I'm glad of that; for they've been mortal dull since Jerry saw the error of his ways. At what time shall we depart for the wilds of Oxfordshire?"

Dick Singleton thought for a moment; and then, having in mind the engagement he had made with Nerica, he replied quickly: "After an early lunch— say one-thirty. The fellow promised us dinner and beds if we want them."

"Beds!" Tracy mocked. "If you're right hi your deductions then I'd as soon sleep without Daniel in the lions' den. But I'll be at the garage on time, if I don't see you between whiles. So long, Dick."

He left the flat; and as soon as the door clicked behind him, Singleton stretched a hand towards the table, and picked up the little work on Niccolo Barbolano. Rapidly he turned over the pages until again he found the picture of Dr. Steinmetz. He examined it closely; and when he had finished he drew a long breath. No shadow of doubt remained. Feature by feature, excepting the silvered hair and the beard of more recent growth, the portrait before him was that of Mr. Samuel Shottelius, and the odd lifelike eyes were quite unmistakable. He stared at them fascinated, till to his imagination their unusual brightness seemed to become a glare of menace, then he laughed harshly.

"An amateur investigator! It is a good pose for an arch-criminal. But— well, we shall see!" And putting the book carefully away, he gave himself up to pleasanter reverie, in which a girl's flower-like face, with eyes of sapphire-blue, came and went, now full of gaiety, now shadowed by apprehension, then quick with appeal or at the last flushed with the soft radiance of love.

Chapter 19

IT WAS almost noon when Dick Singleton rang the bell of Lady Arthwaite's house. His summons was answered by the footman whom he had seen on the previous night, and of him he promptly inquired:

"Lady Arthwaite at home?"

"No, sir! Never before lunch."

"And Miss Berrington ?"

"Not at home, sir!"

"But she is expecting me," said Singleton quickly. "Please inform her that Captain Singleton would like to see her."

"That is impossible, sir. Miss Berrington is really not at home. She left for the country, rather hurriedly, after breakfast this morning."

"For the country!" The young man's face showed how extreme was his disappointment; and the footman, moved to sympathy, volunteered further information.

"The journey was a rather unexpected one, I think, sir. There was a telephone call for Miss Berrington after which she announced that she would be out for the day."

Dick Singleton looked at the man thoughtfully, then he asked bluntly, "You know where she has gone?"

"Not precisely, sir. But it is somewhere in Oxfordshire; and Charles— that is the chauffeur, sir— was looking up on the map what he described as some God-forsaken hole called Christmas Common—"

"Great heavens!" Singleton's amazed exclamation .broke on the footman's words; then on his face came a look of swift apprehension which made the man-servant stare at him curiously.

"Are you sure?" he demanded hoarsely. "Are you sure about the name of the place?".

"Perfectly; sir! Charles had some difficulty in locating it on the map; and the name is not one to be easily forgotten, sir."

That, as Dick Singleton recognised, was true enough, and he had no doubt whatever that the man had the name right. With an effort he pulled himself together; and said in an ordinary voice:

"You are quite right. The name is unusual enough to be remembered." He took from his pocket a note and slipped it in the man's, hand. "When Miss Berrington returns, please tell her that Captain Singleton called."

"Yes, sir. Thank you. sir!"

Singleton went back to his car, his mind in a tumult. Not only had his joyous anticipations been dashed; .but new apprehensions were tearing at his heart. Why had Nerica so suddenly changed her plans and made this unexpected journey to Christmas Common? Had she gone to see Shottelius as Tracy and he proposed to do? Was the. millionaire the man who had rung her up? To the last questions his mind made affirmative answers. If Christmas Common was the kind of place that merited the description which Nerica's chauffeur had given of it, it was scarcely likely that the girl would have two acquaintances in such a place. He had no doubt that the name of the house at Christmas Common, to which Nerica had driven, was "Rowant End."

But why she had gone he could not fathom. As he drove to his flat that question was the most insistent in the mind, repeating itself in varying forms. Had Shottelius used his knowledge to force her to make the .journey to what, as he was sure, was a lonely house. In order to learn how far he himself was under suspicion? Expecting Tracy, and himself, did the millionaire hope to confront them with some news snatched from the girl in some moment of mental stress? Or was Nerica's visit just part of that mystery in which she moved, and to which not even his suspicions of Shottelius, as Southwell's arch-rogue, Steinmetz, supplied any key?

He was still asking himself the questions when, in the late afternoon. Tracy and he reached Christmas Common, and, asking their way, were directed along a lonely road between high banks of furze, to a house whose gables showed among pine. Presently they stopped before a gate which had a bronze plate, in which the name of the house had been cut.

"Rowant End!" read Tracy; and both men looked through the sombre pine trees in the direction of the house.

It was a modern, half-timbered house, which had been built sufficiently long to have weathered a little find lost its newness. Its owner was plainly fond of solitude, for inside the ring of pines extensive gardens showed, with wide lawns at the front and side of the house. There was ho lodge; but a man, plainly a gardener, working on a. border, came down to the gate and held it open for them to pass through, touching his hat as they did so.

The approach was fairly straight, and after a moment or two, as they passed some obscuring bushes, they had a full view of the house. There was no one to be seen, but a window on the ground floor was open, with a silken curtain blowing in the wind, the chimneys were smoking, and on the crisp air there came to them the pungent odour of Mourning pinewood, it was the home of a lover of rustic solitude. From the crazy pavement paths to the few late roses blooming over the windows, It was the typical English country home of a man of wealth, and as they drove up to the open door, in the serene light of a westering sun, Dick Singleton had an odd sense of the absurdity of the suspicions that he entertained of its owner. Then, quite suddenly, sharp and clear, throbbing with protest, came the sound of a feminine voice which set his pulse galloping and brought all his suspicions back In a roaring tide.

"Mr. Shottelius, have you no mercy? is your heart a stone?"

Chapter 20

AS HE CAUGHT the appeal, Dick Singleton knew that his intuitions had been correct. Rowant End had been Nerica's destination, and she was still here, and, as her voice and words told him, in great distress and apprehension.

"You heard?" he whispered to Tracy.

"Yes! That was a woman's voice."

"It was Nerica Berrington's," answered Dick sharply. "I did not tell you, but I was expecting to find her here. Come along. I am glad we have arrived at this precise moment."

Be slipped out of the car; and, as Tracy joined him on the steps, set his hand on the bell-push. From the depths of the house came an answering whirr, but it brought no response. A second whirr, however, brought a trim maid, whose rather bucolic face bore a look of injured resentfulness as she looked at the two caller's inquiringly.

"Is Mr Shottelius at home?" demanded Singleton sharply.

"What name, sir?" asked the maid, with a nonchalance which proclaimed as plainly as words that if the visitors were in a hurry, she was not.

"Captain Singleton and a friend: Mr Shottelius is expecting us."

"Then I will tell him you are here sir," answered the girl, and, leaving them standing on the step, she departed closing the middle door upon them as she went.

Dick Singleton ground his teeth with impatience. Once he stepped into the hall as if to open that closed door; but Tracy laid a restraining hand upon his. arm. "Better not, Dick," he whispered. "We know that Miss Berrington is here, and Shottelius isn't aware of our knowledge. That gives us a pull; and if we keep the knowledge to ourselves a little time, it may prove a trump card. Let us see what turns up before doing anything drastic!"

His counsel prevailed, and Singleton waited the maid's return with such patience as he could muster. At the end of something like three, minutes the door opened; and the girl held it wide.

"Will you please come this way, sir?"

They followed her into an inner hall, on the floor of which was spread a Persian rug that must have been of quite fabulous worth; and, throwing open a door, the girl announced them.

"Captain Singleton and his friend, sir!"

A  second later Singleton, stepped into the apartment, with Tracy at his heels: and as he did so his eyes swept the room. There was no one there but Mr Samuel Shottelius, who moved to greet them, a welcoming smile on his handsome face.

"Pleased to see you, Singleton," he said with an easy familiarity that had so much the air of good comradeship that there could be no resentment of it. "I had half expected you to lunch," He broke off and extended a hand to Tracy. "Captain Tracy, I presume!" he said smilingly. "I am very glad that you were able to accompany your friend." He glanced at Tracy's bandaged head as he spoke, and then added, "You appear to have been in the wars, Captain, I hope that bandage does not indicate anything very serious."

Tracy laughed, "Nothing to worry over," he said,  "Just a silencer from a life preserver. When I come up with the fellow who did it, I'll even matters up a little."

"You know him?" asked the millionaire, with apparent careless curiosity.

"Oh, yes! He's a rotter known as The Dove'—"

Mr Shottelius almost jumped. For a second there flashed into his odd eyes a  look that might have been apprehension; but, if it was, a second later it was gone, and the strange eyes were smiling.

"The Dove! What an odd name for a man who uses a life-preserver: I should have thought 'hawk' was a better nom-de-guerre."

"Well, he's a hawk all right,' agreed Tracy with a laugh. "But 'The Dove' is the name he goes by."

"You seem to know quite a lot—"

The millionaire broke off, and cried with sudden contrition. "Forgive , me, gentlemen! Please be seated. Those chairs there—" He indicated a couple of chairs placed a little to the side of, the fireplace, which Singleton had no doubt had been set in that place of design, since, as he found when he took the chair, the light from the front window fell full upon his face. Their host himself took a chair opposite, where his face was in shadow, and then he resumed at the point where he had broken off.

"As I was saying, you seem to know quite a lot about your assailant, Captain Tracy?"

Tracy laughed cheerfully. "Oh, not so much as you might think, Mr Shottelius. I happen to have heard his nick-name; and I have a fancy that I used  to know him, though that he should have turned footpad and head-basher beats me."

Singleton looked at his friend in swift wonder, speculating why he should gratuitously have introduced Gerard de Saint Pierre's nickname to this man, who, if their suspicions were right, might be supposed to know it very well, Tracy's face, as he saw, wore a look of guileless cheerfulness that was not particularly intelligent, and which, as his friend decided, was assumed to deceive their host, who smiled tolerantly.

"There are many reckless men in the gutters these days, men who once moved in good society. They are part of the aftermath of the war; just as their violence is. I have sometimes thought that they may be a greater menace to the stability of our political institutions than even some of our politicians themselves."

He smiled at his own thin jest, and waited as if for comment upon his remark. Tracy, taking the answer upon himself, replied woodenly: "Just so, Mr Shottelius, just so!"

For his part, Singleton stared round the long, richly furnished room, his heart beset with fear as he thought of the words ho had overheard. He had no doubt that Nerica had been in this room less than five minutes before. The open casement in front of him had allowed him to hear her voice, distressed and appealing, telling him that she was at the millionaire's mercy: but where was she now? Not in the room certainly; for there was no place in which she could be concealed. He looked round carefully. A doorway-hall hidden by rich tapestry caught his eyes. There was a room opening out from this apartment where they sat. Was Nerica there?

As the question arose in his mind his eyes sought his host, who chanced to glance at him at that precise moment. An odd questioning look came in the millionaire's strange eyes. It was as if the man was asking himself some question and was in some doubt about the answer; and quite suddenly, following an impulse that he could not have explained, Singleton himself carried the conversation forward by a question.

"You have had Miss Berrington here, Mr Shottelius?"

The man in the chair opposite started again. Clearly this was a question which he had been anticipating as little as he had anticipated Tracy's statement about "The Dove." For an instant he showed signs of being disconcerted, and then, recovering himself, he laughed.

"You met her down the road, of course."

"No," answered Singleton, bluntly. "Then how―" Shottelius broke off and his gaze wandered round the room, and then met his guests smilingly. "I am a little puzzled. I see no sign that would help an amateur Sherlock Holmes. The lady has not left her gloves, her handbag―" He interrupted himself again; smiled more broadly, and, In the smoothest of voices added: "Not even her handkerchief."

Dick Singleton, understanding the reference in the last word, felt a surge of wrath in his heart; and was almost moved to fling the simple truth at his host, and tax him roundly with having intimidated the girl; but Tracy's voice, derisive and innocent, broke in.

"They'd be wasted on Dick if she had! A man who can pass a lady on the road without seeing her would fall over clues as a blind man falls over stones. Miss Berrington has left then?"

There was a pause that would have required a stop-watch to measure before the reply came, so brief was it. But it was sufficient for Singleton to mark, and it sufficed to show that Shottelius was in doubt what to answer.

"Twenty minutes ago! You ought to have met her on the hill. She came here at my request―"

"Oh, I know that!" broke in Singleton abruptly, He dared not look at Tracy. Shottelius had lied, and he as afraid of betraying his knowledge of that fact. He hurried on lest his friend should make some disclosure, "You telephoned to Lady Arthwaite's house this morning. I suppose you got her down here to question her about that wretched affair at Belvoir Mansions?"

Shottelius smiled blandly. "You divine rightly, my friend. But it was a waste of time. I learned very little from her. That charming young lady is either very discreet or very innocent." He paused and then, still smiling, addressed himself particularly to Tracy. "You do not know if Charles Southwell was acquainted with anyone who might be inclined to employ her as a messenger, I suppose?"

Tracy shook his head. "How should I know? Southwell was a secret sort of man."

"Nor you, Captain Singleton?"

"No."

"But there was someone, I am convinced, someone whom the girl is shielding— a lover perhaps!"

He lifted a hand as Singleton started and made as if to speak. "Wait, my friend. Let me develop the idea. It seems plain that some special reason took Miss Berrington to Belvoir Mansions the night before last. What was that reason? An assignation of the vulgar sort is out of the question. No one who has met that beautiful young lady would even dream of such a thing. Then what took her there?  Did she go as someone's agent, with a message perhaps? That is possible! Or did she go there—to―  But no! You and I can dismiss that consideration entirely, however the police might regard her visit! There is, however, one more consideration. Was she aware of the possibility of that crime being committed? Did she go there in the hope of preventing it; and arriving too late, is she now engaged in shielding the criminal from justice?"

He waited as if for an answer, marked the troubled look on Singleton's stare, and then gave a shrug of his shoulders.

"Questions!" he ejaculated with a light laugh. "Always questions— but no answers! The comings and goings of miss Nerica are an unfathomable mystery and the key of that mystery, I am very sure, lay in something that Southwell had—some secret or other in which others than himself were involved.

"What makes you so sure. Mr Shottelius?" inquired Tracy crisply.

"All the circumstances! Murder is not usually a motiveless crime. Often  there is robbery behind It. And Mr. Southwell's possessions had been disturbed, so far as appears nothing of value had been taken. But standards of value vary with individuals. There may have been something which to the person who killed Charles Southwell may have been of infinitely more value than more money... as I said, a secret―"

He checked and then asked suddenly: "Your friend mentioned nothing of that nature to you, Captain Tracy?"

"Oh, that he did! There was some wild talk about a gang― that was after him some of whose names he had in a twop'ny memorandum hook "

"Ah! He showed you that book?" Shottelius leaned forward in his chair, his face exhibiting a most lively interest.

"Yes! It was a blue-backed thing might have been a laundry-book; or the sort of thing the milkman keeps one's account in." Tracy's manner was engagingly frank and simple; and his friend stared at him in secret wonder, trying to fathom the meaning of these revelations, whilst the millionaire's eyes fairly danced with excitement.

"Yes! Yes!" he cried tensely. "Continue, Captain Tracy. I am intrigued."

"Oh," laughed Tracy. "There's not so thundering far to go. Southwell sent a. note to my club before he was killed. I only got it yesterday afternoon. In it he told me that in case of accident he had hidden the book with some other document in Singleton's rooms. Just after the letter I saw that fellow 'The Dove' and followed him to Limehouse where I suffered this knock on the head— and lost Southwell's letter. When I got back to Belvoir Mansions, I found Singleton's rooms had been gone through by a bogus Scotland Yard man; and there was no sign of Southwell's book or papers." He paused, and then added quietly, "That scoundrel 'The Dove' was, I fancy, vitally interested in that list."

"How do you know that?"

Mr Shottelius's question was like the snap of a pistol. His odd eyes were blazing. He crouched in his chair like a wild beast about to spring; but Tracy's manner was nonchalant, to a degree.

"Simplest thing in the world, Mr Shottelius. A week or so back poor old Southwell showed me a list of names in that laundry-book of his, and said it was the choicest bevy of scoundrels in the world. 'The Dove' was one of the names, and as he dropped a hint I gathered that 'The Dove' was a fellow called St. Pierre, who was a French ace in the war, and who was supposed to have gone dead after committing a perfectly brutal murder on Armistice night. That's why, when I saw him walking out of my own club yesterday, I followed him and caught this crack on the head for my pains."

The tenseness left Mr. Shottelius s face. He sank back in his chair, finger tips to linger tips, as Singleton had seen him the night before; then he gave a short laugh. "It seems you had a narrow escape of something worse, Captain Tracy."

"Might have been the full knock-out," agreed Tracy, laughing back.

"But tell me, Captain, you say you saw that list of names—do you remember any other besides that one of 'The Dove'?"

"Only one," owned Tracy regretfully. "Fellow of the name of Steinmetz, who was a big cock in the covey." Then he explained with an air of perfect frankness: "You must know, Mr Shottelius, that I didn't set much store by poor old Charley's yarn. To tell the truth I thought he was a bit cracked; but seemingly there was more in it than I credited,"

"Yes!" Mr Shottelius' tone was quite harsh.

"I suppose Southwell said nothing about the identity of this man—Steinmetz— did you say?"

"Devil a word!" laughed Tracy ruefully. "I'd give a thousand pounds to know where to find him, for I'll wager my salvation he was at the back of Charley's death."

Mr Shottelius nodded, "I think you are right," he said quietly, the harshness gone from his voice, "So right that I would give five times the sum you mention for that memorandum book of your friend's."

"Phew!" Tracy's whistle of surprise was very loud, "You must be amazingly keen on this business, Mr Shottelius, to be willing―"

The millionaire's laugh broke in on the words, "I can afford to pay extravagantly for my diversions, Captain Tracy, it is the one compensation of being very rich that one need not let money stand in the way of one's pleasures." He laughed again, then asked almost casually, "I suppose there is nothing more you can tell me?"

"No, I'm through," answered Tracy regretfully,

Mr Shottelius nodded. Apparently he accepted the other's statement. "What you have told me is very interesting. I must .pursue my investigations on the line of the two men you have mentioned. They ought to lead one somewhere " He broke off as a clock on the mantelpiece began to chime. "Four o'clock!" he cried out,  like a man surprised. "And I have the Indian mail to catch. I wonder gentlemen, if you will excuse me for a little time?"

"Of course, Mr Shottelius," said Singleton. "Or we will take our leave."

"No! No! Certainly not. I cannot have you return to town unfed. I will have dinner expedited to, say, six o'clock... I insist! You can make yourselves at home here whilst I am with my secretary. I am afraid it is very late in the year for the garden, but―"

"We can stretch our legs, anyway,' laughed Tracy, "and capture an, appetite by a run among the gorse there,'

"As you will, as you will, Captain Tracy. Please make yourself perfectly at home. Ring for anything that you may want, and if you. go out remember I shall be waiting for you at six."

He rose from his chair, made a little apologetic gesture, and then left the room by way of the curtained door which Singleton had marked.

Chapter 21

SCARCELY HAD the door closed when Tracy's finger went to his lips, in a cautionary way; then with the most natural laugh in the world he said cheerfully, "I think I'll explore the gardens, Dick. Are you coming?"

"Might as well," answered his friend as cheerfully.

"Then we'll go now. Come along."

They left the room together, and, securing their caps, passed through the hall and out of the front entrance.

There in full view of all the windows on that side of the house, Singleton stopped to light a cigarette; and then for a minute or two they paced the terrace, making conversation about the garden and admiring the whole front of the house, which exercise gave them the opportunity of inspecting rather closely.

Presently they moved to the side, and again paused to view the place. Mr Shottelius, at a window-desk with the goggled secretary, saw them, and cheerfully waved a hand. They passed on. and presently were well away from the house, in a rose garden, which, as they were able to make sure, was deserted, save for themselves. There Tracy stopped to examine the ticket on a standard rose that carried a few late blooms. "Nice old bird, Shottelius!" he commented,

"A liar!" answered Singleton with suppressed violence. "You heard him say that Nerica had been gone twenty minutes when we know―"

"He's own brother to Ananias!" laughed Tracy. "The question is— Is the girl still here?"

"She must be. I was watching the road to the gates all the time. I must have seen her if she had gone whilst we were in that room."

"Think so? How about that, then?" As he spoke Tracy indicated a gravelled drive which approached the house from the rear. "May have left that way, or—" he laughed suddenly—"our host may mean us to meet her at dinner. Who knows? That fellow is capable of anything, and he's as cool as they are made, and as keen as acid, That's why I played simple and told him so much, It was no use doing anything else, If our suspicions are right, he knows all about Southwell's letter, and the memorandum book and the document; and the only thing was to convince him that the book wasn't in our possession. Seemed to fall to my little effort, don't you think, Dick?"

"Yes! But―" Singleton broke oft and his eyes turned in the direction of the house, "Aleck!" he said tensely "I'm worried to death about Nerica. You heard her appealing to that scoundrel. I am sure she Is In that house, beset someway by peril. I don't know what to do,"

"Can't do anything yet," answered his friend. "And we'd be fools to try, Dick, till we know the truth." A thoughtful look came on his face, and then he added: "I am sure there's no immediate need for alarm, Dick. Assuming that Shottelius is all we imagine him to be, he isn't an idiot. He will know that If anything evil overtook the girl, inquiries set on foot must come this way as she was here; Lady Arthwaite may know―"

"Ah! I have just remembered something," interrupted Singleton in a tone of relief. "Nerica had a chauffeur with her!"

"Good! Then nothing will happen to her at Rowant End! You can wager on that. Come along. I have a fancy. I'd like to see that house from the other road to which this drive seems to lead. Besides, who knows? We may be watched from the house itself. May as well look as if we really were taking a breather."

They moved towards the gravelled carriage-way, and at a swinging pace, made for the gate, passing a gardener and a boy on the way, both of whom looked at them with the frank curiosity of country people. Arriving at the gate, they found it opened on a road which ran across a gorse-covered common interspersed with brambles, dried bracken and faded heather. Just as they stepped outside and stood to survey the rough expanse, Singleton saw a man slip behind some high gorse bushes a hundred yards or more down the road. It was but a glimpse of him that he had; but the fact that the man did not emerge from the screening bushes quickened his suspicions.

"We are watched, Aleck!" he said quietly.

"That so?" asked Tracy. "Where's the watcher?"

"Behind some gorse bushes down, the road. I saw him dodge into them as we appeared. I've half a mind to go and rout him out. It may be wise to learn who the fellow is."

"Make it a whole mind,!" laughed his friend. "Lead on, Macduff!"

They began to stroll down the road, unhurriedly, like men whose sole purpose was a saunter, and as they went, both observed the common closely, without seeing any sigh, of the watcher. Drawing near the bushes, Singleton gave the word.

"There! That big clump. You take one side and I'll take the other. Ready! Quick."

The pair darted from the road so swiftly that had there been anyone concealed behind the bushes they must have surprised him. There was no one there, however, and Tracy laughed.

"Blank cover! Are you sure that you weren't dreaming, Dick?"

For answer Singleton pointed across the common where, at a point that intersected the wood farther up, the figure of a man had just emerged from the bushes.

"There's the man, anyway!"

"He doesn't seem to be watching us very closely," said Tracy. "I should say―"

His remark was never completed. On the ears of both broke the soft purr of an automobile's engine, and, swinging round, they were just in time to see a saloon car glide by. It was travelling swiftly. The chauffeur did not spare the two men so much as a glance; and the solitary passenger did not see them for the reason that her eyes were closed. But Singleton saw her; and as he recognised her he gave a great shout.

"Nerica! Nerica!"

The automobile was yards away when he cried the name; and it was not in the least likely that the girl heard him. In any case the car did not stop, nor did the chauffeur look around. Forward it went, till it reached the neighbourhood of the place where stood the man Singleton and his friend had been watching. Then it slackened sharply and as it came to a standstill, the door was thrown open from within, and the waiting man stepped inside. A second later the saloon swept forward again, and was soon lost to sight behind a belt of trees.

"That was Miss Berrington?" asked Tracy quickly.

"Yes!"'

"And that fellow was not spying on us. He was waiting for-the lady; and she was expecting him hereabouts."

"It has that look,"' answered Singleton, plainly disturbed.

"I wonder who the man is. It is plain that he tried to hide from us,"

"I can't even guess," replied Singleton slowly. "But-there's one thing to be thankful for, and that is that Nerica; has left Rowant End. If anything crops up when we go back we can act without, fear of immediate trouble for her. And I am glad. To tell the truth, Aleck, I'm a little. tired of Mr. Shottelius, and I shouldn't mind forcing the pace a little."

Tracy laughed. "Safest thing to do— always! Attack is the true art of defence. If he gives us an opening we'll sail in after dinner and see what happens. I think—" He shot an arm out as, if testing his muscles; and laughed again. "I really think I should like a ruction."

"Oh!" answered Singleton, "it won't be a scrap. Shottelius won't fight that way. It will be a battle of wits— with a treacherous ending. That's his style, unless we are altogether mistaken in the man."

"There's no mistake," answered his friend with another laugh, that had in it a note of recklessness. "The man's a polished villain and as hard as steel. He's worth fighting, if I know anything about men. But we shall have to tread delicately... You're right, of course. The fellow's a Borgia rather than a swashbuckler, and I shall be careful what I drink tonight. My taste will square with Shottelius's own—"

"You don't think―"

"Don't I? Nobody knows we're down here. And the man who had Charley Southwell stuck isn't going to be particular if he thinks we; stand in his way."

He: took out his, watch, looked at it, and laughed.

"There's more than an hour yet. Come along! Let us train for an appetite! We're going to have a most interesting dinner presently, or I'm a Bolshie."

And with another gay laugh he set a rattling pace across the common.

Chapter 22

THE dinner proved interesting from more points than one, and some of  the interest was of an entirely unexpected nature. It was in no sense an elaborate meal, but light and excellent. Mr Shottelius being both a man of taste and one with a proper pride as host, and the viands he set before his guests were beyond criticism, the wine that of a connoisseur. The latter was a dry 1911 clicquot; and since Mr Shottelius himself partook of it, Tracy, winking at his friend, did not spare the bottle.

For his part Singleton watched their host carefully without appearing to do so, but observed nothing to awaken any suspicion. Mr. Shottelius, whatever thoughts he might entertain about his guests, was perfectly at ease, a suave, polished, rather scholarly man of the world, who discoursed interestingly about things which interested common men, rare vintages, the possibility of a world-famous jockey riding a certain dark horse for the Cambridgeshire; the chances of trouble in the Soudan; switching from that to the latest political canard; at which he mocked with gentle irony... And so the meal went till they reached the game— pheasant, in perfect condition, and a triumph of the cook's art.

As the course was finishing there came a knock at the door, and a manservant entered with a salver, on which reposed a buff envelope. Mr Shottelius stretched a hand as if to take it.

"Pardon me," he said in courteous apology, "but telegrams are often affairs of life and death."

The man, however, did not hold the salver towards him.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, with some embarrassment; "but the telegram is addressed to Captain Singleton—"

"Captain Singleton!" snapped his master. ''That is the gentleman."

"As he spoke, with an airy wave of his, hand, he indicated Singleton, who, astonished beyond measure, took up the telegram, wondering who could possibly know that he was at Rowant End. The surprised look on his fare would have told a child that the telegram was a totally unexpected one, and as he opened it, his host watched him with a lynx-like gaze that did not escape Tracy's notice.

As he unfolded the flimsy pane, and read the brief message it contained, the astonishment died from Singleton's face, and he gave an odd laugh as he passed the telegram to his friend.

"'A matter of life and death,' you said, Mr Shottelius. I suppose there are  some people who would so regard a tip for the Cambridgeshire which we were discussing just now."

The millionaire smiled a little dryly.

"Apparently the sender of this particular tip is of that persuasion; or why does he pursue you—"

"The sender of the tip is not to blame!" intervened Singleton quickly. "If there is blame for interrupting our dinner it is mine. I told our man at Belvoir Mansions that if any telegrams came for me up to a certain hour he was to forward them here, and he has just obeyed orders."

Mr Shottelius dismissed the matter smilingly. "I like a man who does what he is told! It Is the mark of a good servant."

Then he turned swiftly to Tracy, who was still considering the telegram. "The tip, Captain Tracy? I am human. May I know?―"

"Mignault!" answered Tracy with laughing promptness, as he handed the telegram to his friend. "My own fancy is Live Wire."

Mr Shottelius nodded smilingly; and Singleton read the message again; which differed very considerably from the account which he had given of it.

"Be watchful with Mr S. N."

Then he screwed, the flimsy paper into a ball, measured the distance carefully, "and flung it into the heart of the fire, forcing himself to laugh as he did so.

"I hope that Jackson, having read that, won't be misled. Mignault may be , a sure thing with Donaghue up but tips are pitfalls for the unwary I shouldn't like him to impoverish himself on this, Tracy."

Tracy laughed. "Better telephone him to stick to Live Wire, if he wants to avoid, a shock."

Mr. Shottelius joined in the laughter, and then spoke.

"The faith of the labouring classes in a telegraphed tip is profound and pathetic. Nothing can break it. The most colossal debacle―"

He broke off sharply at the sound of a protesting voice beyond the door. His smooth brows creased in a sharp frown, and his odd eyes seemed to flame. A second later a rather nervy voice reached all three as they sat there staring at the door.

"Out of the way, you fool. I will―"

The door was flung open, and a young man lurched into the room with a manservant holding to his arm. His eyes had the feverish look of the drug fiend: his thin, unhealthy face was haggard In the extreme, and as he stood there gasping, his mouth working in soundless words, Mr, Shottelius with a quite terrible look in his eyes rose from hit chair.

"What is the meaning of this offensive conduct―" he began in a voice that was colder and sterner than any voice that Singleton had ever heard; but at that point his words were broken in on by Tracy, who, leaping from his chair, cried in a shocked, amazed voice:―

"My God!" Tony Berrington! Tony, don't you—"

He got no farther. The intruder stared at him with wild eyes for a second, then a look of stark fear came on his haggard face, he threw up his hands in a gesture of despair, and turning with incredible swiftness fled from the room,

"After him, Dick," yelled Tracy. "There's Bebe or I'm―"

He himself was already moving almost at the heels of the fugitive. But as the latter passed the door he jerked it behind him, so that Tracy plunged heavily against the panels. Reeling back and recovering himself,  he tugged the door open, but as he did so the outer door crashed noisily, telling the pursuers that the man whom they were chasing had fled to the friendly shelter of the night.

Chapter 23

WITHOUT hesitation Dick Singleton followed his friend to the outer door; and, as it was opened, stood listening and staring forth into the night. With the fall of darkness a fog had spread across the common, and nothing was to be seen; nor was there any sound save the drip, drip of moisture from the trees near by. After a minute or two Singleton broke the silence".

"Gone! We shall never find him in this."

"No! But we've learned something for which I swear we shall have a reckoning with our host. Come along, and keep your automatic handy."

They returned to the dining-room, to find Mr Shottelius in the act of setting down a speaking tube which hung near an antique bureau. His handsome face was like a mask, except for a glitter in his strange eyes; and as he spoke his voice was cool and unperturbed.

"You did not overtake that young madman, then?"

"No!" said Singleton, "there is a fog. To pursue him was impossible."

"A fog? Ah! That certainly complicates things. Yet I hope we may find that young idiot. It is very important that we should, and I have just given orders for the common to be watched."

The name by which his friend had called the fugitive was ringing in Singleton's mind, and a light was breaking on the events of the past three days, but, with a desire to know the whole truth, he asked abruptly, "Why is it so important?"

Mr Shottelius smiled blandly. "Better ask your friend, Captain Singleton. He seems to know a great deal about that young man."

As he finished speaking, his eyes turned towards Tracy with an inquiring look. Tracy, however, held his tongue, and the millionaire was forced to ask a direct question.

"You are acquainted with Anthony Berrington, Captain Tracy?"

"Used to know him a little. He was in the R.A.F. during the war. I met him once or twice."

"H'm! Then perhaps you have heard of his— er— eclipse, shall we call it?"

"No," replied Tracy, "I've heard or seen nothing of him for five or six years."

"Then you are not aware of his crash. It came just at the end of the war; and that young man who went from here just now is liable at any moment to be arrested as a deserter—"

"Oh! Come, Mr Shottelius," Tracy interrupted rudely.

"That is incredible to you, Captain Tracy?" replied the millionaire blandly. "But it will perhaps be not quite so incredible when I tell you that he fled to save himself for arrest for a crime that would have meant many years' penal servitude in a French prison for him if he stayed to face the charge."

"What was the charge?" demanded Singleton, abruptly.

"I think I should prefer you to ask that of his sister, Captain Singleton, answered Mr Shottelius, with, smiling insouciance. "You might think my information is not reliable."

"Then Miss Berrington is his sister?" asked Singleton harshly.

The millionaire nodded. "I should have thought there was no need for the question. It was because of their relationship that Miss Berrington came to see me today. You see she is afraid for this rather wild young man, who since his eclipse has fallen among very doubtful associates; and may even know more about that affair at Belvoir Mansions than his sister or —or—any of us."

Dick Singleton did not reply, but his mind was at the gallop. Supposing Nerica knew anything of the activities of her brother and had been aware of any hostile intention towards Southwell on his part, then her own visit to Belvoir Mansions was explained.. She had gone either to warn Southwell or to stay her brother's' hand from crime. How she had obtained the knowledge that had taken her there he could not even guess; but he was assured that something of the kind was the explanation of Nerica's innocent association with the tragical affair. His mind was still busy with these lightning-like thoughts when he heard Shottelius addressing his friend.

"Captain Tracy, what was the name you gave to that unfortunate young man? Did I hear you  call him 'Baby'?"

Instantly Singleton's attention riveted itself upon his friend, who looked the millionaire straight in the eyes as he answered carelessly in French: "Yes! Bebe."

"Ah! Some nickname, I presume?"

"Yes. One by which he is known to his intimates!"

Mr Shottelius shrugged his shoulders. "An odd name for a rather dissolute young man!" He paused, and then, with a deliberation that was almost challenging, he said, "I wonder if he was known to your friend Southwell under that name?"

"I wonder too," countered Tracy, "though it's a pretty tall assumption that they ever met, you know."

"You think so?" was his reply. "Well, you can accept my assurances that they did, and that Mr Tony Berrington was probably the last man who saw your friend Southwell alive."

For a moment after this statement, with all its implications, was made, there was a profound silence in the room, and then Singleton broke out.

"Good God! Do you mean to say that—"

"My friend," interrupted Mr Shottelius swiftly, "there is no need to shout a dread secret abroad. If walls have not ears, servants have. But you will see now the dilemma in which I stand. Because of certain information I received this afternoon—"

"From Miss Berrington?"

"Why bring that innocent young lady into so black a business?" broke in the millionaire. "Already she stands in great danger of being compelled to give evidence against her own brother. If the authorities penetrate the secret of that handkerchief you will see where she stands. This afternoon I advised her. to go into .the country, or, better, still, abroad for a little time. One never knows what little thing will lead to the truth, and Scotland Yard, if dull, is very patient. If, for Instance, Miss Berrington is accustomed to sending her finer handkerchiefs to a laundry, it is possible that the Inspector on this case may stumble on the truth; and in that case you will see into what an unfortunate position that charming young lady will have stumbled."

Dick Singleton did see it; but with his suspicions of his host throwing, a fierce light on all that the man said, he saw another thing quite clearly, and that was that, for some purpose of his own, Shottelius wanted the girl out of the way, or why had he given the advice that he had mentioned? What that purpose was he could not even guess.

In his perplexity his eyes turned towards the fire, and as he looked into the glowing embers he saw the flutter of white, cindered paper, and remembered the warning telegram. Whatever Nerica had told him she had known very well what she was doing, and the odds were that she had told him nothing, that far better than the girl herself, this suave, soft-voiced man knew what had happened at Belvoir Mansions.

As he stood there with these thoughts racing through his mind, he became conscious, of his host watching him, waiting for an answer. With an effort he forced himself to speak.

"I daresay your advice is good— if Miss Berrington will take it!" Then almost explosively he demanded: "What are you going to do with her brother?"

Mr Shottelius shrugged his shoulders. "I have not decided what I shall do with Mr Tony Berrington yet," he said coolly. "If I deliver him to Scotland Yard it will mean the rope for him; and a slur on an honoured family name "

Suspecting what he did about Berrington being this man's tool, his cool. detachment roused Singleton so that he interrupted heatedly, "You won't do that?"

The millionaire smiled. "As I hinted I am not yet in the valley of decision!... But suppose we resume our interrupted meal, my friends. Whilst we eat we can talk, and maybe settle the fate of Mr Tony;"

He moved towards his own chair as he spoke, but Singleton stood for a. moment inwardly raging, his gorge rising at the thought of sitting down again at this man's table. It was Tracy who settled the matter by taking his chair; and as Singleton caught.a glance from him, he overcame his repugnance and followed suit. Instantly Tracy went to the point.

"If you don't deliver Tony to Scotland Yard, Mr Shottelius, what do you propose to do about the business?"

"Well," was the reply lightly spoken, "he might be given the opportunity of making the amende honorable, you know."

"How?" snapped Singleton.

"The precise method," said Mr Shottelius, playing with the stem of his wine glass, "might be left to him. But as he is a soldier I should say a pistol would―"

"You mean that he should shoot himself," came the interruption from Singleton.

"It is a more honorable death than hanging," purred the other "and there is always the even chance that a coroner's jury will salve the relatives' feelings by bringing in a verdict of temporary insanity."

"Hadn't you better make sure that Tony is guilty before arranging for his execution?" asked Aleck Tracy drawlingly. "First catch your hare, what? Mr Shottelius."

"I have already explained there is no doubt in the matter. No doubt you and your friend here in the last two or three days have many times asked yourselves the question: what was Miss Berrington doing at Belvoir Mansions that night? Why did she attend, the inquest heavily veiled? And you have' the answer here. She knew that her brother had contemplated that crime and, went there to prevent it, but arrived too late, and on the morrow, knowing the truth, she went to the coroner's court fearing to hear the truth from official lips. You must, I say, have asked yourself these questions "

"Yes!" broke out Singleton stormily. "And by heaven! Mr Shottelius, there's another question that I've been asking myself these three hours, and that is why did Miss Berrington appeal to your mercy this afternoon?"

"Ah! you heard her? I wondered if you had. Our charming young lady was a little overwrought, and much concerned for— er— Bebe, shall we say? , She prayed me to spare him, and I was much moved by her tears. But justice is greater than pity; and Mr Tony Berrington does not unseal one's springs of compassion "

The man's smiling nonchalance, his suave speech were too much for Dick Singleton. He rose sharply, to his feet, so sharply as to knock his chair over.

"Oh, d――n your talk," he cried, throwing aside all pretence of friendliness. "Come along, Aleck. Let us get out of this."

Tracy grinned and left his chair with alacrity. Mr Shottelius did not turn a hair. He also rose politely: and there was a slight smile on his handsome face as he asked in a conventional voice:

"Must you really go? I am desolated to be the cause of your haste. I had hoped you would have tried my port—an 1834 vintage, and without a peer! But if you will not, you will not."

He touched a bell, and as a man-servant appeared spoke again. "Thomasson, these gentlemen are leaving. You will bring their coats."

He lit a cigarette and with his back to the fire watched the man assist them into their motoring coats. Outwardly he was perfectly cool, and though he did not speak he exhibited not the least sign of annoyance. But when the man held the door for them and they had passed through to the hall he suddenly broke silence.

"A parting word, Captain Singleton. I believe you have very much at heart the welfare of a certain young lady. If you wish to serve her interests you will be very careful what you do... The mantle of the lamented Southwell may prove a giant's robe for a puny man, you know." His strange eyes gleamed with sudden mirth. He waved a hand in farewell. "Good-night! I wish you a pleasant journey back to town."

He made a sign, and before either of the friends could speak, the manservant shut the door; and as they passed down the hall it seemed to Singleton that he caught the sound of soft mocking laughter coming from the room they had just left.

Chapter 24

NOT UNTIL they had passed through the gateway of Rowant End into the open road did either of the two friends speak, and then with an abrupt laugh Singleton broke the silence.

"Well, Aleck, the gloves are off now. Shottelius must have the brains of a hen if he does not guess we have Southwell's note book."

"He's guessed that all along," answered Tracy cheerfully. "But even now he can't be certain. My engaging frankness must have put him in a quandary; and knowing that a part of my yarn is true, he won't be sure about the other part. That yarn about what Southwell told me and the names that T remembered may appeal to him as truth, and leave him wondering."

"But what made you give the thing away as you did?"

"Meaning 'The Dove' and the rest." Tracy laughed. "That was just an inspiration. I wanted to make sure of Shottelius, not that I was in any real doubt about your idea of him. Still there might have been a flaw in your reasoning somewhere, and it seemed as well to make assurance doubly sure. That is why I let 'The Dove' fly at him suddenly. It was more than a moral certainty that he'd never seen poor old Southwell's book, and I knew that if he recognised the name, you were right." He gave a short laugh. "He recognised it right enough. He jumped like a man who'd been stung; and I'll swear he felt the kick of fear. He felt it again when I mentioned Steinmetz. You saw how curious he was? And when Berrington came in and Bebe slipped my lips; for it was a slip due to sudden realisation of the truth, he was curious again— too curious. To anyone in the know he gave the show away."

"Yes; but Tony Berrington? It's odd you haven't remembered him before."

"Right! But you remember that when I heard Miss Berrington's name, I said it seemed familiar to me. I couldn't place it then, for I hadn't thought of Berrington for six years at least. He was never much more than a casual acquaintance met at mess dinners— but when I saw him just now the name and the remembrance of him all came back in a flash."

Singleton nodded to himself; then he asked sharply: "What do you make of Shottelius's tale? Bo you think Tony' Berrington was the man who killed Southwell?"

"God knows. There's no tolling. But it strikes me that his sister believes

that he did. She must have known or guessed what was in the wind, and . have gone to Belvoir Mansions

"That's how she comes into the business at all, I guess.' And for some reason Shottelius is using his knowledge to scare her, as he tried to scare you at the finish with that bit about the giant's robe, you know."

"Yes, I think you're right," said Singleton thoughtfully.

"I fancy it will be something more than a scare that he'll use to choke us off this business," continued Tracy, cheerfully. "Shottelius is a fighter, and he's pretty confident of himself and his resources. He already suspects that we've an idea he isn't all he seems; and he must know we've caught him out lying. There was the matter of Miss Berrington's visit, you know. In his first yarn the girl had been left twenty minutes; but when you flung your question at him as to why she had appealed to his mercy he knew that you were aware that he had been lying. But he's a cool beggar. He never turned an eyelash, but went on as calmly as Truthful James," he broke off, laughed shortly, and then added: "He must have been considerably astonished by your sudden breaking of diplomatic relations."

"I couldn't help it, Aleck. It made me boil to sit there and hear him talking of justice—black scoundrel that

he must be!"

"Oh, I'm not complaining!" laughed his friend. "If it's to be open war, I shall like it better. And the advantage is still with us, for whatever Shottelius suspects or guesses he can't possibly know that we've already established the connection between Steinmetz and himself. That's where we have him with a leg in the air."

"Yes!" agreed Singleton, thoughtfully. "We get a pull—" The car gave a lurch as they touched the edge of the road, checking his utterance; then he grumbled: "Confound this fog! It makes driving awkward. If it gets worse—"

"Look out!" cried his friend suddenly. "There's—"

The warning was never finished. Out of the mist ahead, drawn as it seemed broadside across the road, loomed the dim outline of a wagon find horses, blocking, the whole fairway. There was no time even to sound the horn; and Singleton, cool in the emergency, acted promptly, swinging the car on to the grass and small shrubs which bordered the road, missing the horses by a hair, whilst a man who had been at their heads leaped aside, shouting a warning to someone else, and ran away into the fog. That warning was a fraction of a second too late. There was a sudden cry, a sickening impact, something was knocked aside: and Tracy cried out:

"My God! We've hit someone."

"Yes," said Singleton grimly, through set teeth, and as the car came to a standstill in a patch of gorse, he leaped out, groped in the tool-box for an electric torch, and ran back, searching the ground.

Almost immediately he found what he was looking for— the body of a man lying in a crumpled heap, near a bramble bush. Stooping, he turned the man over, and, as Tracy joined him, handed the torch to him, whilst he felt the man's heart.

"Living! Thank God!" he whispered, "We must get him to a doctor, quickly, If the car will run."

"Yes," began Tracy. "It wasn't our fault. If that fool wagoner—"

"Where is he?"

"Don't know. Seems to have deserted his team, find—"

"Great heavens!" Singleton's sharp ejaculation was an amazed shout,

"What—"

"Turn the light on the man's face! Quick, Aleck!" cried Singleton; and as the torch illumined the dark saturnine features of the unconscious man, he cried out again, "Great Harry! I knew it! That man is one of the Shottelius crowd!"

"But how do you know?"

"I've seen him before, He was at my sister's dance last night. He lives in the next house to Shottelius in town. I am sure that they know each other; and what's he doing here so far from Town if his interest Isn't at Rowant kind?"

"Don't know!" answered Tracy; and moved quickly towards the road where the horses and the wagon were standing.

Singleton watched him curiously as he flashed the lamp to and fro, but presently its beam came to a standstill on the body of the wagon; and a moment later the other came back.

"There's a name on that wagon," he said, a little grimly, "a name you know."

A sudden suspicion shot into Singleton's mind as he cried. "Not Shottelius's?"

"Yes! Samuel Shottelius, Esq., Rowant End, Christmas Common, Oxon."

Singleton whistled softly to himself. "Then the drawing of that wagon across the road may have been intentional?"

"Haven't a doubt upon it. Our friend at Rowant End doesn't waste time. He must have arranged this before we left, which shows that he's some pretty definite idea about us in his mind. He means to knock us out some way. and here's the first round with first blood to us. We can leave this fellow here—"

"No!" broke in Singleton. "That way we might play his game .if he wants to put us out of action for a time. The magistrates are getting severe with those who cut down pedestrians and drive on. He's sharp enough to see that; and that fellow who ran away would just swear to the number of the car; and tomorrow morning there'd be an officer with a warrant at Belvoir Mansions. It would not be any use to swear that the wagon was drawn deliberately across the road in order to break our necks. Though I haven't a doubt of that myself, we couldn't persuade anybody else to believe it. We've got to take this man down to Watlington, without knowing who he is, and say we knocked him down in the fog. If we do everything above board, leaving cards and so forth with the police, we shall spike Shottelius's guns; and, unless this fellow dies, I'll wager we shall hear no more about the business."

"I believe you're right, Dick."

"Then lend a hand. We'll carry him to the car."

They lifted the unconscious man, and, carrying him to the car, laid him on the rear sent. Then Tracy turned the horses' heads in the direction of Rowant End, and led them a little way down the road, and, after lighting the lamps which hung on the front and tail of the wagon, left the team to go where it willed. With a little effort they got the car back on the road, and proceeded on their way to Watlington. There on the lower ground they found the fog very thick; and, after inquiring their way, almost crawled to the police station.

A sergeant was just emerging; and Tracy hailed him.

"Officer, we've run a man down in the fog up on the Common. Tie is pretty badly hurt, and we've brought him with us. Is there a hospital we can take him to before we report further?"

"Where is the man?" asked the officer crisply.

"In the—" Tracy began turning towards the rear of the car, as he did so, and then, checking, cried in wonder:

"My hat! The fellow's gone!"

The sergeant looked into the car; then he said: "The off-door's open. You don't think he's fallen out?"

"Couldn't!" said Singleton decisively. "That door has a patent catch. Unless it Is broken, it simply couldn't fly open."

The officer moved round the car and examined the door.

"Catch is all right," he said. "If it was fastened?"

"It was!" averred Tracy.

"Then the man couldn't have been as much hurt as you thought. He must have come round and let himself out,"

"Looks like It!" agreed Singleton. "The question is what are we to do about It?"

"One of you had better step into the station and leave your names and addresses, then if anything turns up we can communicate with you."

Tracy entered the office to give the required Information, Six minutes later he reappeared; and as his hand went to the sergeant's, the officer spoke.

"A queer sort of happening. It looks as if the man you ran down didn't want any attention drawn to himself, or was anxious not to have it known that he was In this neighbourhood. I don't fancy you are going to hear any more about this business, gentlemen."

"We don't want to," laughed Tracy. "Good-night, sergeant,"

"Good-night, gentlemen.'

And a moment later the car was crawling through the fog once more.

Chapter 25

"WELL," REMARKED Tracy cheerfully, "the real game has begun, Dick, and we know what Shottelius is capable of now. All that business of the obstructing wagon, lamps unlighted, and that fellow we hit couldn't just have been a mere coincidence."

"No," agreed Singleton, "he meant us to break our necks."

"And we haven't!" Tracy laughed "I wonder what Inspector Lavers would think of the affair if we told him."

"He wouldn't believe us," answered Singleton with conviction. "And it's no good telling him anything. If we told him our suspicions of Shottelius he would think we were a pair of lunatics."

"I shouldn't wonder at it either. We've got to have a good deal more information than we can supply before we can ask Lavers to take a scoop. Mr Samuel Shottelius is too strongly entrenched in respectability for anyone to believe about him an Arabian Night yarn like the one we should have to tell."

"That's where his strength lies. A man whose name everybody is expecting to find among the new peers in the next 'Birthday List' is beyond suspicion. If we went to Scotland Yard with this story, they'd laugh and talk of shellshock. At the best we should have Shottelius's respectability flung in our teeth. His wealth, his position in the most exclusive society and his great charities would be paraded, and we should be told to go to a sanatorium and take a rest cure."

"Then what do you intend to do?"

"Find Tony Berrington! He's the man who can help us most; if he will speak. It did not seem as if the relations between him and Shottelius were particularly cordial; and he may even be the man upon whom Southwell was counting."

"By Jove, yes! I never thought of that."

"He was scared when you recognised him. Whatever it is that Shottelius is holding over him, he needs a friend badly, for he looked like a man gone all to pieces. He may welcome someone who will stand by him, and help him out of that scoundrel's clutches. If he does— well, it should be easy going to the end."

"You're forgetting Shottelius, aren't you, Dick? If I know anything about him, he's not going to sit still at Rowant End whilst we weave a net round him. That's not his style, as he's shown us tonight. And if he anticipates any risk of our getting hold of Berrington, I imagine that young man will be eliminated somehow."

"We've got to get hold of him at once," answered Singleton. "When we get back to town I shall call at Lady Arthwaite's and see his sister. She will know his address "

"And suppose that address is Rowant End, as seems to me to be most likely? Remember that man whom Miss Berrington picked up in her car, I'll wager that was Tony; and he didn't go back with her to town, I should say he heard her account of her dealings with Shottelius whatever they were, and came back to remonstrate with the fellow, at all costs; and judging from Shottelius's demeanour when he butted in, I'll wager the costs will be pretty heavy."

Singleton nodded thoughtfully. "Yes! That is one more reason why we should get hold of Berrington quickly. And there's one thing that will help us: and that is the fact that Nerica will know what Shottelius is now—as she didn't two days ago. I'll swear. There's another thing—our knowledge that her brother is somehow mixed up with that scoundrel's gang will break down Nerica's secrecy. She needs a friend badly;  and as the main fact that she has tried to guard is in our possession she will give us her confidence."

"I hope you're right, Dick."

"I am convinced that she will."

A few miles farther on they ran out of the fog, and made the best pace to town. It was late when they arrived there, but Singleton drove straight to Lady Arthwaite's, and leaving his friend in the car, he rang the bell.

His summons was answered by the man-servant who had given him the information of Nerica's destination a few hours before.

"Is Miss Berrington at home?" he inquired, confident of an affirmative answer.

"I am sorry, sir. She has not yet returned."

For a moment Singleton looked at the man blankly, and then grasped at a straw. "You mean she has been home and gone out again."

"No, sir. We have not seen her since she left this morning; and Lady Arthwaite is a little anxious because of the lateness of the hour."

Dick Singleton himself was assailed by a sharp anxiety. Hours before he had seen Nerica leaving Rowant End. and apparently she had not yet reached London. Remembering what had so nearly overtaken Tracy and himself, the wildest fears gripped him, and as he visioned the possibilities of the situation he shook with apprehension.

"And you have had no message?" he demanded hoarsely.

"None, sir," answered the man, looking at him rather strangely. "We were not expecting any."

Dick Singleton half turned to go. As he did so, his eyes were arrested by the vagaries of a saloon car coming down the street— the which, as he decided, must be driven by either a drunkard or a madman. Twice in its meanderings it narrowly shaved other vehicles, which were only saved from disaster by the alertness and expertness of their drivers. Less than a dozen yards from Lady Arthwaite's it scraped the mudguard of a taxi-cab, the man in charge of which bellowed an oath that echoed down the quiet street. Then it swerved towards the sidewalk, and, as it did so, the footman, who also had been watching its erratic career, cried out:

"By the mass! There's Charles! Drunk or―" The sentence was not finished. The saloon drew up just behind Singleton's standing car, and as it did so, the man-servant, with an "Excuse me, sir!" ran down the steps and across to the vehicle. Singleton, with a presage of ill, followed him, saw him throw open the door, and just as he came up with him, heard the man cry out:

"Good gawd, Charles, Where's Miss Nerica?"

At the same moment, looking into the saloon, Singleton, with fear mounting in his heart like the surge of a tidal wave, saw that it was empty.

Chapter 26

FOR A MOMENT after making the discovery that Nerica was not in the car, Dick Singleton stood like a man hypnotised, staring into the unlit interior of the saloon, overwhelmed by fears of disaster. Then the footman's voice broke on his ears.

"Charles, you dam' fool, what have you done with Miss Nerica? Where is she?"

The man whom he addressed made no reply, and Singleton, swinging round to him, gave the chauffeur his attention. The man was seated at the wheel, his figure sagging a little; his cap far back on his head, a dazed expression on his face, a vacuous look in his eyes. He took absolutely no notice of the footman until the latter shook him roughly.

"You drunken fool, where—"

Then he turned slightly; tried to rouse himself, and mumbled a few incoherent words. The footman looked at Singleton in despair.

"Drunk as a lord, sir! And Miss Nerica missing! What in heaven's name has become of her?"

Singleton himself was harried by that question. Pushing the footman aside, he grasped the chauffeur's arm and himself tried to rouse the fellow to a sense of his responsibility. He failed. The man's hand dropped from the wheel, and he slid lower in the seat, sagging like a very intoxicated man, whilst his eyelids dropped wearily. Singleton stooped forward to catch the man's breath. It was only very faintly alcoholic, if at all. The man was not drunk, he was ill, or—

"Drugged, by heaven!"

He cried the words aloud; and, as he did so, the chauffeur's chin dropped on his chest, the lurch jerking his cap from his head. The footman stared from him to Singleton in amazement.

"Drugged! Did you say drugged, sir ?"

"I did!" answered Dick grimly. "And Miss Nerica―"

"Run indoors. Telephone for a doctor at once. This man is the only one who can give us any information about your young mistress. Quick, man! I'll watch the chauffeur. Tell the doctor it is a matter of life and death."

"Yessir!" cried the footman, responsive to the voice of authority: and ran back to the house.

Singleton himself continued to stare at the moribund chauffeur. He was the prey of fierce emotions, fears for Nerica mingling with wild anger at those who had done this thing; for, looking at the drugged chauffeur, he had no doubt that the girl had fallen victim to the evil machinations of those into whose hands her brother had already fallen. Whilst he stood there raging, Tracy's voice sounded behind him.

"What's up, Dick?"

He indicated the saloon, and pointed to the somnolent chauffeur. "This is Nerica's car, just returned, and that is her chauffeur— drugged, if I know anything."

Tracy whistled sharply. "Phew! And Miss Berrington?"

"God knows. She was not in the car; and that fellow is in no condition to tell us anything."

"No! And by the look of him he won't be for some hours. But how, in the name of fortune, did he get the car here?"

Singleton shook his head.

"By instinct, I suppose. He was not altogether gone when he drew up. J saw the car coming down the street, Its course was such as a very drunken man at the wheel might have made. I suppose the drug was just reaching the culmination of its power, and in a tick after he drew up he went off... May have been fighting against the thing for a long time. And now he's there with the information that we need locked up in him as safe as if he were dead. Till he can speak we can know nothing, do nothing. But you'll see, where this points,  Aleck?"

"To Shottelius, of course."

She was stretching her hand towards the instrument when Singleton intervened quickly. "Lady Arthwaite, do you think that will be wise?"

"Yes! Somewhere between here and Rowant End some of his crowd got her. Maybe without the chauffeur's knowledge."

A thoughtful look came on Tracy's face. "That fellow whom we saw get in the car― "

"Yes?"

"He may not have been her brother after all! He may well have been the man who is responsible for Miss Berrington's disappearance."

"Yes! There's something in that. But Nerica was expecting to see him; must have been, or the car would never have pulled up the way it did to take the fellow up."

Tracy nodded. "That may be explained. Suppose the man was someone who was known to her, say one of the Shottelius gang who was posing as a friend of hers or of her brother? That would be a ruse to which Tony Berrington's sister, very anxious for his welfare, would fall as easily as a ripe plum. Her very anxiety would make her an easy victim."

"Yes! Yes! But where can she be? What does Shottelius want with her?"

"Heaven knows where she is. She may have been brought to town, or taken back to Rowant End, or incarcerated in some infernal hole between the two that we shall never stumble on in a month of Sundays. But I should say that Shottelius's notion in taking her is to hold her as a hostage for her brother. He may have a notion that Berrington is likely to run amuck, and has taken this step to check any Impulse of that sort, and I will wager that if he doesn't know it now, within a few hours Tony Berrington will be informed of this inducement to behave himself."

He stood for a moment in thought, then he gave a sharp laugh. "

It may be intended as an inducement of the same order for another person also!"

"Who "

"Yourself, Dick! If Shottelius has the idea that you and Miss Berrington― "

"He has!"

"Then he kills two birds with one stone. First he puts the check on Tony Berrington's wild impulses; and in the second place, suspecting the game you are on he—well, he mates with the queen. That seems pretty plain to me; always supposing, of course, that the girl is in his hands; and that she didn't leave the car of her own initiative to follow some secret purpose of her own."

Singleton pointed to the chauffeur. "She would scarcely drug him in order to do that!"

"No!" agreed Tracy. "There, seems to be no real alternative to the possibility of foul play. I wonder what drug they .used on that fellow. It either must have been very slow in its action, or have been administered very recently. Maybe the doctor will be able to tell us when he comes."

He broke off as the footman came hurrying from the house.

"The doctor will be here in a very few, minutes, sir."

"Good! Then we'd better get the chauffeur into the house."

"Yessir. I thought of that myself. The butler is just calling James, the second chauffeur, and they'll be out in a minute or so." The man paused. "There's Lady Arthwaite, sir! She's sure to inquire before long if Miss Nerica has returned. We shall have to tell her something, sir, and, well, sir, I'm afraid the news will be a shock to her; and her ladyship is not over well, sir."

"Take my name in to her," said Singleton, on the impulse. "Say I bring news about Miss Nerica."

"Yessir. If you will come with me, sir—"

Dick Singleton followed the man to the house, his mind working rapidly. It would be necessary to tell Lady Arthwaite something more than the bare fact that her niece had disappeared under circumstances that pointed to foul play; but just how much he ought to tell her he could not decide, and was still debating when he was ushered into the presence of Lady Arthwaite.

The kindly, aristocratic, elderly face, wore a troubled look, and after a formal greeting she waved him to a chair; and plunged immediately into the heart of the matter.

"Captain Singleton, you bring me news of my niece?"

He nodded gravely. "I am afraid it is rather disturbing news, Lady Arth—"

"Something has happened to her?" interposed the lady with sharp anxiety. "Quick, tell me. Do not wrap things up."

"I am afraid so, The car has just returned without her, and her chauffeur bus been drugged."

"Ah! Then something: has happened to her!"

A very troubled look came on her face; otherwise to Singleton she had the air of not being, greatly surprised. Then she asked quickly:

"Is that all you can tell me, Captain Singleton?"

"Not quite all; but the rest is surmise, suspicion, anything but the solid ground of fact, and as there is just a chance that I may be mistaken "

"It has to do with my nephew Tony, of course?" interrupted the lady quietly. "You need not conceal the fact; I know much more about my unhappy . nephew than you think. I know that he has stumbled into deep trouble; though what the trouble is, and how he came to get into it, I have no idea; since if Nerica knows she has not told me. Possibly you can help me—"

"No!" he interrupted. "My knowledge of that is nil. That he is— er— under the weather, I know, but the nature and origin of the trouble I am in ignorance of."

Again trouble showed in the lady's face.

"I cannot understand it," she said. "Four years ago something went wrong and I have not seen him since. For three years, until the other day, not even Nerica, who is devoted, to him, had so much as heard from him. Then came a registered letter which, upset her horribly; and since then she has not been herself, and she had been more concerned for Tony than ever. I do not pretend to understand the situation but I am not blind. There have been comings and goings on Nerica's part that have made me wonder if she were seeing Tony, and this morning when she went away long before I was up. I was convinced that she was."

"What induced that conviction, Lady Arthwaite? Please be frank with mo It may be very important."

"Well, naturally I inquired of the servants where she had gone, and I learned that her destination was some out of the way place called Christmas Common. I looked up the place in Kelley and made a discovery."

"What was that?"

"That the nearest town was Watlington in Oxfordshire."

"Yes?" said. Singleton interrogatively, as he failed to see the importance of the discovery.

"You do not understand? No! But when I tell you that the letter we received from Tony bore the Watlington post mark you will see how I reached die conviction that my niece had gone to meet her brother."

"I think she did meet him," commented Dick.

"You think—you saw her? You know where she went for the meeting?"

"Yes! It was a place called Rowant End— the house of Mr Shottelius."

"Oh, of Mr Samuel Shottelius— the millionaire?" cried Lady Arthwaite in amazement, and added quickly, "Then no harm can have befallen Nerica there."

For a second Dick Singleton hesitated. Should he tell Lady Arthwaite all he suspected about the millionaire? He decided that the time was not ripe for that yet, and that, for the moment, no really useful purpose would be served by the revelation.

"It was not at Rowant End that Miss Nerica disappeared. I saw her driving from that place safe and well. It must have been between Mr Shottelius' house and London that the trouble befell; and the worst of it is that we can know nothing, do nothing, until the chauffeur can tell us what happened."

"We can at least do one thing," said the lady, rising from her chair and moving towards a secretaire on which stood a telephone instrument. "We can telephone to Scotland Yard."

She had reached the secretaire and was stretching her hand towards the instrument when Singleton intervened quickly.

"Lady Arthwaite, do you think that will be wise?"

"Wise!" she exclaimed in astonishment. "Of course! Why not?"

"There are several reasons; one or two of which I cannot tell you at present; but I assure you that to call the attention of the police to Miss Nerica just now might do her infinite harm. I am sure she would not be grateful to anyone who did it "

"But the dear child must be found!"

"Yes," he said, his voice growing suddenly tense. "And she shall be. I swear that. If I die in doing it "

He broke off as he caught the expression on the lady's face, then he laughed shortly. "You see how it is with me, Lady Arthwaite? Last night I told Nerica of my love; and this morning I came here to see her, and thinking that possibly I might be accorded the privilege of talking the matter over with .vou. I missed her, and followed her to Rowant End. I did not get speech with her; but for the first time I learnt about her brother. But she knew I was there. She sent me a telegram warning me to be watchful "

"Against Mr Shottelius?" cried Lady Arthwaite, Incredulously.

"Yes! I can tell you no more than that; and you must not ask me. But you must trust me to solve this mystery, to find her. I know more than Scotland Yard might learn in a month. Though I do not know where to look for her, I do. know the people who have taken her; and I can guess the reason why they have done so. If you call In the police they might find her; but as surely as they did so, Tony would be involved In the biggest trouble, and possibly Nerica too. But If you leave it to me; then both Nerica and her brother may be saved. Believe me, you must do what I ask. I am sure that Miss Nerica had to make the decision at this moment she would unhesitatingly leave it all In my hands."

Lady Arthwaite looked at him with troubled eyes, "There Is something scandalous― "

"The scandal— no; the crime of a generation! But Nerica is quite innocent and must not be involved, whilst her brother may be plucked out of the thing, But if the police are called in―"

"They shall not be— by me!" said Lady Arthwaite, turning from the secretaire, and a second later she cried in a breaking voice, "Oh, but you must find her, Captain Singleton, You must find her— very soon."

"I will," he answered confidently. "Trust me, Lady Arthwaite. Not a moment shall be lost; if I have to crawl all the way from here to Rowant End on my knees, I will find her."

Three minutes later, as he left the room, he encountered the doctor for whom the footman had telephoned, and who was now talking to the butler.

"Drugged, did you say?"

" his gentleman has that idea, sir," said the butler, indicating Singleton.

"There isn't a doubt of it, doctor. And, as it is most important that the man should be able to give an account of himself at the earliest possible moment, I shall be glad if you will do your best to awaken him."

"Where is the man?" asked the doctor, and followed the butler, with Dick Singleton close at his heels.

The unfortunate Charles was lying on a bed in the servants' quarters. Someone had removed his collar and boots, and he lay with his eyes closed, mouth opened, breathing heavily. The doctor stooped, and, as Dick Singleton had done, smelt his breath; then he turned back one of the chauffeur's eyelids, and felt his pulse.

"How long has he been like this?" he demanded abruptly.

"Quarter of an hour, perhaps! He collapsed just as he drew up the car."

"He was driving the car?" the doctor cried in amazement. "Then he is lucky to have saved his neck. I can't say what the drug is; but I think it is unlikely that he will wake for some hours— probably not before morning." He looked again at the chauffeur's flushed face. "I wonder did he take the drug himself?"

"It's a moral certainty he didn't," answered Singleton.

"No vice of that kind about Charles, sir," said the butler.

"H'm. I wonder if the car could tell us anything? Is it about?"

"In the street, sir, if you would like to see it. I was just going to order it round to the garage when you arrived, sir."

"Then I'll take a look at it."

When they reached the saloon the first thing the doctor did was to put his head inside and sniff like a dog nosing for game.

"There is something here — the faintest of odours. I can't put a name to it. Ah! Look there!"

He pointed to some shining fragments on the floor of the car, and as he did so, Singleton asked quickly, "What―"

"Capsules—or portions of them. Such things as might have contained amyl; but probably held some powerfully soporific drug. I imagine the chauffeur was drugged by his passenger, whoever that was."

"That is―" Singleton checked in time. "Preposterous" was the word he had been about to utter, but the doctor did not know, and nodded cheerfully.

"Likely, you would say? Yes! Certain, I think. But I can do nothing. That side of the business is an affair for the police. If the chauffeur shows signs of waking-, slap him with a wet towel, and give him strong coffee. He will probably be his own man in the morning. If not, 'phone me. I have another call to which I must hurry. Good-night,"

Pie slipped into a waiting vehicle and went off; and, as he did so, Singleton struck a vesta find carefully examined the floor of the car about the driver's seat. From both floor and cushions came a score of flashing reflections made by tiny fragments of fine glass. As he noted them, he stared back to the interior of the saloon. The look in his eyes was very grim. Those two sets of shivered glass told their own tale to him. Not only Charles, the chauffeur, had been drugged; but Nerica had suffered the same fate; and, as he considered the situation, ho was assailed by apprehensions of the most acute kind.

"In heaven's name," he whispered, "what has befallen her?"

His mind supplied only one answer, which, however conjectural it might be, had for him the force of a conviction. Somehow Nerica, his beloved, had fallen into the clutches of the man to whom that very afternoon she had appealed, seemingly in vain, for mercy. And, as he was convinced of that, a great anger surged within him.

"If he hurts a hair of her head—" The whispered threat went unfinished; but the look upon his face omened ill for the man who had done this thing.

Chapter 27

AS DICK SINGLETON had divined, it was in response to a message from Shottelius that Nerica Berrington had made her unexpected 'journey to Rowant 32nd. The message had been urgent, peremptory, almost threatening in tone, There had been in it a reference to her brother, and, as her car covered the forty or so miles between town and her destination, fears for him had been like searing flames in her heart. They were still there when she rang the bell of the millionaire's country retreat; but died down a little when her summons was answered by a rather bucolic parlourmaid who was visibly impressed by the caller.

The girl's bashful awkwardness served to reassure her as perhaps nothing else might have done; suggesting as it did the commonplace, and conveying the idea that after all Mr Shottelius' establishment was just the ordinary kind of place, with a staff locally recruited and a little stiff at the elbows.

"If you will come this way, Miss," said the maid, deferentially. "Mr Shottelius is expecting you."

The girl led her across the hall to a double-doored room and announced her; and a second later Nerica was aware of the millionaire, bland and smiling, moving forward to greet her.

"Ah, my dear young lady," he said in his rich voice, his manner hatefully suave. "You have not wasted time. I am afraid that you must have exceeded the speed limit on your way from town."

To this she made no reply, her blue eyes swiftly surveying the room. Then she asked: "Where is Tony? You said he was here, that I should see him."

"All in good time, Miss Berrington. But we must have a little talk together first. Will you not take off your furs? I am afraid you will feel the heat of the room if you don't.... That is better! Now this chair. You will be able to toast your toes; and our talk will be none the less pleasant because we are comfortable."

She took the chair indicated, whilst her host took the one at the opposite side of the open hearth, stretching a delicate hand towards the fire as if to warm himself as he did so. Tie did not speak, however; and after a little pause, the girl said brusquely: "Mr Shottelius, I am waiting."

The man laughed softly. " You are direct, my dear Miss Berrington! But for what are you waiting?" At that Nerica was a little nonplussed. She was not sure of what she was waiting for; and her host's manner set her fears mounting once more.

"I am waiting for... for... what you have to say," she answered a little lamely.

Mr Shottelius smiled. "You want to know why I have... er... invited you down here in such haste this morning. As you will have surmised from the hint I gave you when I telephoned, the reason for my invitation concerns your rather unhappy brother."

"Yes! Yes!" she said Impatiently, as he broke off.

"And," he continued blandly, "that most mysterious affair at Belvoir Mansions."

The girl's face, as she heard the words, became exceedingly pale; and her eyes fixed upon the millionaire's grew bright with fear. She recalled what Dick Singleton had said about this man's knowledge, and certain utterly incredible suspicions of her own also, and for a moment she sat there appalled; then she asked in a shaking whisper: "Why— why do you couple Tony and—and... that together?"

"Because they are inseparably linked, I fancy," he answered quietly. "Miss Berrington, I want you to be frank with me— for your own sake; for your brother's sake. I know far more than you imagine, I know of Tony Berrington's, trouble; I know the peril in which he moves, and I know that he sent you to Belvoir Mansions on the night when that man Southwell was murdered,"

"You know that he sent me—" she began stammeringly.

"Yes!" The voice was still suave; but there was a gleam of impatience in the strange eyes. "You will not deny that, I hope. I am asking you to be quite frank. I am your friend. I want to be your brother's friend; and believe me I can help far more than you think."

"You can help—" she broke off, fears, doubts, and a dim hope struggling in her heart.

"Yes! I can help you as no one else can.  But you must be candid with me. You must trust me, Will you tell me why you went to Belvoir Mansions that night?"

For a second she hesitated, whilst her mind worked in lightning flashes.

After all why not tell? This man knew she had been at that scene of crime. It could not hurt her and It might help Tony if she told him the troth. She looked quickly towards him. The gleam of impatience had gone from the odd eyes. They were sympathetic now inviting confidence; and there was a look of something like compassion on the man's handsome face. A sudden inclination to trust him moved her: and she spoke impulsively.

"I went because Tony asked me. I went to warn―"

She broke off sharply without completing the confession. The suave sympathetic man before her was transformed. His strange eyes were glittering like sword blades, and he had the look of a hissing, venomous serpent about to strike. For a second or two she stared at him, appalled, as lie sat there, silent, shaken, as it seemed, by fury. Then he broke out:

"Ah! I was right! Well! That is the end of Bebe Berrington."

A soft laugh followed the words, a laugh of extraordinarily ferocious quality, and suddenly she understood beyond all questioning that this man was not Tony's friend, but his most deadly enemy.

"Oh!" she cried in a stricken voice, "You... you―"

"Yes!" he interrupted, laughing that freezing laugh again. "You are right, my dear young lady, I am— er— shall we say— your brother's keeper?"

"You... you " she began again, and broke off unable to continue, her utterance choked by excess of horror.

Shottelius watched her with his strange eyes, a half sneer on his handsome face; and then words came to her in a spate.

"You... you ordered him to kill that man, and you know that, desperate as he was, he would not go, that he sent me to "

"You are mistaken, Miss Berrington," came the interruption. "Your brother repented his folly and went―"

"No! No!"

"I assure you!" Shottelius replied easily. "And he left evidence of his visit behind; a portrait of yourself which he must have dropped in his haste—"

"How—how did you know that?" she cried aghast, and yet with a sudden leaping hope in her heart.

"Well," he replied, with that suavity that to her had become almost repulsive. "I am fortunate in my friends. The Commissioner of Police holds me in almost brotherly regard. He showed me that very dainty miniature of yourself explaining that with a certain blood-stained handkerchief it was the chief clue by which his subordinates hoped to unravel the mystery and—"

She did not hear the last words. The man was lying! lying! Dick Singleton had that portrait. The police had never seen it, and now she was delivered from her worst fear. However the miniature which she had given to her brother had come to be in that room of death, Tony had not taken it there. Her heart exulted with relief, then she became conscious of the man watching her as it he would read the recesses of her mind; and a second later she caught his threat.

"A word to the Commissioner and Tony Berrington goes to the gallows!"

In a flash it came to her that he was as much in Tony's hands as Tony was in his; and it was on the tip of her tongue to say so; but at that precise moment she saw a car glide up to the house, with her lover at the wheel: and utterly amazed though she was, forcing herself to act a part, she cried appealingly the words which Singleton heard.

"Mr Shottelius, have you no mercy. Is your heart a stone?"

A second later the millionaire himself became aware of his new visitors, and with a peremptoriness that he did not in any way cloak, broke off the interview.

"You must excuse me for a while, I have important callers. Please come this way. We will resume our conversation presently."

His manner gave her no option, on knew that as like as not he would use force if she did not do. as he wished; so followed him to an adjoining room, where, left alone, she paced up and down, in much agitation, wondering what had brought her lover to Rowant End; and striving to distinguish words in the rumble of voices that reached her. Her efforts in that direction, however, were unavailing; and after a time she crept to the door itself and quietly turned the handle, then, her heart beating a wild tattoo, she tugged gently. As she had expected, the door was fastened; and she was wondering whether it was Mr Shottelius's intention to keep her prisoner, when a sound at the other end of the room made her turn in that direction. A door masked by a framed piece of tapestry was opening, and as she stared, a man appeared, who, making a sign for silence, approached her.

"You aire Mademoiselle Berrington?" he asked in a whisper, his accent proclaiming his French ancestry.

"Yes," she answered, not liking the man, but wondering what his purpose was.

"Me! I am Gerard, and— how do you say?— pal to Tony, who to me ess as mon freré. He send me to you. He zay dat you aire to get out of dis like zee lightning."

"Oh! Where is Tony?" she whispered imploringly, forgetting her dislike of the man. "If you know, tell me."

"Dat I can not," replied the man, striking an attitude.

"Non! But though I weel not tell, I weel do bettaire, mademoiselle. I weel to heem you take. When you leave dis place ,you leave by zee rear gate; an' for you I weel on zee common wait. Den you peeck me up; an' I weel to heem you take. You comprehend?"

Excited as she was at the thought of seeing her brother, Nerica was not blind to the fact that some nefarious purpose might be behind the man's offer; but remembering that the chauffeur would be with her, she agreed to fall in with his plans, and then, as there came a sound from the adjoining room, the man threw up a hand in a gesture of warning, and fled as furtively as he had come.

For a little longer she paced the room in a state of great excitement, as she thought of her brother, between whiles wondering who the furtive Gerard was; and what his relation to Mr Shottelius; then the goggled secretary entered and explained that his master was detained, and bringing the message that he hoped to give himself the pleasure of calling upon her in town on the morrow.

Ten minutes later she left the rear gate of Rowant End behind her, having given instructions to the chauffeur to look out for the man, whom she described minutely, and swept by her lover, as explained, without observing him; a few minutes later picking up the Frenchman. She found the latter remarkably uncommunicative. To a direct question he answered briefly.

"Haf patience, mademoiselle. I take you to our Tony; an' dat ees mooch bettaire dan explaining."

The man's taciturnity drove her to her own thoughts. She remembered Dick Singleton; what his mission was at Rowant End she could not guess; but with horror of Mr Shottelius still upon her she was sure her lover was in peril. That conviction mounted until it became almost an obsession. If he were ignorant, as she suspected, of the real character of Shottelius, then the danger was grave. She must do something to warn him, but what?

As they run into High Wycombe the solution of the difficulty came to her. A telegram. Fortune served her with an excuse. Charles, discovering the petrol tank was running low, halted to replenish; and she made an excuse to go to the Post Office nearby.

When she returned the Frenchman looked at her curiously, but made, no remark, and presently they, resumed their way through the gathering dusk and thickening fog. Her companion sat very still, so still that she thought he was sleeping until the glare of the headlights of a passing vehicle revealed that he was watching her through half-closed eyes. A vague feeling of uneasiness stirred within her. Why was this man watching her so slyly. Before she found an answer she spoke.

"I think we will have the light on."

"Certainment, mademoiselle," said the man with alacrity. "Permit me,"

He leaned across her towards the switch, She caught a glimpse of something white in his hand, and then quite suddenly the thing was pressed into her face, crushing her nose and mouth, and preventing her from crying out. She struggled, clutched frantically at the man's hand, but ruthlessly he thrust her back into the corner of the saloon, She had a sense of something that stung her nostrils, that seemed to burn her lungs as she inhaled. Her head seemed to be growing to an enormous size; there was a sound in her ears like the roaring of a train in a tunnel. She felt she was choking; and her last conscious thought was that she was slipping into the engulfing darkness of death.

Chapter 28

MOST OF THE NIGHT, following the disappearance of Nerica, Dick Singleton spent pacing to and fro in his flat, in a very fever of concern for the girl whom he loved. Time and again he visioned her as he had seen her in that very room, white-faced, her sapphire eyes gleaming with apprehension; and as he thought of her he groaned at his helplessness. She was in extremity, and he could do nothing.

Sometimes he pictured her, flushed of face, eyes closed, breathing heavily under the same drug as Charles, the chauffeur: and at another time he saw her, face in hands, weeping in silent despair, overcome by the thing which had befallen her. Mad thoughts came to him in the still hours of the night. He would go forthwith to Rowant End; knock up Shottelius, beard him in his own house and at the pistol-point compel him to tell the truth and set Nerica at liberty.

But even as he moved towards the door better counsel prevailed. Nerica might not be at Rowant End at all. It was conceivable that she might be close at hand— in London, perhaps at Shottelius's house; or at that house next door which she had visited with., the dark man whom that night he had knocked down with his car. He wished vindictively that he had killed the man, since unquestionably the fellow was associated with Shottelius, probably one of the men who figured in the dead Southwell's list under some odd name— a blackguard, anyhow!

Or again he thought the girl might be anywhere in the forty miles or so that lay between London and Watlington. In a fever of conjecture his mind jumped from name to name. "The Wycombes," "Wycombe Marsh," "Hotspur Heath—" No! The London end would be likeliest. Charles, the chauffeur, could not have driven that forty miles under a drug that had been administered early in the journey. "Gerard's Cross," "Tatling End," "Uxbridge—"

"Oh! What's the use?" he cried, distraughtly.

In his heart he knew that, wherever and at whatever point of the journey the kidnapping had taken place, by this time Nerica might be well on her way to the other end of England. The powers of the modern automobile were so tremendous that, given a skilful driver, reckless of the speed limit, she might be two hundred miles away.

As the hours passed a lethargy fell upon him. Sheer weariness drove him to a chair; and the exhaustion of overtaxed emotions induced a fitful sleep, out of which he woke to find the grey light of dawn streaming through the windows.

He felt too distressed to eat, but forced himself to make an indifferent meal: then, whilst he waited for the telephone summons that now he momentarily expected, he rang up the garage where he kept his car, ordering it to be brought round. From the window he saw it arrive; and whilst the summons, for which he waited so impatiently, tarried, his door opened, and Tracy walked in.

"Any news, old man?" he asked sympathetically, as he caught the worn, anxious look on his friend's face.

"None, yet! I am—"

The whirr of the telephone bell broke on the words; and, hurrying to the instrument, he took up the earpiece and listened.

"Is that you, Captain Singleton?" He recognised the voice of Lady Arthwaite's butler, and having given the stereotyped answer, the news for which he was awaiting came. "Charles has just wakened, sir. He is sick and heavy, but quite himself. If you wish to see him, sir, I think—"

"I'll be round in five minutes, thank you. I'm starting immediately."

He rang off and turned to his friend, "I'm going to Lady Arthwaite's, Aleck, The chauffeur's just come round. I may learn the truth now."

"I'll accompany you!" said Tracy quickly. "This business won't end at Lady Arthwaite's, I'll swear."

They went together, and ten minutes later were standing by the bedside of the chauffeur, who had the look of a very sick man, but was able to talk. His recollections of what had occurred were, however, of the vaguest.

"I can't tell you what happened, sir," he said in response to Singleton's questions. "One moment I was fit as a fiddle, and pushing the pace, and the next I saw something white in front of me and felt as if I were choking. My eyes seemed to go blind for a minute, and I know they stung like fire; and thinking I was going to have a fit of some sort, and having Miss Nerica in mind, I stopped the car. After that I seemed to go clean off for a while."

"Where were you then?" asked Singleton quickly.

"We'd just crossed the Grand Junction Canal the other side of Uxbridge when it happened. But, sir, the car didn't come straight on to town."

"Ah! How do you know?"

"By the petrol tank and by the time that the butler tells me I reached here. I'd filled the tank at High Wycombe whilst Miss Nerica went into the post office, and that distance wouldn't have emptied it as James says it has been. It couldn't have done, and I was hours after what I should have been in getting here. The saloon was taken a long way by somebody whilst I was in that stupor."

"Who do you suppose it was who took it?"

"Must have been the man whom Miss Nerica picked up ,just after we left Rowant End,"

"Did you know him?"

"No, sir."

"Do you know Miss Nerica's brother?"

"Yes, sir. I haven't seen him for a long time; but I'll take my oath it wasn't he. The man was some sort of a foreigner, I think— a dark, nervy sort of fellow with very shiny black eyes, and a little moustache, waxed at the ends."

Tracy gave an exclamation, "Saint Pierre—for a thousand!"

"You think so, Aleck?"

"Dead sure of it!"

A grim look came on Dick Singleton's face as he received this assurance. He was silent for a moment; and then he asked: "How did you manage to bring the car back to town?"

"I didn't, sir. I remember nothing about the business except that I found myself at the top of the road, with the wheel in my hand, my head pounding like steam hammers, and the street and everything in it spinning like a merry-go-round. I must have been brought there; and as I found the car moving, I knew I must somehow get Miss Nerica home, before I went off again, and I tried, sir. I didn't know she wasn't in the car; and I didn't know that I'd got here till I woke a while back feeling powerful sick, and the butler told me what had happened."

"You really can't remember anything between? Think, man— for heaven's sake!"

The chauffeur shook his head. "It's no use, sir, I've tried. As to what happened between the time I felt that choking feeling and finding myself at the wheel at the top of the street my mind's us blank as a house-end. But there's a little thing I'd like to show you, sir."

As he spoke he pushed back his sleeve, and pointed to a tiny puncture in his wrist. "I saw that just now, sir. I know what it is."

"So do I! It's the mark of a hypodermic needle."

"Yes, sir, I know. I had more than one when I was in hospital in France during the war. But I'm not a doper, sir, and somebody else did that last night."

"But you weren't drugged that way. I know. Somebody broke a glass capsule of some very volatile drug under your nose, I fancy. Thai white thing you saw may have been a handkerchief in which the glass was crushed."

"Then I reckon the syringe was to stimulate me into wakefulness after," said the chauffeur quickly.

"Maybe," agreed Singleton thoughtfully,

The man's suggestion war probably the right one, but in any case it told him nothing, and as he swiftly reviewed all that he had heard, w in despair hr realised that there was little that was helpful in it. The one outstanding piece of information was that about the man whom Tracy and himself had seen enter the car. If his friend was right in his conjecture that definitely linked Nerica's disappearance with the nefarious activities of the gang.

He questioned the man further, without eliciting anything that was in any way useful; then he returned to his car, accompanied by his friend. There was a set look on his face, and Tracy asked no questions; but guessing what was in Singleton's mind, watched with interest the way they took. When again the car came to a standstill, he smiled a little.

"Shottelius's house, I suppose?"

"Yes!"

"What's the game?"

"I'm going to make an inquiry."

He left the car, and Tracy watched him whilst he made the inquiry. When he returned he asked, "Well?"

"Shottelius is not here. I didn't expect he would be! And he's not expected since the house is to be shut up and left in the charge of caretakers till further notice."

"You think the information is reliable ?"

"Haven't a doubt of it. The manservant whom I saw is indignant at being kicked out with a month's wages in lieu of notice."

"Then it looks as if Shottelius were going to make himself scarce for a little time;"

"Yes! But I'm going to see him before he does. I'm going down to Rowant End at once. No one else would have kidnapped Nerica, and I'm going to make him release her out of hand."

"You may find it difficult, Dick—"

"All the same, I'll do it," replied Singleton, with a hard note in his voice which told his friend that he was thoroughly roused at last; and that no ordinary regard for law or for the conventions of society would stand between him and his purpose.

"All right! Set the course for Rowant End. I may represent the margin of safety, and I'm with you."

And as his friend set the car's nose westward, Aleck Tracy hummed lightly to himself—

"Two are better far than one.

For counsel or for light—"

Before they were clear of the town it began to rain. At Beaconsfield it was a fine drizzle that seemed to penetrate everything and set a chill in the bones. It was a thicker drizzle at Watlington and on the common they seemed to be in the thick of a cloud. They passed the place where they had so narrowly escaped disaster on the previous night and presently the gates of Rowant End lifted themselves through the drizzle. At the gates they stopped; and through the funereal pines took stock of the house.

It struck Tracy that it had a forlorn and desolate aspect. Only a single chimney was smoking; and all along the front of the house the silken curtains were drawn. He was assailed by a conviction that their, miserable journey through the rain had been in vain.

"Gone!" he said. "Or foxing."

Singleton did not reply. Leaving the car at the gates, he hurried towards the house. Tracy waited a moment, then with a purpose of his own in mind followed him. He saw his friend ringing; and himself slipped through the shrubbery in the direction of the rear of the house. Presently he found what he sought— the garage; a large structure meant to accommodate three or four cars.

There was no one about; and he tried the padlock which held the double door. It was fastened. Moving to the side of the building he looked through the window. The place was empty, save for a couple of bicycles in a rack.

Having ascertained that, he hurried back, just as a peremptory rat a tat reached him through the drip of the rain. Guessing that Singleton's first summons had gone unanswered, he was not surprised when he saw him still standing in front of the oaken door, fuming with impatience. Cut just as he was about to call to him, there came the sharp sound of a bolt drawn back, another followed, and then the door opened, and he caught his friend's question.

"Mr Shottelius at home?"

"No, sir, he left early this morning."

Tracy hurried forward to get a look at the speaker. It was the gardener whom they had seen at the rear of the house on the previous day, and whom he was convinced was no more than he seemed. Then came Singleton's next question, sharp as a double pistol shot.

"His destination? Do you know it?"

"No, sir. But it is somewhere abroad. And the house is to be closed for a considerable time, sir."

The man's manner was frankness itself. To Singleton its to Tracy it was evident that the matt was telling the truth; and as they hurried away, the latter ejaculated a single word.

"Bolted!"

"Yes," groaned Singleton hoarsely, "in God's name, Aleck, What's to be done now?"

Chapter 29

AS DICK SINGLETON asked his despairing question Tracy, answered quickly.

"Don't know, old chap. It wants thinking over. Shottelius isn't here, I'll swear; and there isn't a car about the place, which fact points to his having flitted. The thing to do is to get back to town and try to get into touch with some other of the scoundrelly crowd. There are three of them whom we know— St. Pierre, that goggled secretary whom you spoke of, and the dark-visaged fellow we knocked down last night, and who must be feeling sore enough to have gone into hospital this morning. If we can get on the track of one of them—"

"That fellow whom we crashed lives in the next house to Shottelius in town—"

"And Shottelius pays the rent, I'll swear," interrupted his friend with a harsh laugh. "But if you're thinking of walking up to the front door and demanding an interview it will be no use, Dick, The fellow won't be at home; or he'll have gone, big game shooting, or, oh, any confounded thing you like. The one certain thing is that you won't be permitted to see him— unless you manage it by craft. What we must do is to have a watch kept on the house. It's even possible that Miss Berrington may be there, though I shouldn't think it likely. But if we can get in touch with him it may be helpful,"

"Helpful! If I do get in touch with him I'll choke the truth out of him," groaned Singleton us they climbed into the cur.

Tracy whistled thoughtfully to himself a little while, then he said abruptly "You don't feel Inclined to offer up Tony Berrington on the altar of sacrifice?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there's that inspector fellow— Lavers! If we told him the whole yarn he'd set out to get Tony in order to verify it; and once Berrington was nailed Shottelius would have no further use for his sister—"

"And what do you think Nerica would do? Do you think she would look at me after that? Good Lor', man, she wouldn't demean herself to so much as throw a stone at a Judas like I should be."

"Don't call yourself unnecessary names, old man," said his friend quickly. "I didn't think you'd take that line of country at all. I know you wouldn't. I merely mentioned it as a quick way of freeing the girl from this entanglement, but I guessed how you'd react. We've got to save Tony Berrington with his sister if it's at all possible; and we've got to discuss ways and means of getting on the scent of Shottelius."

The discussion of ways and means, as it happened, led nowhere. It was one thing to consider plans, another thing to put the plans into execution, find at the end of a long discussion in the flat Dick Singleton was in despair.

"We can get nowhere," he said. "We're checkmated unless some lucky happening occurs."

"Don't worry about the lucky happening," laughed Tracy harshly. "It may be an unlucky one that will give us the clue. You don't suppose that we're going to be let alone, or that Shottelius will be put out of business so easily? Southwell was done to death because he had discovered too much, and our knowledge will qualify us for some drastic measure. We'll get a revelation soon enough, I'll swear, though whether we shall be in a position to take advantage of it or not is another horse."

"Well, the sooner these scoundrels move the better. I'll welcome the risk, for until we discover where Shottelius has gone or tumble on one of his lieutenants we can't do a thing."

"True," agreed his friend. "But if he has really gone abroad, unless he's merely crossed to Calais and Paris It would be possible to discover the fact by consulting the sailing lists; and there's one thing for your comfort, Dick; and that is, powerful personage as Shottelius is, he couldn't possibly take Miss Berrington with him under duress. That sort of thing can't be done on a ship sailing out of an English port."

"No! But you're forgetting. He has a steam yacht— the last word in that sort of thing— floating palace, and all that, I remember seeing a picture of it in one of the illustrated papers."

"Great Harry! That may be helpful, more helpful than anything else. It should be easy to find where that yacht moors; and if it has recently sailed to discover its whereabouts. There's no secrecy about the ways of ships these days, between Lloyd's and the wireless. Their comings and goings are chronicled like those of a royal personage or a cinema star. You stop here, in case anything turns up. These are ropes that I know pretty well, I'll go out and make inquiries, and if I'm not back in an hour with news that will set us moving I'll eat my hat."

He crammed that indigestible article upon his head, and, slipping on his coat, as he went, hurried from the flat. Standing at the window, Dick Singleton watched him signal a passing taxi-cab and drive away at a speed which told as plainly as words that the driver had been promised more than the ordinary inducement to move along. That Tracy really believed that the errand on which he had set out would yield results that would help them was clear; but, left to himself, and for the present condemned to inactivity, a mood of utter depression fell upon Singleton— a depression that was the outcome of extreme apprehension.

An hour passed with leaden feet, and his apprehension grew. To wait there helpless, whilst Nerica was in the hands of desperate scoundrels, imprisoned in some God-forsaken place, or being hurried to some secret rendezvous, was torture to him. As he glanced at the clock, from time to time, he grew impatient with his friend.

"In God's name, what's the fellow doing?" he muttered angrily

An unreasonable resentment at the other's delayed return took possession of him. It wasn't fair of Aleck to keep him there in inactivity when there was so much to be done,

"I'll give him another ten minutes, and then "

He broke off sharply as he saw a telegraph messenger wheeling a red bicycle, negotiating the crossing of planks made by the road-menders In the street below. A conviction assailed him that here was news at last; a conviction so strong that he ran down the stairs to the hall, so swiftly that he reached it just as the messenger entered.

"Captain Singleton?" enquired the lad carelessly.

"Yes! Yes!" cried Dick, holding out an impatient hand. Tearing open the buff envelope, he took out the flimsy sheet and read the message with lightning swiftness.

"On a hot scent. Will wire. Aleck!"

That was all; and he could have cursed his friend for the tantalising brevity of the report. It was just like Aleck to leave him wondering, and not to think what suspense would mean to him. But as he looked at the telegram he saw that it had been handed in at Euston Station, 25 minutes before; and as he marked that an exclamation of surprise broke from him.

"What on earth's he doing there?"

Aleck had started for Lloyd's Offices at the Royal Exchange, and here he was

A new thought broke on that one; a thought which sent him hurrying to the desk where the Bradshaw was. Taking up that podgy work he began hurriedly to turn over the pages till he found what he wanted— a list of trains leaving the terminus. His eyes ran over them swiftly, and then rested for a moment on one set. of figures before turning to the telegram anew. The telegram had been handed in at 1.13, and a train running north had left two minutes later. He wondered if r there was any connection between the  two.

It was more than possible, and that meant that either Tracy had received information which had sent him off hotfoot, or had stumbled on some clue which it was necessary to follow immediately. There seemed no reasonable doubt that one or other of these alternatives was behind the laconic message; and after careful examination of the time-table to make sure that the departure of no other train so nearly synchronised with the time of the despatch of the telegram, he followed the course of the train down the time-table. The first stop was Rugby. If his friend had indeed travelled by it, there could be no further message come from him for at least two hours or more.

To wait there, twiddling his fingers and tormenting himself with unhappy thoughts was impossible. He must be doing something; and impulsively he decided to go down to Euston, and, if possible, satisfy himself that Tracy had really travelled by that train.

Five minutes later he was on his way to the terminus; and when he reached it he had better luck than he had hoped for. The ticket inspector at the barrier, having just gone on duty, could tell him nothing; but an inquiry at the telegraph office revealed that the telegram had been handed in by a porter, and a little patient Inquiry soon brought him in touch with the man.

"Yessir! I took the telegram, the gentleman being in a terrible hurry to get the train—t he 1.15 to Glasgow. He said the message was very important, an' gave me a ten-bob note, telling me to pocket the change."

"Do you know where he had booked for?"

"Yessir, Glasgow. I know because I heard him ask the ticket collector if there'd be any fuss if he got out at any intermediate station if he wanted to; and the inspector said not if he was prepared to sacrifice the rest of the ticket, sir."

"He wasn't with anyone, I suppose?"

"No, sir. But I have a notion he was interested In a lady who was with a tall gentleman that walked very lame." A thought of Nerica leaped into Dick Singleton's mind.

"Ah!" he said impulsively, "was the lady very fair, with blue eyes, and hair the colour of red-gold?"

The porter did his best to suppress a grin. "No, sir. She was tall and dark, nearly as tall as the lame gentleman himself. I didn't see her face, because she had a veil, but I did happen to notice her hair."

"And the lame gentleman— what was he like?"

"Can't say, sir, except that he was tall, for I didn't take any particular notice."

Realising that there was nothing more to be learned, Singleton tipped the man, and left the station. Outside he paused irresolutely, uncertain what to do next, staring at the passing traffic absently. Tracy was on a hot scent, the course of which took him northward. If the porter was not mistaken, that scent was somehow related to a tall dark woman with a tall man who was very lame, and—

Quite suddenly athwart the traffic his mind visioned the man who lived in the house next to Shottelius, and who had been knocked senseless at Christmas Common last night. That man was bound to have been hurt; it was possible that he might be very lame. If he were, the man whom Tracy was following—

A second later he had hailed a passing taxi, and as the man came to a halt a few yards down the road he hurried to him.

"The Green Park!" he gave instructions. "As quick as you can."

And as the taxi glided forward he stared out of the window with eyes that danced with excitement. There was, at any rate, one thing that he could do whilst he was waiting for further news. He could find out whether that tall man of saturnine countenance had returned to his London home.

Chapter 30

WAKENING out of that darkness of unconsciousness which is so like that of death, Nerica Berrington half opened her eyes and looked about her uncomprehendingly. A moment later, the eyelids dropped heavily, and she lay in that half-conscious trancelike state which is neither sleeping nor waking. But presently her eyes opened again, staring in the direction of the window, watching the grey dawn creep through the undrawn curtains, whilst to her ears came the noise of the wind and the rattling of rain on the panes.

Then in a lull of the wind two other sounds reached her—the cry of a seabird, like the wail of a lost soul, and the booming sound of the sea breaking on the shore. Startled into full wakefulness, she sat up, and made the amazing discovery that, except for her shoes, she was fully clothed. She stared at her dress bewilderedly, and then in even greater bewilderment she looked round the room.

It was not her own apartment at Lady Arthwaite's, but a strange room, and yet one that somehow had an oddly familiar appearance. It was like... Her thought broke off. She had a feeling that she must be dreaming one of those dreams  that are as vivid as waking life itself, and then through the thought came the boom of the sea once more. That sound was real. This strange and yet familiar room—

She slid from the bed, and as she did so was conscious of a quite terrible nausea and giddiness. Clutching the wooden bed-post to save herself from falling, she sank back upon the bed, waiting until this spasm should pass. There were black specks before her eyes; her heart seemed to be beating intolerably quickly; and each pulse of it was like a hammer stroke in her brain. She had a vague thought that she must have fallen a victim to some strange sickness, mm that this room, at once strange and familiar, and the sounds she had heard, were just part of that phantasmagoria which the fevered brain conjures up; but as the spasm passed she made the discovery that they were reality.

Summoning all her will, power, she crossed the room to the latticed window, the casement of which was shaking in the wind. The nausea was mounting again as she struggled with the iron catch, but as she threw the casement wide open the cold wind, driving in and lashing her face with the rain-drops with which it was laden, revived her.

Welcoming the buffeting, and careless of the drenching rain, she leaned forth, staring across a wide, rather ragged garden and a stubble field or two to a grey and forlorn shore on which the sea was thundering. It was to her an entirely familiar scene and one associated with the years of her childhood. That; she told herself, was the Solway shore, and this house

She swung from the window with the thought unfinished, and looked round. A framed photograph on the wall caught her eyes; and, crushing down the giddiness which assailed her when she moved, she crossed to it and looked at it closely. It was the portrait of a tall boy in an Eton suit— her brother Tony.

She had not been mistaken and assured of the fact, she suddenly whispered a name:

"Craigdarroch!"

Her brother Tony's house in Kirkcudbright! But what was she doing in a house that, as she knew, was let to strangers? And how and when had she come here. A troubled look came on her face as she asked herself these questions; and as the giddiness reasserted itself she staggered to a divan chair, and, seating herself, held her swimming head in her hands whilst she strove to think.

Yesterday— if yesterday it was— she had gone down to Rowant End in response to an urgent message from Mr Shottelius. A little shudder passed over her as she thought of the man and she was conscious of nausea again.

Little by little the remembrance of events came to her, until she reached the point of time when the Frenchman had so brutally crushed that handkerchief over her mouth and nose; and in imagination once more she felt herself sinking into the engulfing darkness of death. She shuddered violently as she recalled that experience; and then tried resolutely to carry her remembrance forward.

But from that point onward her memory was a blank. With the rain beating a wild tattoo upon the lattices, she searched the hidden deeps of consciousness, hoping to find something more to link the past with the present, but failed. From that moment when she had sunk as she thought into the deeps of death, she had no remembrance of anything— neither how she had been brought to Craigdarroch nor who had brought her there. There was a gap in her consciousness that was not to be bridged, Then the truth forced itself upon her.

"I was drugged,' she whispered. "I have slept all the time since until now. That Frenchman was a treacherous hound."

That she had fallen a prisoner into those evil hands that held her brother in thrall she had no doubt whatever, The question was, how long had she been there? It was not easy to find the answer. It did not seem possible that she had been brought that length of England to Craigdarroch on the Solway Firth in a single night. Even if she had bean brought by train she could not have been waking in this room at dawn the following morning. And it seemed unlikely that she had slept the round of the clock three times.

Puzzled, she looked towards the door of the room.

"I wonder if it is locked," she whispered.

Then the thought came to her that if it were, then unquestionably whoever had brought her to this place meant to keep her in durance. Impulsively she rose to her feet, and, after waiting for the giddiness to pass, moved towards the door. When she reached it, very cautiously she turned the handle, and pulled at the door gently. It did not yield.

"A prisoner!" she ejaculated, and her pale face grew more wan.

She was a captive in a house where part of her childhood had been spent; in Tony's house, though she understood that both the house and the shooting had been let to strangers. A new thought occurred to her. Had Tony, fearing for her welfare, arranged her kidnapping. It was just the kind of mad idea that might occur to him, and—

In her absorption the handle of the door slipped from her grasp, malting a sharp click that sounded startlingly loud, in spite of the clamour outside. A second later she heard steps hurrying along the gallery on the other side of the door. Then a voice reached her, shouting roaringly:

"Doctor! Doctor! Your little bird awakes,"

Another voice answered: then again the sound of advancing feet reached her. They reached the door, halted, and as a chuckle of masculine laughter broke on her ears, a key a as inserted in the lock, and as she heard it turning she stepped sharply backward, staring apprehensively, wondering what the opening door would reveal.

Chapter 31

VERY slowly the door, before which Nerica waited, opened, as if the person on the other side were using extreme caution, or were striving to create an effect. Inch by inch the gap between the door post widened. Nerica watching with fascinated eyes. Then came a laugh of a quality that made her blood run cold, the door gave a jerk forward, and Mr Shottelius stood revealed.

Nerica was not surprised. She had more than half-expected something of the kind, but for all that, as her gaze met the man's strange eyes, stark terror leaped in her heart. There was in them a flame that appalled her; a gleam of implacableness that turned her courage to water; and though there was a smile on the man's handsome face, that look in the eyes told her that terrible fires were burning in his heart. But his voice as he greeted her was smooth and suave as ever,

"Good-morning, my dear young lady! Your sleep has been sound; but I am pleased to give you welcome to Craigdarroch at last."

The girl's soul was shaking within her; nevertheless she steadied herself, and there was scarcely a quiver in her voice as she answered the man's bland impertinence with the demand:

"Why have you brought me here, Mr Shottelius?"

"Why?'- he laughed mirthlessly, as he echoed the word. "Can you not guess? You are the victim of practice that is as old as the world." He laughed again. "I will be frank with you. Your brother Tony, for some years my dear friend, has shown a sudden distaste for me; has, in fact, broken the pact between us—and—er —disappeared. That is a great grief to me, for I love him like a son; and it is my hope that having you with me I may induce him to return without loss of time; you are. in fact, a hostage."

"A hostage?"

"Yes! For Tony Berrington's good behaviour. Of late, I regret to say, he has manifested certain aberrations which have caused me great concern. He has shown a disposition to be coltish, to run wild, to kick over the traces in which he had worked for four wonderful years, and you are to be the inducement to lead him back to his allegiance. When he hears you are in my hands his fraternal love will bring him back to me hot-foot. At least, that is my hope."

"I pray you may be disappointed!" cried Nerica feelingly.

"You do?" The man lifted his eyebrows in mild surprise, then he laughed in a way that made the girl shiver, and continued smoothly: "That is because you do not understand the situation, Miss Berrington. If Tony does not return to me I think it is likely that he will be hanged.

"Not for killing Charles Southwell," she retorted quickly.

Mr Shottelius laughed again. "You think not? You must sadly underestimate me, Miss Nerica if you really think that. I can find evidence against brother Tony that would damn an archangel, yes, and hang him, too!" He stood as if musing over his own conceit for a moment, then he spoke again. "But the affair at Belvoir Mansions is not the only one that Tony Berrington may be charged with. There is something at least as black. Has he ever told you how we became acquainted?"

"He has never mentioned you to me by name at any time," answered Nerica stonily.

"No? That is a strange omission for one who has been to me as a son," gibed Mr Shottelius. "But perhaps he was not very proud of the occasion. It was in Paris—the Paris of the end of the war; which was full of young men delivered from. the shadow of death and lustful for the wine of life.

"Hate one night I had been visiting an artist friend who had his lodging in the Place Pigalle in the shadow of Montmartre, and was just stepping into my automobile, when stumbling steps came along the sidewalk, and a. moment later a very dishevelled young gentleman appeared. He was exhausted with., running, stumbling like a man far gone in wine; and as he came opposite my car he almost fell into my arms.

" 'For God's sake ' he sobbed.

" 'Yes, my young friend,' I asked, 'what is it that I shall do for the sake of le bon Dieu?'

"'Take me in!' he said. His eyes were looking backward over his shoulder; and I knew that the hounds of fear were harrying his soul. 'They are after me,' he cried hoarsely. 'For the Lord's sake drive me away.' "

The narrator broke off and smiled at the girl, who was staring at him with fear in her eyes. "I am a tolerant man," he boasted. "I know of what follies youth may be guilty; not being the Almighty I do not think it ought to pay too heavily for its thoughtless sins. So I took him in, and drove him to my hotel, in the Place Vendome, where he arrived in a state of collapse. He stayed the night there; and in the morning before he joined me at breakfast I had read of the crime in the morning paper. In one of those houses of mystery in the Rue des Martyrs a man had been foully shot— a brilliant young officer of the French service—and by reason of his deeds in the War, a national hero, and the assassin was reputed to be an Englishman, who immediately after the commission of the crime had fled..." He paused and looked at Nerica musingly. "Need I say more to hurt your heart?"

"Continue!" said the girl in a quivering voice. "Tell me all."

"There is little more to be told. I read the account I thought of my young Englishman who had come to me a fugitive in the Place Pigalle, and I knew then who was responsible for the crime with which Paris was already ringing. When he came down he was like a ghost, and as he took the paper, I watched him. I saw him read the account of the crime, and when he looked up his eyes were full of dread, his face that of a lost soul.

" 'My young friend,' I said. 'You are moving in deep waters. If Paris knew you were here it would storm the place and tear you limb from limb.'

"He did not deny the implication. Instead he was very frank.

" 'Of your mercy, help me,' he pleaded. 'I must get away.'

" 'You certainly must!' I said, 'if you are to live.' "

The man paused, and punctuated his narrative with a laugh. "I am no Frenchman. The heroes of Paris were nothing to me. I detested their Gallic airs— so I gave him the help he prayed for. Within an hour we started for Marseilles in my car, since it was certain that Calais would be watched; and seven days later we were in London, and for the time Tony Berrington was safe. He was grateful to me, and I, had a use for him "

"A vile use!" broke in Nerica.

"What matter?" was the retort given with a shrug of the shoulders. "A live dog— you know the proverb! But what I have told you is the truth "

"I will not believe it of Tony!"

"No? Such a faith was never found in Israel! But it will not serve our Tony. His life is forfeit in two countries. A word to New Scotland Yard —and he hangs. A word to the Sûrété in Paris and he goes to the guillotine. It is an evil choice; and one that I would willingly spare him, by bringing him back to his allegiance to me. For that reason you have been brought , here— as an inducement to him to return. I shall contrive to let him know of your present plight—"

"I shall beseech heaven that he may not come."

"You will And heaven as brass," was the retort. "When he knows that you are with me Master Tony, will come to me swifter and straighter than a homing pigeon to its loft."

Nerica's face revealed that; she had no doubt that he was right. Yet she clutched at a new hope.

"You do not know where he is and―"

"True! But the usefulness of the modern Press is beyond all words. A discreetly worded message—and Bebe will hurry back to my arms with pleas for forgiveness." The man laughed, and this time there was a harsh, strident note In his laughter which shook the girl's heart. "It will be an occasion for the exercise of clemency if—"

He broke off and looked at her thoughtfully.

"If...if?" cried Nerica fearfully.

The strange eyes gleamed with mad fires: and for the first time there was a heat of fury in his limes as he replied: "If I find that he has not he betrayed me to a certain friend of yours who is, I am afraid, going to prove a little troublesome."

She did not need to ask who that friend was. She knew and her know ledge revealed itself in her face. The man saw it and nodded his head

"Yes! Your lover, Captain Singleton. He is the man. He is dangerous to me. But I can deal with him. Unless Bebe has played Judas he cannot be sure of his knowledge; you are in my hands, and I shall very soon put a term to his activities."

There was a threat in the last words that added to Nerica's fears.

"You will not dare to hurt him."

"My dear young lady," he cried. "I had do nothing personally. But your brother— now to save you and himself might— er— shall we say repeat himself?"

"Tony would not do so vile a thing!" she cried.

"Well, leaving him out of the question. This is a world of accidents. When a man steps off the pavement he carries his life in his hand. Or when approaching a crossing in his car he may be unconsciously rushing to destruction. A hundred things of which a man never dreams when he steps  out of bed in the morning may overtake him before night. And if one of those things that wait in ambush for us all should overtake Captain Singleton as well—"

He broke off and looked at her with! the complacency of one who has demonstrated his point, and wrought up with fear and loathing the girl cried: "Oh, you are an evil man."

He shrugged his shoulders and replied whimsically. "The world proclaims me a philanthropist! But there are always two points of view, and—"

"Doctor! Doctor!"

The voice came from the hall below; and. Mr Shottelius frowned. "I am wanted, apparently. I am sorry to cut short this most interesting interview, But we will resume it presently. In the meantime I am afraid you must be confined to this room, for you are too well acquainted with this house and countryside for me to run the risk of losing you. But your stay shall, be made comfortable. I will send breakfast up to you shortly, and books, and before the day is out I shall have a lady here who will act as chaperone."

"Gaoler! You mean."

"Names are nothing," he retorted blandly. "A rose, you know―" He checked with a laugh, and a new voice sounded from below.

"Docteur! Docteur!"

This time the girl recognised the voice. It was that of the Frenchman! who had assailed and drugged her in the car. She gave a little shudder, and Shottelius laughed.

"You know the voice. It belongs to a devil of a man who I think will deal effectively with your Captain Singleton."

A second later with a swift movement he closed the door; and she caught his soft and evil laughter as he went along the gallery. For a moment she stood there as if turned to stone; then with despair sweeping over in a flood she staggered to the bed, threw herself upon it, shaken by paroxysm of weeping.

Chapter 32

TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES after leaving the station, Dick Singleton rand the bell of the house which Nerica had entered on the night of the dance at Ascham House. Not until he had given the summons did he remember that he was unaware of the name of the man whom ostensibly he had come to see. As he realised his difficulty his hand went to his pocket seeking his card case.  He had not got it with him, but in his wallet was the card of a man who had sought his acquaintance a day or before; and for his purpose it would serve as well as his own, perhaps better, since if he had to leave it behind he would reveal nothing of himself. After a second ring and a short delay his summons was answered by a man who was obviously of the caretaking class, who looked at the caller without the least sign of interest.

Singleton, with a premonition of what was to follow, thrust the card towards him.

"Please take that to your master, and say that I should like to see him."

The man did not take the card. Instead he shook his head.

"Mr Hampshire is not here, sir. He went away this morning."

"Ah! That's a pity. Do you know where he has gone?"

"Not for certain, sir! When I came along from the agent's to take over, he had gone, and most of the servants; but I heard one of the maids say jokingly. that she'd half a mind to go to Mentone herself, so I guess Mr Hampshire may have gone there."

"Very likely," agreed Singleton, and thanking the man, went, back to his taxi.

He knew now as certainly as if he had seen the man that Tracy was on the trail of Mr. Hampshire, who, if he were going to Mentone, was following the original route to that famous resort. And as he considered the situation he realised that Tracy had taken the one step that might serve them in the end they sought. Mr Shottelius's departure from Rowant End and the dark man's abandonment of the house that he had just called at pointed to some concerted action. Were both or them journeying to a secret rendezvous to which Nerica had been carried— perhaps as a hostage?

That seemed a probable explanation; and as he entered his flat he found himself almost praying for the success of Tracy's venture. If Mr Hampshire— as the dark man apparently called himself— remained unaware of the fact that he was being shadowed, then all might yet be well. If not―

He scarcely dared contemplate the alternative; and being without certain knowledge of Shottelius's motive for kidnapping Nerica, he was the more apprehensive. As the time passed his fears mounted. Restlessly he paced his room, unable to remain inactive and yet for the moment, all useful action debarred. Again and again he looked at the clock. Presently its fingers pointed the hour of three-thirty. In a little time now he would hear if Tracy kept his word.

But minute by minute went by, and still the news for which he was waiting did not come. His anxiety became almost insupportable, and when half an hour had passed and still the message for which he was waiting did not arrive, his impatience drove him from his rooms to the entrance to the mansions, where he stood watching, waiting, in gathering depression and hopelessness.

Then at the end of forty minutes the telegram came. Opening it, he read it through swiftly.

Am following up the motor accident case of last night. Will report at intervals. Consult today's Times, Court column. Very important.—Aleck.

Relief surged in his heart. Tracy, it seemed, was indeed, as his former message had stated, on a hot scent. Then a question leaped to his mind. To whom did the words "the motor accident case" refer? Nerica or the man who had been knocked down last night— the man calling himself Hampshire? It might be either; but a brief consideration brought him back to the thought that had been in his mind, before the arrival of the message. Somehow his friend had dropped on the trail of the saturnine-faced man who had attempted their undoing on the previous night. But what was the reference in the second part of the message?

He did not subscribe to The Times, and, knowing his neighbours, he was convinced that no copy of the famous journal would be found in Belvoir Mansions. But there would be one at the club.

Two minutes later he was in the street looking for a taxi; and exactly seven minutes after he was at his club feverishly turning the , cumbersome pages of the paper. He found the column which Tracy had indicated, and his eyes ran swiftly down the items of social news until they were caught by the name of Shottelius, He devoured the lines in a glance, and then read them through a second time.

"Today Mr Samuel Shottelius leaves England by the Edinburgh Castle for South Africa, and will be away for several months."

"God!" he whispered brokenly as the import of the news thrust itself upon him.

A feeling of desolation swept over him. If Shottelius had indeed gone, what had happened to Nerica, who, as he was assured, had been kidnapped by the villain's agents? For a moment he was overcome by despair; but the next he braced himself and was hurrying from the club to the steamship offices in Cockspur Street. When he arrived there an obliging clerk, noting his haste and evident concern, moved quickly to attend to him.

"What can I do for "

"The Edinburgh Castle— at what hour does she sail?"

"She left Tilbury at noon, sir."

"At noon!"

Singleton looked aghast as he echoed the words; and the clerk, noting the fact, and moved partly by curiosity and partly by sympathy, asked quickly. "You wanted to catch her, sir?"

"I wished to see a gentleman who I believe is aboard her— Mr Shottelius, the well-known millionaire."

"One moment, sir."

The clerk went to another part of the office and spoke to one of his fellows, and the two together consulted a sheaf of papers, then the man returned.

"Mr Shottelius undoubtedly sailed on the Edinburgh Castle. The cabin was engaged by telephone less than an hour before sailing time."

"An hour before sailing time!" Dick Singleton experienced a wonderful lightening of heart. It was odd that the notice of Mr Shottelius's going should appear in the morning's Times hours before the berth had been engaged. And, whilst the clerk stared at him with curiosity that was quite unconcealed, Singleton asked, "I suppose I can get In touch with the vessel by wireless?"

"Certainly, sir. It will be the easiest thing in the world."

"Thank you."

Singleton slid a note on the counter and hurried away to send his message, not to Mr Shottelius, but to the purser of the Edinburgh Castle. Three hours later he received the reply which proved the truth of his suspicions and set his pulses dancing.

"Shottelius not on board."

He could have, shouted for joy. The note in The Times had been deliberately misleading, the engaging of the cabin no more than a blind in case of inquiry. Shottelius was in England; and where he was, Nerica would be found. Of that he was, sure; and with new hope to buoy him he waited with what patience he could muster for Tracy's next communication.

Chapter 33

IN A CORNER of a first-class smoking compartment Aleck Tracy sat watching the landscape whirl by. In the next compartment but one, a reserved one as he had ascertained, were the man and woman who together furnished the explanation of his unexpected journey northward.

The woman, who was extraordinarily handsome in a bizarre foreign way, was unknown to him; but her companion, who walked by the aid of a couple of stout sticks, was the man who had been knocked down by Singleton's car on the previous night and who had subsequently disappeared so mysteriously.

Driving down to the city, his taxi had been held up at a crossing; and, staring forth from the window waiting for the block to clear, he had heard a voice swearing roundly at the enforced delay. Turning his head in the merest curiosity, he had looked straight into the face of the owner of the voice; and in an instant had made the amazing discovery that it was the face of the man who had lain senseless on the turf at Christmas Common after the attempt to wreck the car. A sharp exclamation had escaped him, which had drawn the fellow's attention to himself; but whether the other had recognised him he could not tell. There had been a flicker in the dark eyes that might have meant anything; and almost immediately after the man had drawn back into his vehicle.

The block had lasted but a minute or so longer, but in that time Aleck Tracy had changed his plans. Instead of pursuing his purposed inquiry at Lloyd's, he had decided to shadow the pair in the neighbouring taxi, and had whispered instructions to his driver, who as the block cleared had manoeuvred his vehicle into a position immediately behind that holding Tracy's quarry, and had shadowed it successfully, too.

Then, having seen the couple enter the Scotch train and being unable to get a glimpse of their luggage from which he might have learned their destination, he had taken a ticket for Glasgow and had ensconced himself in his present seat, where he might see them if at any point of their journey they should leave the train.

Assured that the man, if not the woman also, was associated with Shottelius, he had sent his confident message to Dick Singleton, feeling certain that the pair would act as pointers to the elusive millionaire, if not to Nerica Berrington herself; and then most unexpectedly his eyes had fallen upon that communiqué in The Times relating to the millionaire.

That had been a bad moment for him. He had realised the importance of it immediately, and in the same moment had grasped the fact that he would not be able to communicate the urgent news to his friend for at least two hours.

"Confound the d――d thing!" he had groaned in his helplessness, and immediately afterwards had contemplated the communication-cord thoughtfully.

It had been one of the temptations of his boyhood to have five pounds' worth and see what happened, and now he was almost in the mood for risking the fine in order to send a warning telegram to his friend.

On reflection, however, he had rejected that hare-brained idea. The news must wait until he could communicate it to Singleton without losing touch with the pair in the front compartment. Above all things he must not lose sight of them. Shottelius might be going to South Africa by the Edinburgh Castle, but it was not in the least likely that Nerica Berrington would be with him.  That saturnine-faced man at the other end of the coach represented a solid link in a chain at one end or the other of which the missing girl would be found.

Having reached this decision, he secured a telegraph form from the train conductor, wrote the message to Singleton, and whilst he waited for the opportunity to dispatch it, set out to learn what he could of the pair.

Lunch was announced, and he discovered that he was abominably hungry. He waited a little time, however, watching the corridor from behind a newspaper in the expectation of seeing the pair whom he was following pass along. The trickle of passengers along the corridor for the restaurant car  ceased, and still the couple tarried.  Then an attendant with a small tablecloth over his arm appeared walking in the opposite direction. Slipping to the corridor-side of the compartment, Tracy saw the man enter the reserved compartment of the people who held his interest, and guessed that they were going to lunch alone. But to make sure he waylaid the man on his way back.

"You serve luncheon in the compartments?" he asked the man.

"No, sir! Only in the dining-car."

"But―" Tracy glanced along the corridor as he spoke; and the man understanding the unspoken reference, made haste to reply.

"That gentleman is an invalid, sir. He is very lame, and It might be dangerous for him to walk along the corridor when the train is in motion, and special arrangements were made for lunch by him at the terminus."

"I understand," answered Tracy carelessly. "I thought it was a little unusual."

Rising, he himself made for the restaurant-car, and ate his lunch in peace, and in the comfortable assurance that until after dinner at any rate there was no need on his part for any particular watchfulness.

At Rugby, where was the first stop, he had dispatched his telegram to Dick Singleton, purchased a cap and an armful of periodicals, and being still left alone in the compartment, settled himself to read. Now and again, however, the page blurred to his sight and he found himself wondering how and where this unexpected journey would end.

Occasionally he glanced out of the window and noted that fog was gathering, visibly shortening the dull November day. The moisture gathered on the panes, making them opaque, and after a time he ceased to look out at all, since nothing was visible but the smoky mist. But there was, it seemed, no slackening of the express's speed, in scorn of the fog it raced on, through villages and towns— guided by explosive fog signals, and as the dusk deepened it flashed shadow-like with a mane of flame-like smoke.

Speeding onwards over bridges and culverts, through cuttings and tunnels lit by flares, along raised embankments on over reaches of track flush with the surrounding fields it roared on, defying the darkness, hurrying to its far destination in the North. Its warning whistle screamed as it flung towards the crossings, or plunged towards some brilliantly lighted station which, till it was tearing through it. in the prevailing gloom of the fog, was no more than a luminous smudge of yellow.

The rhythmic thud-thud! thud! of the wheels thrust itself on Tracy's consciousness. He found himself listening for variations, but found none. Always there was the same unvarying reiteration; mile by mile, league by league.

"Thud-thud-thud!"

The reiteration of the sounds became a monotonous lullaby, inducing somnolence. Twice he found himself nodding, and once he was jerked into wakefulness by the magazine which he had been reading slipping to the floor. They reached Carlisle, and after a halt swung on the way once more, and again he tried to read, began to nod afresh, and when next the magazine slipped from his hand he did. not waken, but slept soundly with his chin on his breast.

Presently he dreamed. He was in a dark place with a bitter wind blowing which cut him to the bone. He felt a chill breath on his cheek, and had a sense of some vague impalpable peril towards which he was moving in the blackness. He could see nothing, but he felt it was there; and try as he would he could not check his movement towards it, something carrying him forward willy-nilly as is the way in dreams. Then quite suddenly out of the darkness a pair of shadowy hands gripped him, shaking his soul with a shock of unexpected terror.

That shock wakened him. The compartment was In darkness, someone having switched off the lamp behind his shoulder, the only one that had been lit. There was a freezing wind blowing through the compartment, and in a flash he realised that the outside door was open; that the hands upon him were real; and that someone was trying to push him out of the carriage.

All his instinct of preservation, lightning-like leaped into active life.

"By G――! would you?" he cried, and grappled with his assailant.

His back was towards the door, and the aggressor whom he easily guessed was the, lamed man from the other compartment, had him at a disadvantage. There was no more than a foot between him and frightful death; and he struggled hard to reverse their respective positions, or failing that to increase the margin of safety.

But the aggressor, however lame he might be, had arms of amazing strength, and Tracy felt himself being forced backward. Desperately he clutched the other, determined that if he had to go the other would go with him. His assailant divining what was in his mind, relaxed his stiffened arms a second and then drove him backwards. trying to knock his head against the rim of the doorway; but Tracy jerked sideways, falling back into his corner with the man on the top of him. With a sharp thrust of his knee he drove the fellow off, and for a second the man stood panting whilst they fronted each other in the dim light that came from the corridor. And in that second something portentous happened. There was a sudden fierce screech of the whistle like the scream of some frantic thing; the brake jarred along the train, and the carriage seemed to jerk forward as its momentum was suddenly checked. Tracy was thrown out of his corner against his aggressor, who in turn was thrown off his feet, and then there followed a crashing, rending sound, and as the carriage lifted and hung poised for a brief time before toppling on its side, screams of pain and fear rent the night, and Tracy was flung head over heels on the other whose body had slithered forward with the falling carriage.

Chapter 34

FOR A FULL minute after he had been thrown down Aleck Tracy lay in a huddled heap, half stunned and incapable of action. The man with whom be had been fighting for his life, lying under him, did not stir; and as the screams that rent the night, penetrating to Tracy's brain, roused him from the half insensibility that had followed the severe crash, he found himself wondering if the man were dead. He did not wonder very long, however. Through the shrieking of women's voices and the roar of escaping steam, he heard a masculine voice, hoarse with fear, shout news which stirred him to action.

"My God! That coach is on fire!"

He did not know which coach it was. It might be his own or the one next to it, in any case there was new peril to be faced. If the horror of fire was to be added to disaster, then it was essential the men capable of action should get to work.

His brain began to function again. Slowly he raised himself up, avoiding as well as he could the senseless man beneath him. The compartment, except for a faint red glow of light through the broken windows above his head, was in darkness. Splintered glass was everywhere, and in scrambling up he cut one hand rather badly; but knowing that probably there was little time to be spared, he did not stop to bind it up.

Feeling in his pocket and finding a matchbox, he struck a light. By the feeble flame he saw that his late antagonist was lying in a crumpled heap, white-faced, with a ghastly cut on the side of his head. He looked like a dead man, but even whilst the match burned a groan told that he still lived.

For the moment he forgot that the fellow was his enemy; and knowing that nothing could be done for him without help, he set to work to climb out of the carriage. The task was made easier than he had expected. Standing on the arm of one of the seats, he reached upward to the door, trying to fling it back. In the first attempt he failed, the heavy door falling back, almost knocking him down from his perch, and sending over him a miniature shower of splintered glass.

Undaunted he was preparing to try again, when on the woodwork overhead he caught the sound of heavy steps, and a second later a lantern gleamed, and he saw a man with a bearded face peering down.

"Anyone―"

"Open the door if you can," Tracy shouted. "There's another man here; badly hurt I am afraid."

"Right."

The man disappeared from sight, but the trampling of his feet told he was still there. Then came a bawling voice, "Stand clear!"

Tracy crouched low and saw the door like a trapdoor above his head begin to open. Apparently it slipped from the man's grasp, for it crashed again, and what remained of the shivered glass fell out, a piece cutting his face as it went. Then again the door began to open, and this time the effort was successful, the heavy door falling backward on the side of the carriage, sending more glass from the side window slithering downwards. A moment after the rescuer appeared again holding his lantern so that its light fell into the well-like space.

"If you can help the gentleman up―"

"I'll try!" answered Tracy,

"Then for the Lord's sake be quick. The next couch is on fire. If the flames reach this it'll burn like a matchbox."

A lurid glow spreading overhead, and lighting the compartment told Tracy that there was need for haste. He climbed downward, and standing straddle-wise on the woodwork below the windows made a shift to raise the unconscious man. "If you can get him by the collar," he shouted, and raised the sagging body.

The man above, sprawling on his stomach, leaned half way into the compartment, and caught the unconscious man's coat and began to lift, Tracy with his shoulder under the man lifting from below. In a very short time the limp body was lifted clear from the compartment; and Tracy climbed out himself, and panting from his exertions, knelt on the woodwork of the coach, feeling his senses reeling.

"Steady, sir," sounded the rescuer's voice, whilst a hand gripped his shoulder,

With a great effort he pulled himself together, and then became conscious of the full extent of the disaster, flames mounting from the wrecked coaches ahead serving for torches. Through the fog and escaping steam he saw the engine of his own train lifted like some prancing, primeval monster, its fore part resting on another engine which had been turned halfway round by the impact' and now lay upon its side. Beyond them he saw dimly a pile of wreckage up which the flames were climbing: whilst the heat of the burning coach next his own struck like the heat of a furnace. Shrieks, groans, imprecations and the shouting of distraught men mingled with the roar from the engines. Distracted men and women were running to and fro at the side of the track; and already several injured people were lying on the bank where they had been placed by the few men who had kept their heads. He saw it all in one lightning glance; and then caught the voice of the man who had come to his help.

"There's one here, Tim, pretty bad. I'm going to lower him when you're ready."

"Right!"

The man, as Tracy saw, was already lifting the unconscious man over the footboard, and he crawled forward to help him. It was no more than a couple of minutes before the hail came from below.

"All's well, Tony! Any more?"

"No! There's a gentleman here who'll be able to get down himself. This coach is cleared, thank heaven!"

As the man spoke Tracy remembered the dark, handsome woman who had been with his assailant when he had entered the train.

"There was a lady," he said quickly. "In the fore compartment. Did you get her?"

"A lady! God save us, no! Wait, Jim," he cried, and began to step gingerly along.

Tracy lifted himself to his feet and followed him, the heat of the burning coach adjoining almost overcoming him. As they reached the shattered door of the compartment, with a thrill of horror in his voice the railwayman pointed to the splintered woodwork of the fore end of the coach up which the blue flames shrouded in smoke were creeping.

"God! It's burning."

The man who until now had shown remarkable self-possession seemed fascinated by the sight, and there was an appalled look on his face. Tracy recalled him to the work in hand.

"Your lantern, quick, man!"

The man understood and lowered the lantern through the shattered window, whilst both of them peered in. The compartment was blocked with splintered wood, and one of the seats seemed to have been forced bodily forward, leaving but the narrowest space.

"Empty, thank God!" ejaculated the man. "The lady must―"

"No! She's there! In the corridor," cried Tracy sharply.

"Then God pity her! She'll burn. We can never get her out."

"But we must, man. We can't leave "

"I wouldn't go down there for a million, sir," said the man shudderingly. "One would get stuck in that wreckage. and in live minutes the fire "

"Quick man, this way!" cried Tracy. "Stand by to help. I'll do it!"

"But how―"

"The corridor— if it's open!" answered Tracy, ns he stumbled back to the compartment from which he had so recently escaped.

Without an instant's hesitation he climbed down, and crawled Into the corridor. It was littered with glass, and his task was dangerously cruel, but he pushed forward in the semi-darkness, A little drift of smoke met him, making him cough, and twice his knees were cut as he crawled along. Fortunately the corridor was clear of anything but small wreckage, and in a very short time he had reached the woman whom he sought to save. She was insensible, from the shock no doubt, and had plainly been jerked clean out of her compartment into tin corridor at the moment of impact, which had saved her life. For a moment he rested whilst he considered what to do: and as he knelt there he saw a little fiery auger bore through the woodwork not a yard away, and a small tongue of flame leaped upward.

He did not stop for further consideration, Turning the woman upon her hack, ho began to crawl on the return journey, dragging her behind him a few inches at a time. A great gust of smoke rolled down the corridor, almost choking him, and the crackle of burning wood was in his ears like a feu-de-joie. He was almost suffocated, but reached the end compartment safely, and became aware of a man, lantern in hand, awaiting him.

"Here, Jim!" the man roared. "Stand by!"

The man perched his lantern on one of the arms, and, stooping, picked the unconscious woman up, and then thrust her through the open door above. As he did so a small bag slipped from her arm, hitting Tracy in its fall. Instinctively he retrieved it, and pushed it into his pocket, and a minute later, the man who had come to his help spoke.

"Now, sir. You're about done. Let me give you a hand!"

With the man's help he crawled out of the suffocating heat, and down to the ground. There for a moment he stood watching the lurid scene dance in a mad grotesque, and then felt himself falling. An arm caught him, and a second later for the first time in his life he slid into a faint.

Chapter 35

IN HIS ROOMS Dick Singleton kept impatient vigil. Hours had gone by and no further communication had reached him from Tracy. Time and time again he had consulted the time table, noting the few stopping places from which his friend might have telegraphed, and wondering why he had not done so. Then from the street below there came the voice of a newsman.

"Speshul! Speshul! Wreck of the Scotch Express!"

In a second it flashed on him that here was the explanation of Tracy's silence, and frantically he tore down to secure a paper. It contained only a few lines in the Stop-Press.

"The 1.15 train Euston to Glasgow collided with a local train north of Carlisle. Both trains were wrecked, some of the coaches taking Are, and it is feared the casualty roll will prove, to be a very heavy one."

For a little while he stared with stony eyes at the brief paragraph: With that, as it seemed to him, ended his friend's run on a "hot scent." In such a disaster anything might have happened— Aleck himself might not have escaped; or in the confusion and horror of the occurrence those whom he was following might have evaded him.

And Nerica? He was in despair as he thought of her. She was he knew not where. The single clue that might have led to her discovery was obliterated in that train wreck. He was Car from being a callous man; but as he thought of the girl, the suffering and horror in which many would be involved by the catastrophe was entirely overlooked; and all his anxiety was for Nerica, whose well-being and safety might be further jeopardised by the delay that must follow the obliteration of the clue on which Tracy had stumbled.

Restlessly, driven by acute apprehension, he paced the room. Now his mind was with Nerica, and the thought of what she must be enduring wrung his soul; then as he thought of his friend and the possibilities of his being injured or killed, he was tormented by a sense of distress and helplessness. The wires would be busy, but if Tracy had come unscathed from the disaster, then he would wire. If the message did not come in a little while

A knock on his door broke on the presaging thought. "Come in!" he cried; and the next instant he was staring in surprise at his visitor, who was Inspector Lavers.

"Good evening, Captain Singleton. I am happy to And you at home. I had scarcely expected to have the luck."

Singleton waved a hand towards a chair.

"Take a chair, Inspector. The whisky is there on the table. Help yourself."

His face had become mask-like, and, though his eyes betrayed a certain amount of curiosity, they, were no indication of the fierce questionings of his mind. Outwardly nonchalant, he was asking himself almost in a panic: What did the man want? Had he stumbled on something?' Had he learned of Nerica's visit and his own concealment of the truth?

A score of possibilities raced through his mind as he watched Lavers help himself to whisky, but whilst be burned with anxiety, his outward mien was secure, his manner that of a man untroubled. Then as the inspector took his hand off the siphon, and half turned, Singleton met the other's eyes fixed upon him in a searching glance, and knew instantly that this visit was no idle one, that, as his mind expressed it silently, he was "in for it."

Unhurriedly, the inspector took the chair, nodded towards his host, before drinking, and then asked quietly:

"I suppose you're wondering what has brought me here tonight, Captain Singleton?"

"Well— er— naturally?"

"It's that Southwell business," said the Inspector. "There's been a development."

"Ah! What?" Do what he would, Singleton could not keep., the note of anxiety out of his voice; and all the nonchalance was gone from his manner as he met his visitor's alert eyes.

"I'm going to tell you," said the Inspector slowly, "in the hope that you'll give me confidence for confidence; for of course you didn't tell the whole truth that night or at the inquest on the following day."

For a moment Dick Singleton wondered if he ought to bluster at this; and then realising that the officer would scarcely have spoken in such a way if he had not been very sure of his grounds, he decided against it.

"I wonder what makes you say that, Inspector?" he replied with forced lightness.

"I will tell you," answered the officer quietly. "When I came down to your rooms to get your explanation of the bloodstain upon your hand, I picked up from your rug a long golden hair."

As the officer paused, Singleton was conscious of overwhelming apprehension, and felt the blood draining from his face.

"You remember, I see," continued the Inspector, smoothly, "and you will recall that you denied— no! evaded a direct answer to a question of mine about having had a lady visitor recently... No! Wait until I finish. The following day at the inquest you left rather hurriedly in the wake of a heavily-veiled lady who had golden hair. Mow I had already noticed that lady and had wondered what special interest she could have in the inquest, since she was not a witness, and stylishly dressed ladies are not in the habit of visiting the stuffy courts or coroners. I decided that either she had known Southwell well, or was extremely interested for personal reasons to know what came out at the inquest, and having in mind the fact that most certainly a woman had visited Belvoir Mansions on the night that Southwell was murdered, I gave instructions that she should be followed when she left the court."

"Ah!"

"I had no idea when those instructions were given that I should so quickly establish the acquaintance between you and the lady in question. When the instructions were given it was my thought that I should just learn the lady's identity; and from my point of view your following and lunching with her was a great piece of luck. Of course it was easy to learn who she was once I had got track of her; and it didn't require a Solomon to connect her with the handkerchief left behind at Belvoir Mansions, nor yet with that strand of hair which I picked up— Miss Berrington's hair being the exact colour; and the initial on the handkerchief proclaiming its owner in no uncertain voice."

Dick Singleton considered for a brief space, and then demanded hoarsely: "What do you want to know, Inspector Lavers?"

"The truth," replied the officer tersely, and then added quietly: "I may say that not for a moment do I think Miss Berrington was guilty of the crime. My inquiries about her put that idea out of court altogether. But I have an idea that she knows something of what lay behind Southwell's death "

"Why should you entertain any thought of—"

"Captain Singleton, why did you deny that you had a visitor that night? The lady's good name? I have thought of that; but you must have seen that the lady's good name would have been more deeply mired if I got track of her after your denial. You cannot have it both ways. You cannot deny a visitor and then suggest that there is not some powerful reason for the denial. You must know that the Yard in the course of its investigations receives countless confidences that are never broken; and your continued refusal to extend me your confidence will only serve to convince me that Miss Berrington is more deeply involved than I have thought hitherto."

Dick Singleton was in a quandary. He could not but feel the force of the officer's remarks, and desiring only to serve Nerica's interests he did not know what to do. Once he told the story of that night, everything might come out, and if Tony Berrington were involved—

The Inspector's voice broke on his thoughts. "I should not have come to you at all had I been able to get in touch with Miss Berrington herself; I , have tried three times today, and each time have been assured that she is not at home— in the literal sense, I mean. And no one at Lady Arthwaite's seems to have any information as to the young lady's whereabouts,"

"That is true enough! No one has," replied Singleton hoarsely.

"But you— perhaps you know, Captain Singleton?"

"I'd pay a thousand pounds for the information at this minute, Lavers!"

The officer almost jumped from his chair. "Then the young lady has disappeared—"

"She's been kidnapped," cried Singleton, impulsively.

"Kidnapped?" Inspector Lavers' amazement was almost comic. For a second or two he stared incredulously at the other, then he asked tersely: "By whom? Have you any information?"

"Nothing definite—but I can guess."

"You can guess? You know, someone who may have a reason for abducting her? Speak! Tell me your ideas— your suspicions! They may have a most important bearing on the Southwell case. And I beg of you to be frank with me this time. Believe me, I have Miss Berrington's interest in view quite as much as my own."

Again Singleton considered. Things had reached a pass where to save Nerica from a great deal of annoyance and apprehension, it was necessary to tell Lavers something; and after a moment he decided on frankness.

"Did you or anyone at the Yard ever hear of a Dr Steinmetz?" he asked suddenly.

If he had dropped a bomb at his feet the officer could not have been more startled. His lean face betrayed utter amazement, his grey eyes were wide with astonishment.

"Dr Steinmetz?" he cried. "What has he to do with Miss Berrington's disappearance?"

"Everything, I fancy," replied Singleton quickly,

The Inspector rose from his chair in excitement. "What do you know of Dr Steinmetz, Captain? Tell me! It is most important—far more important than, you can possibly guess."

"In what way? Answer me, "Inspector, and I will return you confidence for confidence. I give you my word of honour."

"It is not a great deal that I can tell you, Captain Singleton; and I am not sure that I am wise in telling you anything. But the truth is we have had a message from the Sûrété at Paris about him. He is a most mysterious and elusive personage, who is the unquestioned head of the most dangerous secret society that has flourished in the world for a century. It has been at the back of half the international plots of the last twenty years— of crimes that have startled the world. That much is known, and a good deal more is suspected. Its operations are world wide; and the irons it keeps hot are of all sorts. I can't go into, that; but I can tell you it is the most elusive society in the world. No one knows how it is managed, or from what city or country its operations are directed, and, moreover, it is ruthless in protecting itself. Ten years ago a; French official confided to a friend that he. thought he was on the track. Three days later he was picked out of the Seine with a strangling cord round his neck. Two years later a New York detective asked for extended leave of absence from ordinary duty that he might follow a clue on which he had stumbled whilst junketing at Coney Island. It was given on the condition that he should report at intervals. No report was ever made; but a month later his decomposing body was found in, a wood in the Adirondacks. He had been shot dead— with a sporting rifle.

"It was the same here! One of the men at the Yard got a line on the business" and started to follow it— on his own in leisure moments; He learned enough to report to the Chief, and was put on the job. He was found after an air raid down in the East End, in which a line of houses— half a slum in fact was demolished. There were a good many killed and injured by the bomb; but he had been shot at close quarters with a revolver.

"The Yard found a name in one of his pockets, and, suspecting it had to do with the job he was oh when he died; it set out to find the man. He'd been buried a week when we got his address; and a coroner's inquest had brought in a verdict of suicide whilst temporarily insane. No one had known much about him, but investigation established the fact that the name he used was a false one, and that his real name was one of the most honoured names in England. He'd been in the diplomatic service, and had been broken for allowing the leakage of official secrets. That is putting it euphemistically, In plain English, he'd sold his country— and after had drifted to the Legion of the Lost Ones.

"It is easy to add two and two together. That he'd been one of the Steinmetz crowd seemed pretty certain; but why he'd suicide— if he did— nobody could guess; and just then the Yard had too much on its hands to try to find out. There are other cases,"

'"Southwell, for instance!" interjected Singleton.

"Ah! That was the game he was on? And he died like the others. How did you find out? For God's sake tell me! You must see how important it is."

"One question first! Suppose I find you a man who will turn King's evidence, can you promise him anonymity and immunity?"

"If he were hot too deeply involved. The thing is so important. And he'd have to be anonymous or he'd be dead before he'd time to give his evidence."

"You will give, me your word?"

"Yes! " By "I'll pledge the whole Yard."

"Then listen.''

Faithfully he told all that had happened at Belvoir Mansions on the night of Southwell's murder; the interview with- Nerica the day afterwards, the meeting at the ball; the discovery of Southwell's memorandum book, and the attacks on Tracy and himself. Then without mentioning the name he described the interview he had had with Shottelius and his identification of his host with Dr. Steinmetz by means of the portrait,

"Glory! You've got that book!" interrupted Lavers. "I'd like to see it."

Singleton produced the book, found the illustration of the dead Barbalano's portrait, and thrust it into the other's hands. The Inspector stared at it in dead silence for a full two minutes. His brow contracted in a frown. Then he broke out: ''I've seen the devil somewhere, sometime. Where? When?"

The frown deepened as he strove to recall the. meeting, then he cried suddenly: "The name? You haven't told me what name you know him by? It wasn't Steinmetz, I'll swear."

"No! I imagine that is the last name he will use these days. But I'll tell you in a moment. You wouldn't believe me if I told you at this juncture. The truth is too d――d incredible. You must hear the rest of the evidence first."

In detail he gave the account of what had happened at Rowant End, Nerica's appeal overheard on their arrival, Tracy's identification of Tony Berrington with the Bebe on Southwell's list, and there the inspector broke in.

"By the Mass! Now I get on to it. That girl was trying to pick her brother out of that black business."

"I think so. I don't know. There can have been no other reason. But let me finish—"

Rapidly he sketched the events that had followed down to the disappearance of Nerica, his own attempt to get in touch with her, the vanishing of Shottelius, whom he referred to as Steinmetz, and Tracy's pursuit on a hot scent.

THEN again Lavers spoke. "Jehoshaphat! But you've had luck, you two. I've told you what has happened to other men. And there's, something come to the Yard today, from Paris, as I told you. Yesterday a fashionable young Parisian committed suicide by putting a gas tube to his mouth and covering his head with the bed clothes. He left a confession of having killed a man in Montmartre a year or two back, and stating that a young Englishman had been wrongly accused of the crime. According to the communication received the confession was rather a hysterical production; but it had one thing in it that made the officials of the Sûrété open their eyes, for it ended with a P.S. that was unusual— 'God curse Dr. Steinmetz!' That's significant. There, one way or another, is one more of the devil's victims— and you know the scoundrel's name?"

He looked at Singleton eagerly, and the latter nodded.

"Yes! But you won't believe me if I tell you. Nobody will, and yet―"

"The name! Tell me!" snapped the officer.

"Samuel Shottelius," answered Singleton quietly,

"Shottelius— the millionaire ?"

"Yes!"

For one silent second Lavers stared at the other amazedly; and then he gasped.

"Shottelius!" he cried. "Oh Lord!" as there broke from him a very cascade of incredulous laughter.

Chapter 36

THROUGH THE long day Nerica Berrington passed the time in the room looking out on the desolate Solway shore, the prey of thoughts that tormented her beyond endurance. Sometimes her mind dwelt on her brother, a little shuddering as she remembered her captor's threats, and then they turned to Dick Singleton, who long ago would have learned that she. was missing, and beyond all doubt would set out to find her. She wondered if he would succeed, if by any means he would get upon her track and appear in this remote, corner of Kirkcudbright. As she remembered Shottelius's threats she almost prayed that he would not.

It was evident to her that her lover, who was to have seen her yesterday— or was it the day before yesterday?— to renew the pledge of love so hurriedly given, knew more of her captor's activities than did she herself. Mr Shottelius's attitude towards him proved that; and she was sure that if Dick Singleton came to Craigdarroch and fell into the millionaire's hands it would go ill with him. That bland, smiling man with his silvery hair and beard and handsome face, was a devil incarnate.  Afraid for himself, if the opportunity occurred he would crush her lover like a fly. She shuddered at the thought and a whispered prayer broke from her.

"God keep him! God preserve him from all evil." Then again her thoughts swung round to her brother. Where was Tony? She could not tell; but it seemed clear that he had run away in some desperate attempt to break the evil bonds that held him to Shottelius. What those bonds were she could only guess; but what she guessed filled her with shuddering dread and moved her to tears.

"On, Tony... Tony!" she moaned in her helplessness, and, as she thought of herself as the lure to draw him back to that vile bondage, she began to think how the millionaire might be checkmated.

If only she could escape then she might get in touch with her brother; might prevent her lover from coming to this lonely house that by reason of its situation was so favourable to the commission of secret crime. Desperately she considered the chances. The locked door prevented all egress that way; and the window was two full stories from the ground. Then she remembered something, and hurried to the lattice. Thrusting her head forth into the driving rain, she looked down, and as she did so her heart leaped with sudden hope.

Immediately below her, its snakelike boughs trimmed either side of the window, was an ancient ivy. Often in Tom-boy years at Craigdarroch she had climbed it with Tony, and more than once had climbed through the lattice into this very room. If she could slip through the window, once she had got a footing on the twisted boughs, the rest would be easy. To descend would be the work of a very few minutes; and afterwards there would be no more than a walk across the moor through the wind and rain to the nearest farm.

It was all quite simple; and only one thing was needed for success, and that was darkness to veil her descent from any watching eyes, and to cover her flight. She examined the ivy closely, noting carefully the boughs that would be most helpful when she made her exit; and then she waited, with new hope and with an almost insupportable impatience, for the fall of night. Twice food was brought to her by a man whom she did not know, but Shottelius did not again appear; and the woman of whom he had spoken did not materialise.

At last the short day, which to her had seemed centuries long, began to draw to a close, and with the corning dusk the rain ceased to fall. The grey face of the sea. grew less distinct; the outline of the shore became blurred, , and the fields between the house and the Firth took on a formlessness that the eve could not penetrate.

Still she waited for the coming of full darkness, a little way from the now-closed window, lest someone watching should observe her and suspect her purpose. Voices and occasional bursts of laughter reached her from some room below; and once she saw the figure of a man pacing in the dripping garden, but could not make out who it was. The dusky twilight gave place to the full gloom of night. The sea was no longer visible, though its angry rumble came to her with quite startling clearness. The fields were robed in darkness, and except where a bright shaft of light, streaming through the window of a lower room, cut the night like a gleaming sword, the garden was in densest shadow.

She moved towards the window, tiptoeing that the sound of her movements might not be heard by anyone below. For a full minute she stood waiting, listening. No sound reached her, save the plaintive cry of a wandering seabird heard through the rumble of the waters. The moment had come.

With the help of a chair she mounted to the sill and gently lowered herself outside. Clinging to the stone-sill, her body half in, half out, she felt for the twisted bough with her foot. She found it easily enough, tested it carefully, and then resting most of her weight upon it, she felt for the next bough below.

As she did so she heard quite distinctly the sound of an opening door, and a moment later caught the soft glow of candlelight shining through the lattice from which she had just emerged. She knew she had now but a moment before discovery came to wreck her plans.

She heard a man's voice give an oath of sheer amazement, then a roar of warning sounded, and a second later a head was thrust through the open lattice whilst the owner peered forth into the night.

Chapter 37

DICK SINGLETON, his face a little flushed, watched the mirthful Inspector thoughtfully. He had anticipated the scepticism indicated in the laughter, and the latter in no way abashed him. He knew that Shottelius' position in the world, his great wealth, and reputation for philanthropy were a triple armour against suspicion; but he did not despair of convincing the man before him of the truth; and waited until the latter leaned back in his chair and wiped his eyes. Even then he waited, determined that the officer should speak first, which after a little delay he did.

"Forgive me, Captain," he said, controlling his voice only with an effort, "but you don't expect me to believe that wild statement, do you?"

"Yes, I do," answered Singleton with energy.

"Well―" The inspector showed a disposition to surrender himself to mirth once more; and Singleton broke in.

"I told you that you wouldn't believe me. There are not many people in the world who would do so in view of Shottelius' position in society and in the financial world; but all the same, the thing is true."

The Inspector was a little impressed by the other's earnestness; but still his judgment fought against conviction.

"There must be a mare's nest somewhere."

"You think so? Well, I don't, and if you want Dr Steinmetz―"

"I'd give a thousand pounds to get him," interrupted the inspector. "The man who gets him will wear the criminal investigator's blue ribbon, and it means— Lord, it might mean the commissionership itself."

"Then you'll act on the information I have given you. Shottelius is Dr Steinmetz. That portrait in the book there is the portrait of him as a young man If you know Shottelius, you will be able to recognise him in it in spite of the lapse of years and the changes in his appearance. The eyes are unmistakable."

Lavers took up the vellum-bound brochure again and examined the portrait anew, his brows once more frowning in an effort of remembrance. After a little time he looked up.

"I've only seen Shottelius once, and then I didn't notice him particularly, as I was on duty safeguarding a foreign royalty. But I've seen his face somewhere I'll swear."

"Surely it's something that Shottelius should have the original picture of Steinmetz in his house?"

"That doesn't go for much," commented leavers tersely. "Shottelius is one of those artistic Johnnies who are interested in pictures. I've seen him described as a great patron of the arts. He may have indulged his fancy in buying that picture of Steinmetz without knowing anything about the scoundrel at all. It's the way with some of those connoisseurs to plaster their walls with portraits of folk who are nothing to them at all."

"Yes! But there's another curious feature that you haven't heard of yet. Nicolo Barbalano, who painted that picture, was put out of action for good and all three years back, by a bomb. The anarchists were blamed for it; but that was denied, and Barbalano's friends, knowing of secret and mysterious connections in his life, accepted the word of Verraci, the anarchist leader, that his crowd had no hand in the business."

A thoughtful look came on the inspector's face. Then, like a man forced upon a doubtful way, he began to speak.

"Coincidence―"

"You don't believe that, Lavers!"

"God knows, I don't know what to believe! If you'd been at my job for ten years, Captain Singleton, you'd know that coincidences are the queerest things on God's earth. It isn't safe to act on them alone; for, as like as not. you hit against a snag. Now just put this to yourself. Here's a picture of Dr Steinmetz, painted by a man who has gone West and can't be consulted as to the identity of the sitter. Steinmetz is German, Austrian, maybe Polish. It's a fairly common name, I can show you it over a second-hand clothes dealer's shop down in Limehouse and over a jeweller's in the West End. Email we know there may be a dozen Dr Steinmetzes in Europe at this minute, all blameless men, and how the devil are we to know that this portrait isn't a portrait of one of them?"

Singleton was moved to impatience and answered tartly: "Because, as I have told you, that is the portrait of the man who today calls himself Shottelius, and who is responsible for the events I have informed you of— which, to put it mildly, are not the things to which a respectable member of society gives his sanction. And If you'd seen him when Tony Berrington blundered in, and heard him afterwards, you'd know the kind of man he is— just a smooth, smiling devil."

Inspector Layers' face grew more thoughtful. It was obvious that he was more than half-convinced; and when he spoke again it was to express that half-conviction.

"It's the very deuce!" he said slowly. "I don't know what I ought to do. If I   should go for Shottelius bald-headedly and he proves to be what the world believes him, I shall be broke as sure as eggs. And the fellow has wealth— heaps of it. He'd be able to prove black is white "

"Not if you can get hold of Tony Berrington "

"By Jove, no!"

An expression of intense concentration came on the Inspector's face. Dick Singleton watched him eagerly, guessing that he was reviewing all that he had been told, weighing the pros and cons and considering all possible lines of action. Then at last the officer spoke.

"I daren't move on my own. I should like to have a look through Shottelius's houses—and I should have to get a search warrant; though if he's the man you think he is, that wouldn't reveal much, for he isn't likely to leave incriminating documents about. And to tell you the plain truth, Captain Singleton, that portrait that you make so much of sticks in my gullet a little—"

"Why?" interjected Singleton.

"Because it's a colossal piece of incriminating evidence, if it's at once a portrait of himself and of the particular Steinmetz that the police have been wanting these many years. Why should the fellow risk discovery by hanging it upon his walls? That needs explanation."

"You can get that in a word―"

"Indeed. The word is ?"

"Vanity! Barbalano was a master of world-wide renown. The veriest tyro would be proud of a portrait by his hand; and, besides that, open display is calculated to disarm suspicion."

"There's something in that," agreed Lavers; and again fell silent for a little while. When he resumed there was a new note in his voice. "As I said I can't act on my own. The thing's too big, the risks attending a mistake too serious for a man who cares for his career. But I'll see the Chief, and lay the facts before him, and if you don't mind I'll take this art-book with me. He's bound to have met Shottelius often, I should say, and he'll know if this is a portrait of him, and if he recognises it, then the change of name will be significant. We'll be able to get the telegraph going, and in any case we can watch out for Miss Berrington's brother "

"And for Miss Berrington herself?"

"Of course! And for Shottelius too! He's so big a gun that we ought to locate him pretty soon." He rose from his chair, thrust the brochure in his pocket, and said, "I'll be going now. It's as well to waste no time in a business of this sort, and it may take me some little time to get in communication with the Chief, who won't be at the Yard at this hour. If you go out you had better let me know where I can find you, and if you hear from your friend you might telephone any news he has to the Yard. That may save a good deal of time."

"Very well. I will do both, though until I hear from Tracy I shall not leave the flat."

"Good!" The inspector took a step towards the door, then paused, his alert eyes ablaze, "God!" he said in a tense voice. "If you should be right— it's the chance of a lifetime for a man like me."

Then he went, leaving Singleton to his reflections. Those, in spite of the fact that official action to checkmate Shottelius and to ensure Nerica's safety was almost assured, were gloomy enough, Tracy's continued silence omened the worst. He was profoundly disturbed as he recalled the brief report in the paper with its suggestion that the casualties resulting from the disaster would be heavy. If his friend were among them, if he were killed or even seriously injured, then the clue which he had been following vanished like smoke. So profound did his anxiety become that at last he could endure no longer, He must learn something more than the newspaper had told, and, after informing Jackson of his destination and giving him instructions to telephone at once in the event of any communication from Lavers or Tracy, he drove down to his club.

When he readied it he found two or three members standing by the tape machine, discussing the disaster, and, as he took up the tape, one of the men spoke.

"Bad thing this train wreck," he commented. "There are seven dead and twenty injured so far."

"Any names?" he asked quickly.

"Four or five, mostly men."

"Aleck Tracy " he began, broke off, and then finished: "He was in the train, you know."

"There's no mention of him so far," said the man sympathetically. "He's come through, I expect. He's always a lucky one."

As the others moved away, Singleton remained by the machine, reading the miscellaneous news that came through from time to time. How and again there was a line about the wrecked express. "All the passengers out, except two women, trapped by flames." ... "Ambulances hurrying to the scene of disaster. Some injured being taken to neighbouring farms." ... Then another name. "Head— Ramsay Kennedy, factor, Glasgow."

He lingered in the club for a couple of hours, without learning anything more, and then, tormented by despairing thoughts, returned to his fiat to find that so far neither. Tracy nor Lavers had broken silence. He waited until the small hours, and still there was no news, and since there was nothing he could do he sought his bed and spent a wretched night, fitful spells of sleep disturbed by dreams alternating with hours of wakefulness. At long last, out of one of the former, with morning shining through the windows, he woke to the sound of someone hammering on his door, and a second later caught the welcome shouting of his friend.

"Dick! Dick, you slug-a-bed! Open the door."

And in a trice he was out of the blankets and running to obey.

Chapter 38

CLINGING TO THE twisted boughs and pressing herself close to the wet leaves in the hope that she would not be noticed, Nerica Berrington waited for what was to follow. The man overhead peering into the darkness shouted again and stamped his feet to call attention; and as she so clung, between the window and the ground, she heard a door beneath her open, and was aware of a broad beam of light streaming into the darkness. A second later a voice inquired sharply:

"What the blazes is the matter?"

"The girl has gone! " roared the man at the window.

"Gone?" cried a startled voice.

"Yes, clean vamoosed— through the window, I guess."

"But how―"

"The ivy, you fool! That's the way. Climbed through the lattice and―"

"What is that?" The interruption came in Shottelius's rich voice; and for a moment except for the wind, there .was a silence that could be felt. Then the  question was repeated in a voice that now had in it a ring of menace,

"What is that? Answer, someone! Do not keep me waiting!"

"The girl has gone, sir," answered the voice over her head. "Hopped it, through the window and down the ivy, I reckon."

Mr Shottelius did not reply at once; and turning her head ever so slightly, Nerica saw him standing in the light of the doorway, an absorbed look on his

"Ah! The ivy!" he said. "I did not remember that, I wonder where she can have got to?"

"God knows!" answered the man who had first come from the house. "She may be miles away by this."

"You think so?" asked Mr Shottelius, meditatively, apparently quite undisturbed by the loss of his prisoner.

"Well―" the man began and broke off—

"Scarcely so far, I imagine," commented the millionaire in the same even voice.

Again there was a pause; and as Nerica felt the twisted bough beneath her feet move a little she was assailed by a fear that it was giving way, and that soon she would be thrown to the ground. Then as she clung on her precarious perch, praying for the moment when the men would withdraw from below in search of her, a new thought came to her mind. Mr Shottelius was taking her disappearance very easily, and seemed in no hurry to start the search for her. Did he think she was still in the near vicinity? A fear that he had seen her as she clung flattened against the dark leaves leaped in her mind; but a moment later she had dismissed it. And a second afterwards the smooth voice spoke again in nonchalant inquiry.

"Do you think she will have taken to the shore or the moor, Sol?"

"Heaven knows, sir. It's no night for either. But I guess we'd better start and find her."

"You think so, Sol?"

"Well, if you're wanting her, Doctor "

"I am. I am loath to lose her."

"Then "

The man broke off suggestively, his single word hinting of the necessity for action, but Mr Shottelius did not appear to notice it. Desperately, Nerica glanced down at him. Her arms were beginning to ache intolerably, and her right foot was showing symptoms of cramp. She could not remain there much longer she felt sure; and despair began to supervene on hope as she saw the man standing there apparently lost in thought.

For what to the girl seemed an age, all three of the men remained silent, then Mr Shottelius gave a soft laugh that made her blood curdle, and spoke to the man overhead.

"No use standing at the window there, Sol. Better come down here, where you will be more useful."

"Right, sir, I'll just close the lattice if the rain comes "

"No!" Mr Shottelius's voice had a peremptory note. "Leave it open. Our dicky bird may yet want to return to its cage, and if you close the window how is it to do so?"

The thought that she had been observed assailed Nerica again, and moved her to a little shiver which shook the rain drops from the ivy in a miniature shower. A feeling of panic mounted within her. She knew she could hold out but a minute or two longer at the most, and if she fell

"Strange that we did not think of that ivy, Sol. Any active person could climb either up or down, even Bowery here could do that, couldn't you, Bowery?"

"Guess I could, doctor."

"I should like to see you, Bowery. Climb now, right under the window— for a demonstration."

"Oh, darn " began another voice. "Climb, Bowery; but be careful you don't disturb the fruit which the ivy holds."

A little whispered moan broke from Nerica. The fear that he had seen her became a conviction, and that he was playing a cat-and-mouse game with her, she was almost certain. In any case, if the man Bowery began to climb, he was bound to discover her in a moment.

"Fruit!" guffawed the man, and then, in his rasping American accent, added: "I never heard of ivy bearing fruit."

"But there are exceptions. This variety does. Climb, Bowery, and you will discover it."

"Well, if I must," laughed the man, "I must. Here's off."

Nerica, shaking with fear and almost overwhelmed by despair, heard harsh steps on the gravel below, followed by a scrambling sound as the man sought for foothold on the ancient vine. The branch to which she clung and the one on which her feet were perched precariously seemed to shake and vibrate as the man scrambled; then she heard him begin to mount.

She bit her lips to keep back a scream. She did not know what to do— with discovery now imminent: then quite suddenly the man ceased to climb upward, and an astonished oath broke from him.

"Hell's bells!"

"What is it?" asked Shottelius with a laugh. "Have you found the fruit?"

"Fruit be d――d! The girl's here in the tree."

"You never say?" The chilling laughter sounded again. "Well, that is a—"

Nerica never heard the end of the sentence. With the complete assurance that Shottelius had been playing with her, strength seemed to depart from her. Her hands grew suddenly nerveless, and, as she felt herself slipping, she gave a sharp, short cry of despair. The man in the ivy saw her coming and instinctively began to shout a warning.

"Look out for―"

Then her sliding body struck him knocking him from his hold, and both of them crashed to the ground together the man beneath. A second or two after he rolled clear, and, staggering to his feet, stood looking down on the girl's inanimate form, brutal oaths breaking from him in a spate. Mr Shottelius's smooth voice checked him.

"That will do, Bowery. Take up the little bird and carry her indoors. I think we will provide a real cage this time— with iron bars through which she cannot slip. Quick! I grow chilled in this wind."

And picking up the unconscious Nerica as if she had been indeed the little bird of his master's gibe, the man carried her into the house.

Chapter 39

AS DICK SINGLETON threw open his door, Aleck Tracy, a much-dishevelled figure, with an inch or two of sticking plaster on one side of his head, almost fell into the room crying:

"A brandy and soda, for heaven's sake. Quick, old man!"

Singleton hurried to fulfil this behest; watched his friend swallow the liquor in three gulps, and then, unable to restrain himself longer, demanded hoarsely:

"Aleck, what news do you bring?"

"I'm not sure, but it ought to be good. Where are the cigarettes? Thanks, sit down, and I'll tell you everything short and sharp; for we've got to get moving quick... But, wait, there's a job I must do first."

He went to the telephone, rang up, and gave a number which startled Singleton as he heard it; and a little while after he listened to instructions which set his mind aflame with curiosity.

"That you, Simmonds? Yes. Well, listen to these instructions carefully. I want the bus tuning-up. Yes, the bus; and the tank filling with petrol. Everything is to be ship-shape and ready for a start within two hours' time. You've got that? Good! Then I leave everything with you. Hey! What? No, I shall not want you. A friend accompanies me. I'm going to ring off now before the breakfast bell sounds. So long!"

He put down the receiver, and as he turned, Singleton broke out. "What is it, Aleck? Why do you want the bus?"

Tracy gave a little laugh of excitement. "Because you and I are going to fly to Scotland this morning in it."

"To Scotland?"

"Yes, to a God-forsaken little place in Galloway, where we should set In touch with the Shottelius crowd."

"Is that so? For heaven's sake, man, tell me everything as explicitly as you can. I've had a bad time since you left here."

"You look it!" agreed Tracy. "And I've had a lively one. When I left Euston yesterday I was on the trail of that tall fellow whom we knocked down on Christmas Common."

"I guessed that before I got your wire."

Tracy nodded, "Saw him in a taxi when I was driving down to Lloyd's, and followed him on the spur of the moment. We must have given him a bit of a jolt when we charged him, for he walked with a couple of sticks: but he wasn't by any means out of the game, for later he fought like a tiger. But that's anticipating. He was with a young woman, tall, dark, a good looker with very fine eyes "

"Ah! I've seen, her! That's the woman the sight of whom so scared Nerica at the Medici Restaurant and who left me that cryptic warning. She was with Shottelius and his secretary, though I didn't know anything about them at the time."

"Don't know anything about that. Last night in the smash up I saved her from being cremated alive and stole her bag. You'll find a noble account of it in the sensational press this morning under the heading of 'Heroic Rescue' where some sentimental ass insists that I ought to have the Albert Medal―"

"For stealing the bag?"

"That was unintentional, and the press hasn't yet learned that I did it nor have the police, though I reckon I'd get off with a caution in view of my having saved the owner's life. The bag fell off the woman's arms as I was helping to lift her from a coach that was on fire, and I picked it up, put it in my pocket, and—forgot it. Good thing I did, for afterwards, remembering the hunt I was on, I opened it like any thief and mixed up with some Treasury notes I found two things that interested me a lot. One was a love letter, from Tony Berrington―"

"And the second thing?"

"Just a single first-class railway ticket to a little place in Galloway— really in the Stewarty— what a damn Scotch way of putting it that is!— in the Stewarty of Kirkcudbright. There it is!" He thrust a hand in his pocket and producing the ticket, read the name on it aloud, "Kirkgunzeon. Nice name," he commented, "and I guess that's where the precious couple were making for."

"Where are they now?"

"Heaven knows! The fellow may have gone west. He was trying to pitch me out of the train when it crashed, and he got the worst of the fall. He looked dead when he was got out. The woman I tried to find, but she'd disappeared, and for a guess I should say she was mow somewhere in the Stewarty with Kirkgunzeon for the nearest rail station. That's why I ordered the bus. We'll get there quicker that way; and, well, y'know! Dick, 'where the carcase is there are the eagles gathered together.' Somewhere in Galloway between the Nith and the Dee we'll find Miss Berrington."

"Very likely. But there is another thing you've got to know, Aleck. We aren't in this business alone, now."

"That so?" asked Tracy quickly. "Something has happened then?"

"Yes."

Singleton gave him an account of his conversation with Inspector Lavers on the previous night, and when he had finished, his friend asked quickly; "Heard anything from Lavers, yet?"

'"Not a word."

"Then that means he hasn't seen the Commissioner, or that the latter hasn't made up his mind. Either way it gives us a start, and a chance to pull the thing off ourselves. In six hours, once we're away, we'll be in the Stewarty; and before night we'll locate the crowd somehow. It will be a bit of a corker at the other end "

"Why?" broke in Singleton. "That station named on the ticket must be near their roosting-place; and it is almost certain, we shall be able to learn something there. Country folk and rural porters are always interested in gentlefolk and those who pass as such. Shottelius isn't a man to pass unnoticed, and if that dark woman whom you helped is making that way still, she's a figure to attract attention.

"All that," agreed Tracy, with a short laugh. "But here's enough of palavering. The sooner we're up in the Lowlands the better; and it's me for a bath and shave to be followed by a thumping breakfast. Playing the hero is a famishing game."

He laughed gaily as he went out; and left to himself Dick Singleton sat considering the railway ticket which Tracy had so luckily appropriated. The rightful owner of that had once left him a warning, which had seemed strange at the time; ,and Tony Berrington had written a love letter to her; a woman whose mere presence in the Medici Restaurant had thrown Nerica into great discomposure. He tried to piece the mystery of these three things, and found himself wondering if the woman, however involved with Shottelius, were inimical to Tony or to his sister, or whether it was possible that she was a secret friend. While he was still wondering, his telephone bell whirred, and when he answered it, he recognised Inspector Lavers' voice.

"That you, Captain Singleton? Lavers speaking. I haven't seen the Chief yet; he is out of town, but will be at the Yard at eleven, and then I shall lay your business before him. In the meantime I'm looking into Shottelius's record. So far as I can make out he bunged into London from nowhere, which is often the way with these big financiers, and he had for his sponsor in society the late Earl of Clearcombe, who was found drowned in the Solent two years ago— a rather mysterious business, which in view of all that we exchanged last night has an ominous significance. But that is by the way. Have you heard anything of Captain Tracy yet?"

For a second Singleton hesitated and then answered: "He came back a quarter of an hour ago."

"Ah! That's good hearing." There was a note of excitement in the Inspector's voice. "What news did he bring?"

"Hot much, except that the pair whom he was following were making for Kirkgunzeon, in Scotland. He saved the lady's life and inadvertently stole her ticket. He tried to find her before he returned, but failed, which probably means that she continued her journey. The man may be dead, but it is significant that at the moment of the collision he was trying to throw Tracy out of the train."

"Significant! My stars, I should think so! It is Steinmetz— neat!"

"We're going up to Galloway shortly to nose out things— if we can. We think Miss Berrington may be up there."

"Maybe you're right. What did you say. was the name of that place?"

"Kirkgunzeon!"

"Spell it, please!.... Good. I've got it! I hope you will keep in touch; and in case you make out from that bouquet of a place, leave word with the local officer."

"Very well," answered Singleton. "We'll do so, if the place boasts a constable."

A moment later he rang off; and when Tracy had breakfasted they went down to Croydon; and an hour after their arrival there they were in the air. At three in the afternoon they crossed the Solway, and a few minutes after, Tracy, with the map before him, pointed to a little collection of houses and a church, and ejaculated "Kirkgunzeon!"

They made a safe landing on suitable ground half a mile or so from the hamlet, and leaving Tracy to attend the machine and study the unequal contours of the Stewarty, Singleton made his way to the railway station, where a single official stood talking to a rough-looking diamond of a Galloway farmer who reeked of the national spirit.

He had great luck, for the moment he began to describe the handsome, foreign-looking lady who had been in the railway disaster last night, the official's eyes lighted up.

"That will be the handsome body that was sperrin' the way to Craigdarroch this morning, her not knowing that a motor-car had been waiting yester e'en; an' was there out in the road waitin' agen; so that she needna be worriting. I doubt for a' her handsome een she's terrible weak i' the sicht."

"Craigdarroch, did you say?" asked Singleton, concealing his eagerness. "Is that the name of a house?"

"Hoose! Aye!" answered the farmer. "A God-forsaken sted down on the Firth, sax or maybe seven miles away, a desolate deil-haunted place wi' a toorock that ye canna miss; for there's na anither hoose within l'owr mile o't, an' the road to it wad break the hart of a Hollander. It's a fair hidie-hole."

"And this road?"

"You'll see it ower the knowes there, rinning ower the moss towards the Firth, an' gin ye're gaun that road ye'd best be off, for there's mist drifting up frae the sea,"

"Thank you," said Singleton, and took his way. His heart was beating with hope, his eyes dancing with excitement and as he walked his whistle was sprightly and clear.

"Sax or maybe seven miles awa'," he quoted to himself breaking off the whistle—"a deil-haunted place with a toorock! Now what the deuce is a toorock?"

That was the question he asked Tracy when he reached him and instantly got the reply, "It's Galloway for a small tower, you duffer."

They started without delay and as they climbed up above the hills, Singleton, through field glasses, surveyed the coast with burning eyes. The mist was drifting inland in grey masses, largely hiding both the land and the face of the Firth and groaned within himself as the blanking vapour spread. It began to creep beneath them and an anxious look came on Tracy's face, for a descent in the fog with no view of the landing place would be a perilous thing.

Then suddenly Singleton shouted with joy.

The drifting mist had parted making a long lane right to a lonely house set on a small knowe with the sea beyond it, a house with a small tower. Tracy nodded, and at the same time spying a level treeless valley between two small hills where sheep were feeding began to descend. They made the landing safely, and as the biplane came to a stand-still, an eddy of wind from the sea brought up the smothering mist, blotting all the valley from sight. Tracy jumped out, threw back his ear-flaps, and as he did so a look of utter amazement came on his face Swiftly he lifted a warning finger and as Singleton, following his friend's example, uncovered his ears, he became aware of a steady droning sound high in the mist above their heads

"In heaven's name―" he began

"S-s-s-h-h!" whispered Tracy tersely. "There's a 'plane very near at hand."

Chapter 40

FROM THE SWOON into which she had fallen Nerica Berrington awoke to slip into complete despair. Her room had been changed, and now she was in one which she recognised as the nursery of her childhood days, the windows of which were barred. It was, as she recognised, no longer possible to think o! breaking free; for her abortive attempt would have put her captors on their guard; and she had no doubt that now careful watch would be kept against any further attempt to escape.

The night deepened; and since there was nothing else that she could do she retired to rest; and exhausted by the emotional strain through which she had passed, slipped into a nightmare-ridden sleep. Several times before morning she awoke, shaking with fear at the phantasmal terrors to which such sleep gives the semblance of reality; but at last true sleep, untroubled by dreams, fell upon her, out of which she was awakened by a roaring sound, which startled her.

But on going to the window she discovered the cause. From a draggled pasture field close to the house an aeroplane was just leaving the ground, h was so near that she could see the face of the pilot, and with a little shudder she recognised the man for the Frenchman who, on the pretext of taking her to Tony, had joined her in her saloon and then drugged her to unconsciousness.

Breakfast was brought to her, and , she ate a little and then returned to the window. An hour later she saw the aeroplane return, and then for two hours more nothing happened. At the end of that time, along the forlorn looking road that led to Craigdarroch came a motor-car, plainly making for the house, since there was no other possible destination. She watched with but little curiosity, and with no hope that it would in any way affect her present ill-fortune. There were two people in it, and as the vehicle glided in at the gate she recognised one of them for the dark-eyed woman who had been at the Medici Restaurant with Shottelius and his secretary, and whom she had even at that time regarded as one of Tony's enemies.

Following the woman's arrival some excitement manifested itself in the house. She heard the sound of voices raised in astonishment, and, as she fancied, in consternation. She moved to the door in the hope of hearing what was behind the commotion, but caught only indistinctly the voice of Shottelius speaking, as it seemed, in peremptory tones. Then the noise of feet on gravel outside took her to the window again, and she saw her original captor moving towards the aeroplane with Mr Shottelius by his side, while behind them walked a third man. The Frenchman climbed into the pilot's seat, and presently once more mounted into the air.

An hour later the key on the outside of her door, was turned, a knock followed, the door opened, arid Mr Shottelius entered, accompanied by the latest arrival at Craigdarroch in the person of the handsome dark-eyed woman. The millionaire smilingly greeted her.

"I have brought a friend to talk to you since you must find your solitude a little irksome. There are things that she will ask you, and as much will depend upon your answers, I hope you will, not be stubborn. Even your own enlargement may depend upon your frankness, so as a friendly course I advise you not to be uncommunicative. Truda, allow me to present you." He moved forward, the woman by his side, until he was facing Nerica, then with a little bow he made the introduction in form.  "Mrs Vandaloff; Miss Berrington."

He laughed again as he saw the flash in the girl's blue eyes, then remarked: "Now I may leave you together You will knock, Truda, when you desire to leave."

"Yes," said the woman shortly, and Mr Shottelius left the room,- locking the door behind him.

For a moment Nerica looked at her visitor with open hostility, and then without a word turned and walked to the window Scarcely had she reached it when the woman followed her, saying in an urgent whisper: "My poor child, you must not so treat me. I am your friend."

"Friend?" cried the girl witheringly, facing her with indignation biasing in her eyes.

"Yes, and the friend of our poor Tony."

It was too much for Nerica Berrington, this claim of one of her brother's enemies.

"You— the friend of Tony! I wonder you can take his name upon your lips."

"But, my poor child, you miscomprehend. Tony and I are lovers. We are to marry when— when he is free from that evil man who left us but now."

"To marry? You and Tony? I pray that he may die first."

"Ah— die!" A sob broke from the woman, and swift tears dimmed the dark eyes. "Already I fear that he may be dead."

Even to Nerica's hostile eyes the woman's emotion seemed real, and it awakened a new fear in her heart.

"You fear that Tony may be dead?" she demanded apprehensively. "Why should you fear that?"

"Because he was oh! so hopeless of delivering himself from Dr Steinmetz "

"From whom?"

"Dr Steinmetz, whom you know as Mr Shottelius. So many who have served him have died: and Tony, who loved me, has gone, disappeared, and has left no word."

Nerica looked at the woman doubtfully. Her distress seemed genuine, and the girl did not know what to make of it, and the suggestion made tilled her with fear. It might be true, since it was partly because of her brother's disappearance she had been brought to this house by the Firth. Then the woman spoke again:

"Tell me, do you know where Tony is?"

All Nerica's suspicions came back in a flood. She ceased to doubt.

"Oh!" she cried, with sharp scorn in her voice. "Mr Shottelius told you to ask that?"

"Yes! But what matter? It is for myself I ask; because I hunger, to know and have news, oh! so great news for Tony."

"What news that is good can you have for my brother?"

"Ah! I will show you, his sister, the news that will make our Tony glad, that will lift him out of his sore trouble; then, when you believe me, I will whisper to you a thing that will make you glad also."

She thrust a hand into a silk bag dangling at her wrist, and took from it a newspaper cutting.

"Read!" she cried, eagerly. "Read!"

Wonderingly, Nerica took the cutting, and began to read. The scrap of printed paper set forth the fact that an affair which had startled Paris some four years before had been cleared up by the confession of a young Parisian of distinguished antecedents, who, after writing the confession and sending it to the Sûrété, had died by his own hand. The confession had to do with the death of the son of a well-known French politician who had been shot dead during a fracas in a Montmartre gaming house by a young English officer, as was rumoured at the time. His identity had never been made public, though it was thought the authorities knew it; but the suicide's confession cleared up the matter, exonerating the young Englishman completely. There was, however, one strange feature in the  communication received at the Sûrété, and that was the postscript at the end, which ran, "God curse Dr. Steinmetz."

That rather fierce invocation the paper regarded as a new mystery, and it ended its note with a question, "Who is Dr. Steinmetz?"

As she finished reading, Nerica Berrington looked up, a question in her eyes; the same question on her lips: "Who— that young Englishman?"

"Tony!" answered Mrs Vandaloff promptly. "That was how the doctor got hold of him. He saved him from the guillotine or from Devil's Island, but he exacted his price, and poor Tony has been a vassal to the doctor. But now, if we can but find him, he is delivered!"

"There was another matter," she said quickly. "Something, you said which would make me, glad. I should like to know what it is."

"It is for you good news; Your friends are looking for you—"

"Oh, I am sure of that!" broke in Nerica.

"But you do not know, no! Listen. One of them followed myself and another from London. The train was wrecked, and he escaped unhurt, and where he is now I do not know, but I am sure that he will find you. It is possible that he followed me here."

"But if you are friendly, why did you not speak, tell him I was here, if you knew?"

"For one very good reason. There was with me a man whom you know, a Mr Hampshire—" She broke off as Nerica shuddered, and then, with a little shrug of her shoulders, she continued: "What need to explain? He would have strangled me if he had thought I meant to betray the Doctor's secrets!"

"But why are you with these people?" asked the girl, her suspicion of the woman on its last legs.

Then Mrs Vandaloff's eyes blazed.

"Why am I with them?" she whispered fiercely, shaken by terrible passion. "It is for revenge. One day when Tony is quite free and safe, I will bring the wicked Doctor to the gallows! I will! I will! You do not comprehend? No! But when I was married my husband was young, and by a little folly he fell into the power of Dr. Steinmetz. I cannot tell you all now; but he was made to do evil things, till at last, sick and mad with the wickedness he was forced to do, he took his own life. He left a note to tell me why; and when I read it and looked into his dead face, I made a holy vow to God that he should be revenged. And so I remained with Dr. Steinmetz and the evil companions of him... waiting not until I could use the assassin's knife, but until I could betray him to your police in the midst of some flagrant purpose.

"But... but your Tony came along, and I pitied him, loved him; and to save him, I waited until he could be safe before doing what was In my heart to do* and, as you see—"

There reached them the sound of quick steps outside; and almost on the Instant the woman broke off and raised her voice, crying sharply: "You will not speak, you foolish child? Do you think you can so save your brother? I tell you it is folly. But you shall have time to think. Oh, yes! And when you have thought you will tell me."

She flashed a smile at Nerica; then her face took on a thunderous look, and, without a word to the girl, she marched to the door, and hammered upon the panels.

"Open!" she cried, like a person moved by anger. Someone outside turned the key, and, the door opening, she passed out, and, as the door reclosed, the sound of her voice came to Nerica through the panels.

"Bete!—"

And quite suddenly all the girl's doubt vanished. "Bete!" That was blockhead, simpleton; and it was of her that the woman had so spoken to the person who had unlocked the door, no...doubt to mislead the man outside. She had a friend in Craigdarroch now, and, outside―

Chapter 41

BREATHLESSLY Dick Singleton stood by Tracy, listening to the drone of the 'plane above their heads. One question was in the mind of each: Had the pilot of the unseen machine seen them? Neither of them spoke, but presently, as the droning diminished in intensity, Singleton drew a breath of relief.

"Going across towards the sea. He must have missed us in the fog."

"As we missed him!" Tracy gave a sharp laugh. "Who do you think is the pilot, Dick?"

"The Dove!"

"I'll bet a hundred pounds on it. The luck is with us. If he'd seen us and guessed who we were he'd have tried to crash us somehow. He was always a reckless devil."

"I hope he'll break his neck in landing," said Singleton, looking up into the fog.

"There's every chance— but one!" laughed his friend. "He probably knows the country here, and flying low may spot his landing-place. The question is what is our next move?"

"To spy out the land Craigdarroch way! I'm going now." As he spoke he began to slip off his airman's suit. "There's no time to be wasted and... I'm the one to go. You'd better stand by the machine."

"Oh, confound it! Why shouldn't I go with you?"

"Because the machine may be wanted. Suppose I get Nerica and we have to make a run for it. We should want you to be ready,"

"It's a confoundedly slow job you're condemning me to," grumbled. Tracy.

"Can't help that! But remember, I mayn't pull it off and may have to return for your help."

"Don't worry. I've the bump of locality."

"I'll whistle how and again to guide you later. And If you get stalled— shout!"

"Right-o!"

"Without further words, Singleton set his face down the little valley and strode away. The road, as he had noted before the descent, lay to the left, and once he , reached that it would be easy to find Craigdarroch, since, as he had been told at the station, the road led nowhere else. In seven minutes he reached it, and turning right to face the sea he began to make a brisk pace.

The mist thickened. Darkness spread over the desolate face of the land, and he thanked heaven for that rutted road, knowing well that in such Stygian gloom he could never have found a way to Craigdarroch across the bents and heather. Several times, he stopped listening for any sound that might indicate that he was nearing his destination, but heard nothing save a sullen roar of the sea.

But at last he got the sign that he needed. It arrived in a totally unexpected form, for suddenly out of the darkness: came a spitting, crackling sound that brought him to sharp halt.

"Great Harry!" he whispered. "Wireless!"

Somewhere, not very far away, a wireless message was being dispatched. Familiar with the Morse code, he tried to read it by sound, failed, and then, when the crackling ceased, crept cautiously forward. Presently in the gloom he caught a faint radiance which told of a light ahead. He was near the house at last, and praying heaven that there might be no dog to give warning of his approach, he stepped from the road, right into a bush of some sort. He put out a hand and found another bush ahead, a line of bushes in fact. Puzzled, he crossed the road to And bushes there also; and then the truth broke on him. In the fog and darkness he must have walked through the open gates of Craigdarroch without seeing them, and was now in the grounds, presumably in front of the house.

Feeling about carefully he found a narrow border of turf in front of the bushes, and, after taking out his pistol, he began to walk cautiously and silently forward on the border, until he found himself close, to the house. In the lower windows no lights were visible, the light he had observed being, as he discovered, in an upper window.

Towards that he stared fixedly for a little time, unable to see anything beyond the outline of the window, owing to the fog. A slight sound of movement in the dripping garden reached his ears; Remaining perfectly still and scarcely breathing, he listened carefully. The sound was not repeated, and he decided that it was made by some bird or small creature of the night; then quite clearly through a shuttered window a rather high-pitched voice reached him.

"But Mademoiselle Berrington she veel with us go?"

Thrilled to the marrow by the words, his pulses racing, his heart beating wildly; he waited for the answer. When it came he caught no more than an indistinct murmur, but that scarcely troubled him. He had learned what he wanted to know. Nerica was here at this lonely house, but with that assurance brought by the words overheard came a new fear.

Apparently the men within, of whom clearly "The Dove" was one, were discussing their departure from Craigdarroch. How soon they meant to leave he had no idea; but if they took Nerica with them―

As he turned the corner he had a nasty shock, his foot catching in something which tripped him up. Fortunately he fell on grass and made little noise, but his pistol was jerked out of his hand, and kneeling on the wet turf, he had to grope for it. Just as he found it his hand touched something else, the thing over which he had tripped. It was just a piece of stretched wire, and, as he encountered it, he rose swiftly to his feet, his eyes straining in the fog, his ears alert. He had lived too long amid the mire of Flanders not to know what such a wire might mean, and standing there perfectly rigid he waited to see if any alarm had been given by his unlucky stumble.

No sound reached him save the drip drip from the trees in the garden and the sullen rumble of the sea. After waiting a full five minutes without the least sigh to make him suspicious of some surprise preparing for him, he continued his exploration; but now moved with infinite caution lest he should stumble into more wire.

Then there fell to him a piece of luck so colossal that it awoke swift suspicions in his mind, being of the order of the too-good- to- be- true things. This was just an unshuttered window, open, and easy of access, being a low bay.

What was this window doing open on such a vile night, when the other lower windows were shuttered? Was it a pre-arranged affair, an ambuscade in which he was meant to fall? Or was it just the oversight of some careless servant who would get a wigging for it in the morning? Then he found reassurance.

"Shottelius and his crew can't know I am here," he told himself silently. "They can't possibly anticipate my arrival tonight, even if they suspect their rendezvous may be discovered!"

He stared steadily into the well of darkness beyond the window, whilst his mind reached a decision. The conclusion was registered.

"It must be the oversight of some maid!"

Silently he lifted a leg over the low sill. The other followed, and for a second or two he sat there poised, then slid down, and felt a soft carpet under his feet. He straightened himself, and then listened once again, and, as he did so, there came a sudden laugh from the darkness of the garden, almost in his ears as it seemed; and in the same moment the window was shut behind him. Pistol ready, he swung round; but before he could do anything a voice broke oh the black stillness of the room.

"Turn up the lights, Gerard! Our bird is limed."

Then followed a click, An electric bulb in a bowl of alabaster glowed, and by the soft light he saw Shottelius, bland and smiling, seated in a chair in a corner of the room, whilst three other men, each with a levelled pistol, stood at various points regarding him with amused eyes.

"Drop your pistol, Captain," said Shottelius quietly. "You haven't a dog's chance."

Chapter 42

IN THE MIST and gathering, gloom, Aleck Tracy paced to and fro until it was quite dark. From the desolation about him there came no sound but the occasional cry of w bird, the bleating of Sheep, and the far rumble of the sea. He could not move from the neighbourhood of the 'plane lest in the gloom he should lose it, and he found the fog infernally cold; so that, as the night grew, his pacing grew quicker, and, whilst he speculated as to his friend's doings; was beset with doubts as to the possibility of his making a safe return through the mist and darkness.

To and fro, to and fro he went, varying the line of his march from time to time by circling the aeroplane. An hour passed as slowly as any hour in his life, and as the second hour moved to its close, he was ridden by anxiety! Dick  Singleton still tarried, though by now he ought to have returned. Had some untoward thing befallen him at Craigdarroch, or had he merely gone astray in the blackness?

Then out of the blackness on his left there came a faint rustling sound. He tautened as he heard it: and, with all his senses alert, waited, staring into, the darkness. The sound came again, and it was like— yes! by heaven, it was like a sound he had heard many times a-nights by the trenches of the Yser before he had left the Infantry for the Air service; the sound of someone creeping, across the bents. Nerves did not trouble him. He welcomed the thought of action; and, as he told himself that Singleton would not return in this surreptitious way, he prepared for an attack. As he did so, out of the darkness came a coughing sound that was very human, and then the plaintive voice of sheep followed.

"Ba-a-a!"

He laughed at his own anticipations, and, turning right about, prepared to descend again to the 'plane. But in that self-same instant, as he took his first step down the slope, a heavy body launched itself upon him, out of the gloom. He did not see the attacker as he sprang; but the force of the impact knocked him from his feet, and he shot down the slope, rolling over and over as he went. When his wild roll ceased, before he had time to spring to his feet, his attacker was upon him. He caught the fellow by the legs, and jerked him off his feet. But the man was quick as lightning; and, without allowing Tracy to use the small gain, rolled anew, and in a second they were locked in frightful combat, each feeling for the other's throat, fighting like dogs, and rolling over and over in the endeavour to secure the advantage of the uppermost.

Panting, at times literally grunting with the fierceness of their endeavours, they fought until Tracy struck his head against an outcrop of stone. The blow temporarily dazed him, giving the other the advantage which probably he would never have gained by himself. In a second the unknown was on top. His hands gripped Tracy's throat, and, in hoarse, gasping triumph, he cried exultantly: "Now, you devil, I have you!"

In spite of his dazed senses, Aleck Tracy recognised the voice; and with the pressure of murderous hands already upon his throat, cried brokenly; "Tony Berrington!... by ..."

The pressure on the windpipe relaxed, though the hands remained where they were, whilst the man whom he had so unexpectedly recognised peered into his face, inquiring hoarsely:

"Who are you?"

"Tracy! Aleck Tracy," gasped Tracy. "For heaven's sake, get up, Berrington. I'm here to help your sister—"

"Help my sister!" cried the other wonderingly. "Nerica—what― where—"

"Shottelius has her at some blessed hole called Craigdarroch over towards the sea. At least that's the idea; and Singleton's gone to reconnoitre."

Slowly, Tony Berrington arose, and Tracy also scrambled to his feet; and for a second, both a little breathless, they stood confronting each other.

"Shottelius... did you say Shottelius had Nerica?" inquired Tony Berrington stonily.

"That's what we suspect, and it's almost a dead certainty. She was drugged and kidnapped returning from Rowant End yesterday; by the French scoundrel, Saint Pierre—"

"The Dove! I mistook you for him. God do so to me and more also if I do not—"

"That's all right, Berrington! Dick Singleton's bitten the same way, and I. owe one to that rascal. But this is no time for throats. We've got to get into action. I fancy Singleton may have hit against trouble, and it is up to you and me to save both him and your sister. I imagine Shottelius or Steinmetz, whichever you like, is on the run; and in that case he'll be pretty desperate—"

"Desperate! You don't know. Satan himself isn't capable of what he'll do to ensure his own well-being."

"Oh, I can guess!"

"But why has he taken Nerica?"

"For a guess, to get hold of you, and perhaps to shut Singleton's mouth. Between us, you know, we've unearthed a few interesting details about the philanthropic millionaire."

"Me! Did you say it was to get hold of me that he has taken Nerica?"

"Well, that's our idea, you know."

"Then he shall have me!" Tony Berrington laughed like a drunken man. "He shall have me." A cracked, strained note sounded suddenly in his laughter. "And I'll redeem his hostage by shooting him."

Without another word he turned and began to walk away in the mist. Tracy ran after him.

"Look here, Berrington, where are you going?"

"To a little sheiling I have over the knowes here. I want another pistol and some more cartridges. Then I'm going to Craigdarroch—"

"But in this mist and darkness you'll never find—"

"Man, it's my house. Shottelius rented it from my agent, though I only found that out a week since, and then by accident. When I left Rowant End I came up here to wait for him, to kill him, since I was sure he would come up here sometime. There's a shepherd's hut in the lee of the biggest knowe about here which is part of my estate. The man has gone for a holiday, and I'm lodging there. Nobody but the shepherd knows I'm here; and I know that some of that crowd are at Craigdarroch. I saw a closed car pass along the road yesterday; and another this morning; and an aeroplane came along before dawn. It's been over once or twice today; and when I heard yours there come down in the mist, on what I guessed was a forced landing, I set out to find it, thinking I might even accounts with 'The Dove,' for I was sure he was the airman. What that man has been to me—"

He broke off, shaken by a spasm of fury; and again he began to stalk forward. Tracy moved with him.

"Look here, Berrington, hadn't you better wait, until—"

"Not a blasted moment!" cried the other in the tone of a man utterly desperate.

Tracy took a sudden resolution. "Then I'll go with you, on one condition. We must come this way back; and go by the road. We may meet Singleton."

"All right."

The half-distraught man moved forward again, and Tracy marched with him, marking as well as he could the contours as they went. Tony Berrington seemed to know his whereabouts very well. In ten minutes out of the mist a herd's cottage with a guttering candle in the window came into view. Berrington threw the door open and passed inside; and by the dim light the candle afforded, Tracy glimpsed a table, a chair, a tumbled cot in one corner, with an open kitbag at the foot of it. He saw the other drop on his knees and begin to rummage in the bag. Apparently what he sought did not come easily to hand; for he began noisily to fling out the things the bag held. Watching him, Tracy caught a sound behind him, and swung alertly round; but before he could see anything, something crashed upon his head; and, after falling back against the door Jamb, he collapsed senseless to the mud floor.

Chapter 43

SITTING IN HIS chair, watching, the disarmed Singleton still covered by the pistols of the three other men in the room, Mr Shottelius laughed softly like a man well pleased.

"You are a little later than I thought you would be in making your call, Captain Singleton," he said pleasantly. "No doubt the mist delayed you, as it is delaying me. I expected you quite a long time ago. But it is good to have you now." He broke off, smiled, and then said, "Confess that you found that open window a temptation?"

Singleton did not confess, and the other continued lightly. "You are too easy game, Captain Singleton— you and your friend "

"You haven't got Tracy yet!" snapped Singleton.

"No!" replied the other carelessly, "That is true, but―" He broke off, consulted a gold hunting- watch and then finished, "I expect him here in a little over half an hour, and I will wager you that he is here under 40 minutes... But, as I was saying, you are too easy, you and your friend. I had thought that at least you would have made a good run for your money, that I myself should have had to meet finesse with finesse; instead of which I merely receive a wireless message from one of my agents in London, and look out for a biplane coming across the Firth from the South. From the little tower which adorns this house, I saw you land; and when the drifting mist closed on you hiding you from view, I did not attempt to search for you. I knew you would come here. I knew also that shyness would not permit you to ring the bell at the main door, so I arranged a bell-wire in the garden that you might not drop in on us too unexpectedly; and I gave orders for that window to be opened for your convenience."

He laughed again, soft chilling laughter that was far more ominous than wrath would have been, then in a tone of cold contempt, his rich voice raised not the least, he said: "You ninny, to think that I should fall to your little pop-gun. Now, that man Southwell was a different proposition. He was really dangerous. You never were that."

"That is why you tried to kill me at Christmas Common and why one of your friends endeavoured to throw Tracy out of the train last night, I suppose?"

Shottelius ignored the thrust. "You are not the first who has matched himself against me, and lost. Southwell was not the first—and it is possible that you may not be the last, but it 'is certain that you will not be the one to succeed and "

He broke off and a listening look came on his face. Somewhere out on the Firth a ship's siren screeched like a thing in pain. Two short shrieks then a long one, followed by a shorter one. Shottelius smiled genially.

"Let us borrow from the work of a famous master of Literature," he said, and with a light laugh he quoted: " 'Do ye ken what that means, warlock?' Ho! Then I'll tell you. It means that soon you will be tossing on the deep. Yes," he continued as he caught the look of understanding in his prisoner's eyes, "that is my yacht signalling her arrival. As soon as your friend Tracy arrives we shall adjourn to her, for a cruise in pleasanter waters than the Solway."

"You are going to take me?" asked Singleton sharply.

"I propose to give myself that pleasure. I think your friend and you will be great acquisitions when we are in the solitudes that lie below the Line. I should be sorry not to have your delightful company, and, since my invitation is a rather pressing one, I am sure you will not refuse it."

Again his cold laughter sounded; and he added, "Besides I have a use for you and your friend. I have a certain young lady under my charge, and with me an invalid gentleman who is enamoured of her, and desires to marry her."

He broke off, his strange eyes watching Singleton closely. The latter gave no sign of being unduly perturbed. Then Shottelius asked pleasantly: "You do not ask what that use is? No! But I will tell you. I have a happy thought that you will be excellent witnesses to the marriage."

"There you over-reach yourself," answered Singleton contemptuously. "You can't force witnesses to a marriage, nor can you force a principal. A marriage under duress is illegal."

Mr Shottelius laughed. "Excellent, my dear Captain. But you do not inquire the circumstances in which the marriage will take place. It will not be at St. George's, Hanover Square, nor yet at a fashionable Registry office. It will be on my yacht, will be at sea, and, believe me, it will be a perfectly legal marriage. I shall be at pains to assure that; and your friend Tracy and yourself will be witnesses above suspicion, you know."

Again he paused as if waiting for Singleton to comment; but, as the latter did not do so, he remarked genially:

"Do you know, my dear Singleton, in spite of your poking your nose into my affairs (an inelegant but expressive phrase), I am inclined to regard you as one of the most incurious men I have ever met. You are wondering why, I can see, and I will tell you. It is because you have not inquired the name of the bridegroom whose happiness you are to serve. But I will tell you; as there is no reason why I should conceal it. It is Mr Hampshire, in whose house you were so interested."

"Hampshire!" Dick Singleton cried out, in anger.

"Yes! You do not appear to like the gentleman, who has latterly been unfortunate. To begin with, your brutal driving, as you left my house at Christmas Common, injured one of his legs, and in the railway accident yesterday he suffered a slight concussion and was taken to a farm whence he has been brought here today; but I have no doubt that a few days at sea will set him on his legs again and make him able to grasp his happiness."

"You will never dare, you scoundrel!" cried Singleton, raging and taking a quick step forward.

"Steady, Captain. I should not like to have you shot— yet! I have other uses for you, as I have explained. But I assure you that you do not know me if you think I shall hesitate to help two young people to felicity. You cannot be a diligent reader of the popular press or you would know that I have a great reputation for philanthropy to maintain, and this is just one of those little human dramas in which I shall be delighted to play the part of the God in the Machine."

Dick Singleton stood there like a man turned to stone. He was appalled as he considered the possibilities of the situation. He recalled the way in which the tall man whose name was Hampshire had claimed Nerica at Ascham House; how the girl had accompanied the tall, saturnine-faced man to the house opposite the Green Park, and then by an odd trick of memory he saw himself standing in the street opposite Belvoir Mansions watching the door which had. opened, where, whilst he watched, a man's face appeared; and a moment later in that momentary vision, he was watching a very tall man hurry up the street towards a waiting taxicab. And with the remembrance there came to him one of those swift, overwhelming intuitions that are far more powerful than reasoned convictions.

"My God!" he whispered to himself.

Mr Shottelius stared at him in obvious surprise.

"You have some idea, Captain Singleton?" he said, with mock politeness.

"Yes! That murderer— the man who did Southwell to death, you will never marry Nerica to―"

"How did you learn that?" Shottelius cried in utter surprise. "I did not think you had such wit as to—" He interrupted himself sharply, and Singleton answered boldly, "I saw him leave the Mansions. It was he and none other who―"

"Captain Singleton, I think I would be careful if I were you. My friend, Mr Hampshire, is a man resentful by nature. He might not like what you are saying, which, of course, is rank nonsense. But we will adjourn this pleasant conversation for a little while until your Mend Tracy arrives. If you will come with me "

"I'll be shot if I do!"

"You mean you'll be shot If you don't," said the other grimly... "You will come?"

"No!"

Mr Shottelius made a sign, and the man directly in front began to advance towards Singleton, with his pistol raised. Singleton watched him contemptuously. He was not to be cowed by an empty threat. Shottelius made another sign, and the other two armed men advanced, also Singleton's open contempt grew. He was sure that for some reason Shottelius had no intention of killing him yet.

"A nice piece-de-theatre!" he commented sarcastically.

"You think so? Then you have a good nerve, and I " whilst Shottelius was still speaking the nearest of his satellites dropped his pistol and leaped for the threatened man, who was borne down by the unexpected attack. Instantly the others launched themselves upon him also; and though he struggled hard, within four minutes Dick Singleton was lying nicely trussed in a corner of the room, with the man whom he had tried to thwart looking down on him with quizzical eyes.

"Really, Captain Singleton," he said, rallyingly, "You are even more simple than I thought— a most disappointing man. I am sorry that I cannot stay to point the moral, at this moment. There are other and more serious affairs that call for my attention, and for the present I must leave you to lie there— in some discomfort, I am afraid. But it will not be for long. Soon, in spite of the fog, we shall be at sea."

He made a mocking gesture of farewell, nodded to the other men, and all four left the room, the last man switching off the light as he went.

Chapter 44

AFTER SOME STRENUOUS attempts to release himself, realising that he was so well bound that unaided it was impossible to break free, Dick Singleton lay still tormented by his thoughts. If it were true that Shottelius's agents had already arranged for Tracy's capture, then the position was a hopeless one indeed. But soon he forgot himself in the thought of Nerica and the fate which threatened her. He had no doubt that the arch-scoundrel into whose hands she had fallen meant just what he said, and as he thought of that saturnine-faced man, and remembered the conviction that had come to him about the fellow, he. groaned aloud. Not for a moment did he question the Tightness of the conviction, which Shottelius in his surprise had confirmed, and he was overwhelmed with apprehension for his beloved's welfare.

How long he lay there tormented by these thoughts he did not know; but unexpectedly he caught the sound of feet outside, and then there reached him a burst of boisterous laughter. A moment later there followed the sound of an opening door; and a voice uttered what was evidently a question; for an almost uproarious one answered, "Oh, yes, Doctor, we culled him like a wayside flower, and another with him."

"Another?"

"Yes—the Bebe. They were together, and we didn't like to leave either. Bebe's got a broken head, though, having been

tapped rather hard."

What followed Dick Singleton did not hear. Another and yet deeper pit of despair had opened for him Into which he plunged. Shottelius's confidence had been justified. Tracy was in his hands —and Tony Berrington. How the latter had come to be with Tracy he did not know; but the fact that he had been captured was the last straw, since it meant that Shottelius had all of those whom he sought in his hands and his secret was safe.

No! with a surge of hope he remembered! he remembered Inspector Lavers. He knew the truth and no doubt he would—

He got no further in that hopeful line of thought. Quite suddenly it flashed upon him that Tracy and he had omitted to take the precaution which the Inspector had suggested. In the excitement of learning of Craigdarroch as their ultimate destination they had forgotten to communicate the fact to the local authorities. Whether Kirkgunzeon owned a constable of its own, he did not know; but it had been absolutely criminal negligence not to have left the information with some one for the Scotland Yard man's guidance if he had secured his warrant and followed on. That piece of negligence had cut away the very last hope of deliverance.

He was still writhing with the bitterness of this thought when the floor of the room where he lay was opened, and without the lights being switched on several men entered, threw two heavy bodies on the floor and went out. Lying there in the darkness, Singleton caught a moan, and instantly divined that Tracy and Tony Berrington were in the room with him,

"Aleck!" he whispered urgently. "Aleck!"

There was no response, and though he remembered that Tony Berrington had a broken head, he tried him also.

"Berrington!"

Again there was no reply; and assured that his fellow-prisoners were both unconscious he lay still listening to the sounds that reached him. There was much going to and fro, a bumping of heavy packages thrown down beyond the door, a trampling of the gravel outside. Remembering Shottelius's words about the yacht and his intentions, he had no doubt that the scoundrel and his satellites were preparing to leave Craigdarroch and his heart misgave him sorely. He was as helpless as Tony Berrington or Tracy; and Nerica was in these evil hands,

In that moment he would gladly have died if he could have been assured that the girl whom he loved was safely away from Craigdarroch, in Dumfries or speeding Londonwards in the southbound train; but she was here and somewhere out there in the mist that hid the Solway was the yacht which―

In that very moment the vessel's siren sounded a long screech that seemed remarkably near; and as it did so the door of the room where he lay was opened and someone slipped inside.

Whoever it was did not turn up the light, but stood quite still as if listening; and Singleton caught a sound of quick breathing as if the unseen person had been running, or were labouring under great excitement. A thought crossed his mind that possibly he and his companions were to die forthwith, but in the same second the whisper of a feminine voice sounded.

"Captain Singleton?"

"Yes!" he whispered back in amazement.

"Where are you? I dare not make a light."

"In the right hand corner of the room from the door," he whispered promptly remembering his position in the room.

"And the others?... My poor Tony?"

"I do not know. Somewhere nearer the door. I cannot guide you."

"So! Keep the silence. I come to you."

Amazed, he lay still. Except that it was not Nerica he had no notion of  the identity of the woman, speaking to him out of the darkness. The sound of light, cautious steps approached him. Once he heard a foot put down and drawn back and there came to him a tense whisper.

"Mon Dieu!"

He guessed that the foot had touched one of his prostrate companions; but a second later, the woman's stealthy approach was renewed; and then, very close to him, came the inquiry:'

"Where

"Here!"

"Dieu merci!" came the answering whisper, then the speaker dropped on her knees beside him. "Keep very still. I have the knife."

He kept quite still, and asked no questions. Light fingers ran over him. Strand after strand was cut until he felt himself quite free.

"That is all I think!"

"Good! Then you help me with Tony. You lift him through the window, quick. I will him hide. Then I will give you a keys that you will need to free his sister. There are but three men in the house, now, the doctor and one other; the third can do nothing. The other men have gone down to the shore to take things to the boat. You comprehend? But they will return in five, seven minutes, perhaps; so be quick, oh very quick."

"There is my friend―" he began.

"You can put him outside also. I will hide him in the bushes. But Tony first! I insist."

He did not stop to argue with her. As silently as possible he crept to the window, and began to open it. It slid up silently, then he felt his way back and almost stumbled over one of the prone men. Stooping, he touched an unshaven face. That must be Tony Berrington; for Tracy would sooner have gone unwashed than unshaved. A moment, later he, had lifted the: man; and was creeping to the window when the woman whispered again.

"My Tony, have you got?"

"Yes!"

She was at the window before he was, and slipped through to receive the unconscious man, dragging him away from the room into the darkness.

"Now for your friend— oh, quick! Hark!"

Through the mist came the sound of voices, whether approaching the house he could not tell; for even as he heard them they were drowned by the yacht's screeching siren. He hurried back, found Tracy, staggered with him to the window, thrust him through, and then the woman pushed a key into his hand.

"The first door, on the right of the gallery upstairs. But be cautious, my brave captain, If the doctor sees you―"

He did riot wait for any more. For the moment he had done what he could for his friend and for Tony Berrington, and his deep concern was for Nerica. Silently he slipped off his shoes, and, crossing the room, felt for the door. Very cautiously he turned the handle, and; peeping, found that the door opened on to a wide hall, which for the moment was empty.

He listened. From somewhere along the hall came the sound of a rich voice speaking— Shottelius's. Thrusting his head farther out, he located it in a room, the door of which was ajar, almost in a line with the foot of the stairs. He might be seen from that room; but the risk must be taken.

He slipped into the hall, and, passing quickly to the foot of the stairs, began to mount them. Four steps up he paused, and looked towards that partly open door. He could not see the men within, but words reached him.

"On the first journey we will take Hampshire and Truda and that girl. With myself, it is as many as the launch will carry. The second time you will bring those three along. As soon as the men are back to carry Hampshire, we will start. You understand?"

"Yes, Doctor."

Singleton stayed to hear no more. He knew he had no time to waste. Quietly he mounted the stairs, turned to the right along the gallery, halted at the first door, fitted the key silently and turned it with as little noise as possible. Then he opened the door, one hand over his mouth in sign, for silence. He saw Nerica there, her face white and dark rings under the sapphire eyes, which were wide with fear. He beheld the fear give place to incredulous wonder and that in turn to sudden gladness and relief, saw her mouth shaping to some ecstatic cry, and he gave a sharp "s-s-s-s-h-h!" in further warning.

Then he moved to her very quickly. As his arm went round her he found her shaking like a leaf; and, mindful of the gauntlet to be run in the hall, and fearful lest she should collapse, he whispered:

"My dear, brace yourself!"

For answer, she clung to him as one slinging to salvation, and he whispered again: "We must go at once— at once, you understand? Shottelius is below and―"

"Tony," she whispered.

"He..."

"Is safe! Come, sweetheart, silently! And whatever happens don't cry out."

He led her to the stairs. Voices still sounded from the room below as they began the descent. Singleton rejoiced to hear them. Short of meeting someone as they reached the door, so long as those voices sounded their enterprise promised well. But when they were halfway down the stairs the voices ceased to speak, and he knew the critical moment was at hand. If that door opened; if anyone emerged―

"Quick!" he whispered in agony for her. "Oh! Quick, my beloved!"

They were too late. Before they touched the lowest stair, he saw the door opening, and just as they reached the hall a man stepped out. For one second, he stared at them in amazement; surely at that moment the most astonished man in all Galloway. Then he roared. "By the Mass! That girl and—"

"Run!" cried Singleton as the fellow leaped to intercept them.

"Run, my dear!" He thrust her almost roughly forward as he spoke and he himself leaped, and as he leaped struck for the man's throat— of all blows the most painful. Not only his weight and strength, but the impetus of his leap was behind the blow, and the man, with a hoarse cry, went down and lay writhing just as Mr. Shottelius himself emerged with a pistol in his hand.

Singleton saw the strange eyes kindly with fury, and was acutely conscious that Nerica, instead of running forth into the mist and darkness, had halted in the doorway to wait for him. That their enemy would fire Singleton had no doubt, and in an agony of apprehension he cried out: "Run! Run, Nerica!"

He himself was running when the shot was fired. He heard the bullet plug the panelling of the hall; and then saw Nerica turn swiftly halfway round.

"Oh―" she began as he reached her.

He dragged her swiftly out of range of the hall. and, as darkness swallowed them, they collided with a man coming in the opposite direction. To Nerica, already overborne, the shock was too much, and in a half-fainting condition she collapsed in her lover's arm.

Singleton flung back his free arm to meet an attack. But the man, swinging aside, went by them unheeding, rushing the house door. As he reached it he almost crashed into Shottelius emerging with the smoking pistol in his hand. Singleton heard the man cry out something. The last words only were clear to him.

"Queek, Docteur! On zee moor aire men!"

Then out of the mist and darkness came the sound of a whistle— a police whistle, as Singleton told himself incredulously.

"You hear!" cried the voice he had just heard. "Eeet ees zees cops dat come dees way!"

The man began to run across the garden, and Shottelius, with fear for once lending him wings, followed hard at his heels.

Chapter 45

WITH NERICA in his arms Singleton stood there unable to do anything. He dared not leave her lest enemies should return, and he waited for her to revive, the whilst he listened to the sounds that came to him from the darkness. They were sufficiently varied. From the direction of the sea came a confusion of voices, drowned now and again by the screeching of the yacht's siren. Once a pistol cracked and someone roared angrily; and then again he caught the sound of dragging feet on the gravel somewhere at the side of the house.

From the hall of Craigdarroch itself where the light still burned a man staggered forth one hand at his throat. Singleton recognised him for the man who had striven to prevent their escape; and thinking the man was coming his way, he was preparing to lay Nerica on the grass when the man turned and went off slowly in the other direction. The dragging feet on the gravel still sounded, and then into the light that came from the hall stumbled a second man. Singleton recognised him with gladness.

"Tracy!" he cried, and carrying Nerica in his arms, moved towards him. As his friend saw the burden he carried, he gave a swift exclamation.

"Heavens! She's not―"

"Fainted only, old man," answered Singleton.

"Thank God!" was the feeling reply as the man who made it staggered against one of the ornamental stone plant holders which flanked the doorway. "Where's that devil Shottelius?"

"He ran off in the darkness with The Dove. They've a motor launch somewhere, and out here on the Firth Shottelius's yacht is waiting and—"

On his words and in the confusion of voices that still came from the sea broke a new sound, which made both of them jump.

"An aeroplane— just off!" cried Singleton.

"That will be Shottelius and The Dove, I'll wager a thousand pounds! But they're taking almighty risks―"

"Needs must when the devil drives," said Tracy. "And Saint Pierre was always a reckless flyer."

The drone of the rising 'plane filled: the air momentarily drowning all other sounds, and neither of them heard it man who came running round the house until he was close upon them.

"Hands up there, or―"

Singleton, who was facing the direction from which the voice came,  recognised it instantly.

"Good Lord! Lavers!"

Lavers it was. He came forward hurriedly. "You Captain? You have your lady? Thank God. Where's Shottelius?"

"Listen!"

The yacht screeching mingled with the drone of the aeroplane at the moment, and Singleton added quickly: 'That's Shottelius's yacht—"

"Oh, I guessed that! There's a motor launch upset down there and—"

"You remember me telling you about The Dove? That's his aeroplane you hear. I suspect Shottelius is with him―"

"The devil!" Lavers stared blankly into the opaqueness above; then he cried out: "But he'll never get away in this mist. He can't! He's bound to get lost―"

"Don't build on that, Inspector," interrupted Tracy. "The Dove was one of the ablest and most daring pilots the war produced; and you can lay that his machine has all the up-to-date instruments. He won't need to see where he is going; he'll know just as well as a ship's navigator knows when he's driving through the night. Barring accidents or some most stupendous piece of luck you won't cage The Dove for a goodish bit, I'll wager."

The Inspector voiced his profound disappointment in a most unprofessional oath; and then looked towards the house.

"They're all gone, I suppose?"

"By Jove no! I believe the fellow who killed Southwell is inside. Shottelius owned it was he. He was in that railway smash and is, I fancy, a very sick man. He―"

The inspector waited to hear no more, but ran into the house, and carrying Nerica, Singleton followed him. In the room where Shottelius had been talking when they had made their escape, he found an open flask of Benedictine, and a very little of the liquor introduced drop by drop between her lips, revived Nerica. A few minutes later she sat up; and as her eyes fell on her lover they glowed with sudden radiance, and she staggered to her feet.

"My dear!" he cried. "My dear,' and caught her in his arms. A sob that testified to overwrought nerves broke from her, and he spoke crisply: "Steady, sweetheart. There's nothing to worry over now. You are quite safe. The police are here—"

"The police!" she tautened in his arms as she echoed the words. "But Tony, where―?"

"Don't worry. He is safe somewhere. That dark-eyed woman of the restaurant has him in hand, and she'll get him clear if I know her. She freed me and gave me the key to your room!"

"She loves Tony. She told me. She was friendly to me!"

"Then leave Tony with her. Don't mention his name, and if questions are asked, for Tony's own sake, deny all knowledge of him. You understand?"

'Yes.' she whispered, as steps sounded on the stairs.

Then Lavers entered. There was a light of chagrin in his alert eyes, which Singleton misinterpreted.

"Gone?" he cried.

"No! Dead!" grumbled the inspector. "That railway accident cheated the  hangman in his case. And it's a most confounded nuisance, for we might have squeezed something out of him about Shottelius— Steinmetz."

Then he looked at Nerica. "Your brother? This is his house, isn't it? Have you seen him?"

Nerica shook her head.

"No!" she said with wonderful steadiness. "That dreadful man wanted to get hold of Tony, who would have nothing more to do with him: that was why he captured me. I knew that Tony had become involved with him—"

"Yes!" broke in the inspector. "I understand that; and maybe your brother has no need to worry, if he will just tell us all he knows of Shottelius or Steinmetz! But there's one thing I would like to know right now, and that is what you were doing at Belvoir Mansions that night when Southwell was killed?"

The girl shuddered at what the remembrance recalled, and her voice shook a little as she answered:

"I went there to warn Mr. Southwell. Tony and he were to have met that very night. I think Tony was to have told him something about Mr. Shottelius, but that very day Mr. Shottelius himself interviewed Tony and ordered him to go and kill Mr. Southwell— though I did not know then that it was Shottelius. Tony was in a panic. He sent for me to see him secretly. He told me a little of his trouble and said his life was in danger, as he was sure that his intention to see Mr. Southwell was known; and for that reason he had been ordered to kill him as well as for the reason that Mr. Southwell was a great danger to the organisation. But Tony would not obey. He gave me a key which Mr. Southwell had sent to him in case he should come when he was out; and he asked me to take the warning to Mr. Southwell. I went, and I made a mistake in the room, though I did not discover it immediately. The room was in darkness, empty, and I waited for a little while without putting on the light, till I heard someone creep softly past the door―"

"The murderer!" ejaculated Lavers.

"I grew afraid then. I do not know why, and, as Tony had been told to wait, I switched on the light, and drew the curtains, and I had just caught a name on some letters which made me think I had made a mistake, when I heard you coming."

She looked at her lover, who smiled his understanding.

"That's all. I think, except that I must have dropped my handkerchief as I ran from the house."

"And I'll tell you the rest, Lavers, at my leisure."

"There's not much left to tell, I guess." commented the Inspector.  "I think I'll go and see what's happening down on the shore." He departed, and as his footsteps died away, Singleton looked at his beloved.

"My dearest, there is one thing. That portrait―?"

"I had given it to Tony. That was why I was so upset when you told me where you had found it. I was afraid Tony had been to Belvoir Mansions after all. But I know now that it must have been stolen from him, and left by that dead man either to incriminate him or to frighten him."

"But how do you know that?"

"Mr. Shottelius said that the police had found it there; but I knew that ho was lying; that you had it. It was easy to guess the rest, and it was a load off my mind."

"I should think so, sweetheart."

There were other explanations of her kidnapping, of her experiences al Craigdarroch. and presently the Inspector came back.

"There's three drowned men on the shore, and one dead man upstairs. That's the haul so far. If only the Commissioner had been in town last night!"

Lavers laughed a little bitterly, and then added: 'We came along like you by 'planes to Kirkgunzeon, and picked up your trail easy enough, but the fog hindered us. We've had the most confounded luck. But there may be papers here!"

He drifted away again, and as he went, Nerica whispered. "How I wish I knew where Tony was!"

THAT WISH was not gratified until a week later, when Tracy, walking in on Singleton and Nerica at Lady Arthwaite's, was invited to become best man at their wedding.

"With all my heart," he said. "And I'll give you a wedding present of good news."

"Tony—'

"Yes. Day before yesterday I had one of Dick's hunches, and swore to myself I knew where Tony Berrington was. So I took the bus up to Craigdarroch, and made my way to a little shepherd's sheiling where Tony and I were knocked out that night. He was there with Mrs. Vandaloff, who had been nursing him. To-day they sailed for the States where they are to be married, and they'll write to you In a week or so."

"Oh, thank God!" whispered Nerica.

"And that's the end of Dr. Steinmetz as far as we are all concerned."

But that he really believed that is to be doubted; for when he met Inspector Lavers after the wedding he asked a question.

"The redoubtable Doctor? Do you think he's gone for good?"

"Don't you believe it, Captain Tracy. He isn't that sort. He won't forgive the upset we've caused him. He's alive and kicking somewhere, and you and me and Captain Singleton had better keep an eye lifting, for he's sure to try to even things up."

"Shouldn't wonder," laughed Tracy genially.

But in the express running for Dover and the Calais boat, Singleton and his bride, happy in their love, went their way without so much as thought of Dr. Steinmetz to cloud their felicity.

The End

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45