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Chapter I. The Gathering of the Eagles.
Chapter II. The Problem of Ephraim Smith.
Chapter III. The Secret of the Mask.
Chapter IV. The House in the Wood.
Chapter V. Gentlemen of Crime.
Chapter VI. The Masters of Ephraim Smith.
Chapter VII. The Beginning of the Trail.
Chapter VIII. Guests at Bodham Castle.
Chapter IX. The Threads of Fate.
Chapter X.The Messenger of Death.
Chapter XI. In Danger.
Chapter XII. The Soul of a Thief.
Chapter XIII. Fenton Loses His Situation.
Chapter XIV. The Bloodhounds.
Chapter XV. McAlbane Leaves the Gang.
Chapter XVI. The House by the River.
Chapter XVII. The Hovering of the Eagles.
Chapter XVIII. Detective Raphael Croupin.
Chapter XIX. The Prey of the Eagles.
Chapter XX. The Lights That Failed.

CHAPTER I.
The Gathering of the Eagles.

Nine men were seated at a long table in a very large room,where, except for a small and carefully shaded light directlyabove the head of the man who had spoken, everything was incomplete darkness.

But although the hour was midnight, and the door was lockedand the windows were closely shuttered and draped over with thickcurtains, there was nothing in a way suspicious or sinister aboutthe room itself.

It was no bare unfurnished cellar, suggestive of secrecy andthe plotting of evil deeds, no hole-and-corner meeting place,where criminals might be foregathering, and no lair certainly forthe hiding away of human beasts of prey.

Instead, the appointments of the chamber were in every wayrich and sumptuous, speaking eloquently of refinement and ofmoney judiciously, if lavishly, expended.

The chairs and tables would have realised a small fortune inany art saleroom in the world, and the enormous carpet, extendingto the wainscoting, had cost many hundreds of pounds. There werepictures, too, upon the walls, the value which only experts couldappraise, while the great oak fireplace was a rare and prizedantique, a poem of those far-off days when men gave to wood andstone the beauty of the stars.

And yet there was only one small light in the room, and untilthe little man had darted through the door and locking it behindhim, had started to address the gathering, not a word had beenspoken by anyone, and the stillness had been as complete and deepas if all present had been waiting breathlessly for thepronouncement of some dread sentence of death.

"Yes," continued the speaker, in sharp and staccato-liketones, "it is my fortune or misfortune, as you all know, to be avery rich man, and indeed great wealth alone could have enabledme to arrange such a gathering as this." He thumped with his fistupon the table. "Gentlemen, will it surprise you to learn thatthere are now present in this room the very cream of the greatdetectives of the world, and, if I may say so without givingoffence"—his lips curved to a sarcasticsmile—"certain of its greatest miscreants as well?"

The humour died from his face, and he became at once business-like and cold. "I have been successful in bringing together upona single occasion the most renowned trackers and the mostnotorious practitioners of crime, and I have brought you here atgreat expense, by the pulling of many strings; and, as I say,nothing but my unique position in financial circles could haverendered it possible for me to have bid so successfully for yourcompany." He lowered his voice to an intense whisper. "And youhave one and all come here by stealth, unknown to one another, bymany devious ways. You are all disguised and wearing the blackmasks I have provided for you, this chamber is in darkness, it isin the dead of night, and mine is the only voice that so far anyof you have heard." He raised his hand to emphasise his point."There is then no human possibility that any of you can know whothe others are, and unless I give the word everything ispropitious for this anonymity to remain unbroken."

An apologetic tone crept into his voice. "And I have arrangedthat everything should happen in this way because, upon the firstshock of your seeing so many gathered together here, it may seemthat I have not been open and straightforward in my call for yourcompany, and some of you may in consequence be unwilling to actfor me and may desire to draw out." He shrugged his shoulders."You have each of course imagined that you were being summonedhere alone, but when I have exactly explained the position, andwhat I want you for, you will one and all then realise that itwas vital for the success of my project that you should be underthis illusion.

"Under the peculiar circumstances it was impossible that Icould give you the whole of my confidence until you were allassembled here, but"—he looked round with a grimsmile—"surely my terms are sufficiently generous to mollifyany wounded feelings that any of you may have. I have mentionedto each of you the sum of £1,000 for one month's work,whether your labour be of any service to me or not, and I nowmake the promise of a further £5,000 to one and all of youif the consummation I am desirous of is brought about—nomatter by whom. In addition, in the latter contingency I willalso give a most substantial present to the one of you who in myopinion has been most instrumental in contributing to thatsuccess." He thumped his fist again upon the table. "Now,gentlemen, I ask you, is there any one among you who is notprepared to work upon these terms in unison with such colleaguesas I have chosen? What do you say?"

A moment's silence, and then the masked man nearest to him onhis right asked slowly:

"And how do you propose then, Mr. Smith, that we should work,as you say, in unison together?" There was a distinct sneer inthe voice. "From what you have just told us, I gather we shallnot all of us be imbued exactly with the same ideals."

"Precisely," snapped Ephraim Smith, "and you may also gather,sir, that ideals are altogether out of place and of no marketablevalue here." His voice was harsh and insistent as he waved hisarm round to his audience. "Understand, please, all of you, thatthis is a commercial proposition I am placing before you—acommercial proposition pure and simple, and I make no pretencesthat I am appealing to any higher feelings. I want something, andI am prepared to pay for it, and it does not matter two hoots tome whether those who give it have clean hands or not in theordinary conduct of their lives." He spoke quite coldly. "So theonly bond of unison between you will be one ofdollars—cash—for I have simply brought you here, goodman and bad, saint and sinner, in order that you may all poolyour peculiar talents to my advantage."

He raised his hand. "But mind, you"—and his facesoftened into an attractive smile—"although I am purposelyputting the position before you so brutally, still—still inmy own mind I am perfectly sure that money will not be the onlyfactor you will dwell upon in making your decisions, for, howeverdifferent your temperaments and characters, I am aware that youall possess one quality in common, the quality of courage. Youare all brave men, and risk and peril belong to the atmospheresin which you live. You have all of you attuned your lives todanger and it is your wont to labour in the storm and on theprecipice side. Good men and bad, you are hunters, and thereforeyou are never deterred by the possibility that your quarry may atany moment turn and rend you." He laughed lightly. "So, when Itell you it is dangerous work I am going to entrust to you, verydangerous work, I know quite well that I am appealing to yoursympathies as well as offering you material rewards."

"But how do you propose we shall work together?" asked the manupon his right again. "You haven't explained that yet."

"Well, well," replied Ephraim Smith impatiently, "having madequite clear to you that it is to your mutual advantage that someone of you should be successful, I am confident you will all beprepared to help one another to the full extent of yourabilities. After I have laid everything before you and you haveduly cogitated over the matter, you will one and all, I hope,contribute your ideas and suggestions to the common fund." Heglared round the table. "Now, has anyone else a question toask?"

"Certainly," came a refined voice from the far end, "I haveone." The speaker laughed musically. "Like my honourablecolleague-to-be who has just asked for information, I do not feeleasy at the company I am in"—he spread out his hands, as ifin some anxiety—"for as by no stretch of the imaginationcan I think of anybody referring to me as one of the greatdetectives of the world, so I can only conclude that I fall intothe other category as one of its greatest rogues. That beingso"—and he made his voice tremble—"how shall I farewhen I am uncovered naked and defenceless before my enemies? Willit be safe for the wolf to be consorting with the watchdogs, andthe jackal to go hunting with the lions?"

"A sensible question," exclaimed Ephraim Smith sharply, "butone easily answered." He lifted his hand in solemn warning. "Itis to be understood that a truce of God will exist whilst you arein my service and that no one among you will lift his fingeragainst any other. I mean—upright men and rogues, men ofhonour and gentlemen without scruples, you will one and all forthe time being act as in a common brotherhood, and will donothing by word or deed to bring misfortune upon one another." Hepaused for a moment. "Now is that clearly understood? You are totake no advantage of your association together in myservice."

"Good," remarked a slim man seated next to him of the refinedand musical voice, "then perhaps some gentleman here will kindlygive me back my watch. It is of value to me, and I have noted forsome minutes now that it has been absent from the usual pocketwhere I keep it. It is—," and he paused while passing hishands down his waistcoat. "Oh, pardon," he went on in realdistress, "I remember now I didn't bring it with me. The glasswas loose and I left it at home in the chest of drawers. Really,really," and it was plain that his annoyance was genuine. "Iapologise most humbly to all present. Upon another occasion ifthe opportunity be afforded me I will pay willingly for champagneall round. I——"

"A handsome apology, I am sure," laughed another man, "butwhile upon the subject of personal property, Mr. Smith, may Iremark that some gentleman here must be sitting on my hat. I putit down upon another chair when I first came into the room, butyour butler motioned me to sit here, and in changing my seat Iforgot to move the hat with me. It is a good hat, and I shouldn'tlike——"

"Well, are you all agreed?" he interrupted brusquely. "A truceof God and you all work together under the conditions I havestated? No one has any objection?"

The man who had lost his hat sank back into his chair and adeep silence followed.

Ephraim Smith rubbed his hands together. "Excellent," heexclaimed, "then you are men of common sense as well as men ofgenius, and as far as this gathering is concerned there isconsequently no further need for secrecy."

With a quick movement he pushed a button under the table andinstantly the room was flooded with light. There were lights theneverywhere, glaring, harsh, and unshaded lights—over thetable, high up in the ceiling, and all round the walls.

So suddenly, indeed, was the darkness broken that the companyof masked men wilted as if they had come suddenly under the lash.They jerked themselves up stiffly and turned sharply in theirchairs, regarding one another as far as their blinking and dazedcondition would permit with hostile and suspicious eyes. But theshock passed away quickly and curiosity soon began to take theplace of uneasiness. They subsided into their chairs again andallowed their glances to wander interestedly around.

"Now I'll introduce you to one another," said Ephraim Smithbriskly, "I'll——"

"But is that necessary, sir," broke in another man sharply. Hespoke with a slight foreign accent. "Is it necessary, I ask?"

"Not absolutely necessary," replied Ephraim Smith with afrown, "but most desirable, because you can then all appreciatethe value of one another's opinions." He brushed the objectionaside. "There is still no need, if you do not wish it, for any ofyou to discard your disguises. You are all past masters in theart and, if you are so minded, your everyday appearances, as faras this meeting is concerned, may remain concealed. There is noobligation on any of you to unmask."

"Beginning then on my right hand and going round the table, wehave—number one, Mr. Naughton Jones, the versatile solverof many intricate problems and the terror of the aristocracy ofthe underworld; number two, Monsieur Vallon, of the SureteGenerale of Paris, who perhaps has given more men to theguillotine than any other detective of his country; number three,Dr. Crittenden, who has as many hangings to his credit as thereare years in his life; number four, Monsieur Raphael Croupin, whohas all France at his feet because of the romantic interweavingof his many love adventures and his many thefts; number five,Lord Victor Hume, who, in the ways of criminology, has performedfor us the miracle of making omelettes without breaking of anyeggs; number six, Mr. Gilbert Larose, who comes to us from theAntipodes with a great reputation for setting small value uponlives, including, it would certainly seem, his own; number seven,Professor Mariarty, whose organisation of crime has been the onebright spot in the failure of the lawless classes of this countryto establish a stranglehold upon Scotland Yard; and finally,number eight—Monsieur Gustave Hidou, the so-called sewerrat of Paris, who, if report be true, has given to the waters ofthe Seine more corpses than there are in many a fashionablechurchyard."

Ephraim Smith rubbed his hands together exultantly and beamedround upon his audience. "Surely, gentlemen—surely asopulent a gathering of good and evil as could be found in anychamber in any city of the world."

"A grim joke, Mr. Smith," he said, "and your need must indeedhave been great for you to perpetrate it." He slipped off hismask and threw it down upon the table. "Well, I, for one; am notashamed to show my face."

"Nor I, either," cried Vallon, throwing off his mask as well."I'm Vallon, of the Surete of Paris, and I have no care who knowsit."

And then one by one all round the table they proceeded todiscard their masks, except the last man, who sat motionless andwith no intention apparently of uncovering.

"I prefer to remain as I am," he said coldly. "I am not sogood-looking as the rest of you, and no beauty will be lost ifyou don't see me."

"As you will!" snapped Ephraim Smith, as if rather surprised.He scowled. "But all the same, I think it would have shown morecourtesy on your part, Monsieur Hidou, if you had followed thegeneral example." He rose briskly from his chair.

"Black coffee will now be served," he went on, "for I want tokeep you as alert and wakeful as possible until you haveconsidered my problem. After that you will be my guests atsupper, and the fastidious Lord Hume, even, will be able to findno fault in the vintage of champagne I am offering you." Hesmiled genially. "So, for five minutes, gentleman, you can talkand relax. You are all amongst friends, remember, and there is noneed for any of you to be on your guard"—and, turning hisback upon his guests, he unlocked the door and proceeded quicklyfrom the room.

For a minute or so none of the company appeared to have anydesire to further their acquaintanceships; instead, they satstiffly in their chairs and took no notice of one another. ThenRaphael Croupin got up and walked round to Naughton Jones.

"Most happy to meet you again, Mr. Jones," he said, bowingrespectfully. "Why, you look younger than ever! Age and cocaineseem to nave no effect on you."

"I have given up cocaine," replied Naughton Jones, coldly,"and kindly do not refer to it. From a little failing amongintellectuals it has become the vice of the degenerates and hasdescended even to the slums." He smiled. "How are you getting on?Trade brisk, eh?"

Raphael Croupin made reply with despondency. "Not very well, Iam sorry to say," he said. "Business is slow and expenses aregoing on just the same. I have not the heart to dismiss thestaff."

"Well, you may not need them much longer, Monsieur Croupin,"broke in Vallon grimly, nodding his head. "We shall be gettingyou very soon, I am sure."

"Ah! Monsieur Vallon!" exclaimed Croupin, turning roundexcitedly, "I am delighted to meet you. It does not happen wehave met before, but then who does not know the great Vallon byreputation?" He bowed gallantly. "It is my good fortune that myline of work does not especially attract your activity. Neither Inor any of my employes use vitriol nor prepare sacks and gravesin cellars for lovely girls." He leant forward and touched Vallonon the arm. "But I do not like it, Monsieur—all the companywe have here." He looked round stealthily. "That Hidou is a mostimmoral man, and really I would prefer not to have business withhim in any way. It was a mistake for Mr. Smith to invite him toconsult with us. He is a vulgar murderer."

"Of course, Mr. Hidou," he said, a little resentfully, "thingsare so much easier for you in Paris. You have the Seine close toyou all the time. When, we have to get rid of a body it is not soeasy, and we find it safer to leave it where it is. In makingaway then we don't encumber ourselves."

"But my dear Dr. Crittenden," protested Lord Hume, "you arequite mistaken. By what chemical means can you ever possiblyexpect to give to colonial wines the glory of the soil of thevalleys of the Loire and the Rhone? God consigned to the chalk ofFrance——"

"But, Monsieur Vallon," laughed Raphael Croupin merrily, "evenif you did get hold of me by any chance, you would never be ableto sustain the charge. My organisation is too perfect." He spreadout his hands. "Why, there are two members of my staff whose soleduty it is to prepare alibis for me. They are always at it.Whilst I am working, say, at Nimes, there is a cast iron alibibeing prepared to show that I have never left Paris; when I am atBordeaux, a dozen honest fellows are being got ready to swearthat I have been all the time at Nancy. And so on and go on. Inever——"

The emotionless and solemn looking butler brought in thecoffee, handing it round upon a silver tray, and the conversationbecame general. Despite their varied temperaments andoccupations, for the moment the guests all talked in seemingharmony together, and the gay laugh of Raphael Croupin and thecultured tones of Lord Hume broke in across the deep voice of Dr.Crittenden and the precise enunciation of Naughton Jones.Five—ten minutes passed, and then Ephraim Smith madeanother lightning entrance into the room.

"Gentlemen," he announced briskly, "to your seats—if youplease. The serious business of the night is about to begin. Youhave all pencils and paper before you, and kindly help yourselvesto cigarettes." He switched off the lights all round the room,leaving only the table illuminated. Then he sat down and pulledhis chair up close. "Now," he said grimly, "I am going to tellyou what I have summoned you all here for."

CHAPTER II.
The Problem of Ephraim Smith.

EPHRAIM SMITH placed a small attache case uponthe table before him. A minute of silence followed, and then herapped out:—

His face was scowling, his teeth were gritted together, andhis hands were clenched so hard that the knuckles stood outwhite.

He went on savagely, "Yes, body and soul, I am under the heelof a conqueror. My life is one long humiliation, and night andday I have no thoughts but for the shame that I am in."

No one made any comment, but every eye was turned upon him,and every face was set and stern.

"But I will commence from the very beginning," he said. "I amfifty-seven years of age, and up to three years ago had lived allmy life in the United States. New York City was my home town, andI made most of my money there. I am known to every bankinginstitution in the world, and the name of Ephraim Smith hasalways stood for capacity, honesty and a square deal. In my timeI have made men, I have built cities, and I have beeninstrumental in carrying progress and civilisation to the farcorners of the earth. I have been a master always, and it hasbeen my pride that I have bowed my head to no one "—hesmiled—"except to a pretty woman. Well, three years ago Iresolved to give up work and enjoy what remained to me of life ina country more restful than the land of my birth. So I realisedeverything and came over here to England to live. I spent moneylavishly. I bought this castle with its thousand and more acresof land. Lord Sedlen's mansion in Park Lane, Dark Abbey inScotland on Loch Awe, and the late Count Maranoff's house andracing stables by Newmarket Heath. As was my intention, I made myinterests here as wide as possible, and with my wife and daughtersettled down to enjoy the best that this beautiful country canprovide. All went well for two years, and then one morning abouta year ago, on July 5 to be exact, I received an extraordinaryletter through the post. I say extraordinary, for its contentswere so surprising in their brevity and impudence. It was just acurt command to me from an unknown correspondent to send ahundred guineas to the Norwich Children's Hospital. I will readit to you."

He spread open we attache case and took out a paper, "'ToEphraim Smith, Bodham Castle, Norfolk,'" he read. "'Send ahundred guineas anonymously to the Norwich Children's Hospital.If you fail to do so within three days, the consequences will beunpleasant. Signed 'The Man of Destiny.'"

Ephraim Smith frowned. "An insolent demand, for, although I amaccustomed to allocate many thousands of pounds yearly tocharity, I naturally prefer to choose for myself the directionsin which my donations shall flow." He looked down at the paperagain. "Posted in Norwich 9 p.m., July 4, an ordinary stampedenvelope used, and a very ordinary piece of notepaper."

He laughed mirthlessly. "Of course, I took no notice of it,regarding it rather as a joke or as the outburst of some crank,for we people of means are often recipients of communications ofthat kind, and so it was quite by chance even that the letter waspreserved. My daughter was amused and kept it to show a friend.It passed out of my mind then until a week later to the day, whenthere came another letter, very brief this time. Here it is,'Take the consequences then,' signed as before, 'The Man ofDestiny.'" The voice of Ephraim Smith hardened, "And thefollowing night all the hayricks on this estate were burnt down,to the value of more than three thousand pounds."

The little wizened man leant back in his chair and regardedthe company very solemnly, "And then, gentlemen, came a longseries of outrages following one upon another, with theinvariable anonymous communication sandwiched between everytime." He sighed. "It was dreadful, for from the very beginning Isaw I was almost helpless, my many possessions and estatesrendering me so particularly vulnerable. I was attacked in alldirections, and fire, poison, and violence were all in turncalled into requisition. My racing stables near Newmarket wereburnt down; my house-boat at Maidenhead was sunk at its moorings;my mare, Rose of Dawn, the favourite for the LincolnshireHandicap, became unaccountably ill—was poisoned we aresure—on the very eve of the race; a gas explosion occurredin my house at Park Lane and some priceless old masters and rareart treasures were destroyed; my abbey on Loch Awe was partiallydemolished by fire; my stud cattle met with mysterious accidents;my thousand guinea greyhound, Black Arrow, disappeared, andfinally, to make the long list of my troubles short, my wife anddaughter had most narrow escapes when out motoring, for it wasonly by the narrowest margins that they both avoided collidingwith other cars that, in a most deliberate fashion were driven intheir way."

Ephraim Smith sighed again, "And those outrages were allcarried out because I refused to hand over the large sums ofmoney that were demanded from me." He stopped speaking and bowedhis head as if the very recital of his wrongs were overcominghim. A short silence followed and Naughton Jones brokein:—

"But were the authorities then not able to discover any of theperpetrators?" he asked disdainfully. "Were they not able todiscover anything?"

"No, sir," he snapped brusquely, "they were not, and I do notblame them for it either." He spoke very coldly. "Even to thisday the position is that we can adduce no evidence whatsoever toprove that each and every one of those happenings was notaccidental." His tone was very bitter. "And that is thediabolical cunning of it all. To outsiders it may still appearthat it is only a series of coincidences that such misfortuneshave befallen me here, there, and everywhere." He thumped hisfist upon the table. "But I and the police know differently. Theywere not coincidences, for upon every occasion before theyoccurred I was aware that a blow was about to fall somewhere,because each outrage was preceded by a threat."

"And now," asked Vallon with great interest, "are you stillbeing subjected to such outrages?"

Ephraim Smith glared angrily at the burly Frenchman, and for amoment it seemed as if he were about to make some sharp retort,but then suddenly his whole expression altered and he spokeruefully like a whipped child.

"No, monsieur," he replied quietly. "I am in peace andenjoying what possessions are now left me because"—hisvoice was ever so gentle—"because, whenever I am orderedto, I hand over the sum of two thousand pounds to a gentleman whois good enough to call for it in person." He almost groaned, "Ihave given in."

A deep hush fell over the chamber, and they all held theirbreaths. The distress of the speaker was so apparent that theyforebore to make any comment.

"Yes, I retreated according to plan. I was spent and finishedwith for the moment, and I required time to organise and form anew army." He smiled. "And you gentlemen are that new army. Youare the forces that I am going to rely on now, and I am confidentthat with your collective wisdom our campaign will be crownedwith success." He clenched his fist angrily. "But you can imaginethe humiliation that I feel. I, who have always held my head sohigh, to admit now that I have met my master, I who have alwaysbeen such a fighter to bend my knee now and bow humbly to thisvile extortioner." He sighed, "Yes, I gave in, but I vowed Iwould expend all my fortune if need be to run this wretch toearth."

He took another paper out of the attache case and spoke incrisp and business-like tones.

"Well, I have given you the general outline of what hashappened and I will now go more into particulars. The firsthappening, as I have told you, was the burning of my hayricks,and, of course, then I immediately called in the police. Upon theproduction of those two communications I have read you, theyagreed at once that the conflagration was not accidental and soin every way possible they proceeded to make theirinvestigations. But they could find out nothing, and the generalopinion held by everyone unaware of what had gone before was thatthe fires had been started—my hayricks are all closetogether—by some spark blown from a chimney or from somediscarded cigarette. Well, two days later I received this thirdcommunication." He took another paper out of the case and readslowly:—"'Send five hundred guineas now to the Children'sHospital or greater punishment will follow.' Posted again inNorwich and by the night post. I handed the letter over to thepolice and a night and day watch was immediately set all overthis estate. A score of men were secreted in places of vantageand if any further outrage were to be attempted we were sanguineof catching the perpetrators in the very act. We were of opinionthat we were dealing with a madman, or at any rate with someindividual of eccentric mind, for we had no idea then of the evilwe were up against. Well, nothing happened for a week, and thenlike a bolt from the blue came the burning down of my racingstables at Newmarket."

He sighed deeply as if he could hardly get his breath. "Afterthe news had reached me over the 'phone late that night I wantedto believe it was only a coincidence, for it had come to me in aflash, as I put down the receiver, how truly vulnerable I waswere the outrages in fact deliberate. It would be impossible, Irealised, ever effectively to protect all my interests, for mypossessions were numerous and so far distant from each other. SoI hoped against hope that this second trouble was just a calamityof wayward chance. But no——" and he shook his headangrily——"I was soon to learn that it was no freakishcoincidence, for the next day came a fourth letter, posted, markyou, in Newmarket at 9 o'clock the previous evening—two anda half hours before the fire in the stables started. These arethe words this time," and he picked up a fourth paper.

"'So you are stubborn, are you, and you won't give in. Well,hang out and see who gets tired of it first. Send a thousandpounds now to William B. Markham, care of Messrs. Hunter andHunter, solicitors, Castle-street, Norwich. All in one poundTreasury notes and before Friday, and make no attempt to uncovermy identity.' Signed again, 'The Man of Destiny.'"

"Ah!" commented Naughton Jones, with an expression of profoundsagacity, "something definite now. Coming out into the open atlast."

"No, sir," snapped Ephraim Smith curtly. "Hunter and Hunterare one of the most respected firms of solicitors in Norwich, andthey had never heard of the man. It was colossal insolence on thepart of the extortioner to give their names."

Naughton Jones frowned and, glancing round the table, made amental reservation that Raphael Croupin was a vulgar fellow, forthe vivacious Frenchman was obviously amused and making noattempt to restrain his grins.

"Yes," went on Ephraim Smith bitterly. "Upon the receipt ofthis fourth letter on the morning after the burning of my racingstables, and following my interview with these Norwichsolicitors, I realised most conclusively that it was no lunaticwe were dealing with, but a perfectly sane individual of greatcunning and resource. Of great cunning, I say, for it wasevidently going to be his intention to wear down my resistance tohis demands by repeated outrages before he would give us the veryfrailest chance of any clue to follow. He was anticipating mostcorrectly that it would take blow upon blow, and calamity uponcalamity, to bring me to such a condition of despair that Ishould give in."

"And are you positive in your opinion then, Mr. Smith," brokein Dr. Crittenden, "that the writer of these letters was not intouch with anyone in the office of these solicitors? That he wascontent just to issue his orders to you without being in aposition to learn afterwards whether or not you had taken anynotice of it?"

"Quite positive, sir," replied Ephraim Smith, and he scowled."Surely no one would ever dream that the mere burning of some hayand a paltry stable would bring a man of my type to his knees."He drew himself up with dignity. "I should be known as a fighterto anyone who might make inquiries about me, and this wretch,from his knowledge of my habits and the properties I possess, hasundoubtedly studied me pretty well. Therefore he had no need topost any confederate in that office to be sure I would declinewith contempt, and his subsequent actions proved that he knew it.He forthwith gave up ordering me to deposit money anywhere afterhe had curtly informed me—in a letter posted in Paris, bythe by—that when I was tired of his attentions, as he putit, I could intimate to him to that effect in a communication inthe Agony Column of the 'Times' under the heading of 'InjuredInnocent.'"

Ephraim Smith leant back in his chair and glared round thetable as if daring anyone to laugh, but no one moved a muscle,and he continued:—

"So for nearly eight months he persecuted me, eight long,weary months, the hardest I have ever spent in my life, andstrive as we might we could never light upon the faintest traceof him. He just came and went and there was only the trail ofdestruction and calamity behind him. Seventeen outrages in alloccurred—I have a list of them here for each one of you,described, in detail, and you can peruse it at yourleisure—and although my nerves were at the breaking point Istill had no intention of giving in. But my hands were forcedsuddenly." He lowered his voice. "My poor wife became desperatelyill, and my medical adviser warned me that she would becomeinsane if her terror were allowed to go on. She pleaded with me,too, not to be what she called foolish. I was rich enough, shereminded me, to be able to afford whatever the extortioner wouldask of me, and it were better, she urged, to pay this dreadfultribute rather than live out our lives always in danger andalways in such unnerving fear." He pursed up his lips. "Sooutwardly, at all events, I capitulated, and inserted thefollowing advertisement in the Agony Column of the'Times':—'Enough. Am willing to come to terms.'"

"Two days later then I heard from him. You shall see theletter among all the other ones presently. He wrote to me that onthe Tuesday of the following week, on the 15th of the month, Iwas to be ready with a parcel of two thousand one pound treasurynotes, not new or in consecutive numbers, and that I was to givethem to an emissary of his who would call for them. I would knowon the morning of the day who this emissary was going to be, andhe dared me to inform the police or to make any attempt to havethe man arrested or followed. All precautions had been taken, headded, and the slightest gesture of bad faith on my part wouldentail consequences that would be most serious for me."

Ephraim Smith laughed scornfully. "But there was no questionof bad faith. I was dealing with a scoundrel, and any procedure,I considered, would be both justified and honourable; so, inspite of all his threats, I determined upon one more bid forfreedom. I communicated with the authorities, and upon theiradvice made all preparations to do exactly as he ordered up to acertain point. I procured the two thousand pounds, in treasurynotes, and we confidently expected to take the extortioner andhis confederate red-handed with them in his possession."

He bent forward and spoke very solemnly. "Now, please, followme most closely, for it is only now that you will grasp theresource and cunning of the wretch I have called you in to dealwith. Well, on the Tuesday morning I received the letter that hehad said would come, and it informed me that a travellerrepresenting a firm dealing with a certain domesticappliance—it did not say what—would call here at 11o'clock precisely. The traveller would be alone and would driveup to the front door in a car. I was to receive him without anydelay and give him an order for one of the articles he wasselling, and then I was to hand him the parcel of notes, done upin an ordinary newspaper, not in brown paper, but in commonnewspaper. The parcel was to be tied well round with string, andthere was to be a label gummed on to it addressed clearly: 'Mr.Burton Jones, Post Office, Ipswich. To be called for.' The labelwas to bear stamps to the value of sixpence, and I was to ask thetraveller as a favour if he would be kind enough to post it forme in Norwich upon his return to the city. I was warned againthat if I disobeyed in the very slightest particular it wouldmean injury and, perhaps, even death to me and members of myfamily."

Ephraim Smith paused dramatically. "But by half-past 10,gentlemen, the grounds of the castle were like an armed camp; menwere hidden in all directions, and we confidently surmised wewere ready for anything that might happen. At 11 o'clock then, tothe minute, the traveller arrived, and, leaving him waiting inthe hall, my butler, Fenton, the man whom you have seen to-night,brought in a card to me where I was waiting in my study. From thecard I saw that the man was representing the Hercules VacuumCleaner Company, whose Norfolk branch is in Castle-street,Norwich, and, bidding Fenton show him in, I received the manimmediately.

"His arms were full, for he was carrying a large cardboard boxand some smaller parcels done up in brown paper. He was ayoungish man, about 30 I should say, quite ordinary looking, andbowing most respectfully he got down to business at once. He saidhis firm were most gratified to be having any dealings with me,and, opening his box and parcels, he proceeded quickly todemonstrate what he had to sell. I let him gabble on for a minuteor two, and then, anxious to bring the matter to a head, cut himshort, and, following my instructions, expressed my willingnessto purchase one of his appliances. Then when he was gatheringeverything together again, I picked up the packet of notes I hadhandy on my desk, and, according to my instructions again, askedhim if he would be good enough to post it for me in Norwich. Heagreed at once, and I gave him the packet. Then I rang for Fentonto show him out, and, following him to the study door, watchedhim go down through the hall.

"Fenton let him out of the front door and I saw him get intohis car. He started the engine and drove off at once, and from mystudy window I watched the car through my binoculars proceed downthe drive. It was a dull cloudy day and there had been a littlerain, so there was no dust to prevent a clear view. The drive, asyou are all probably aware, is quite straight down to the parkgates, and about a quarter of a mile or so long. There are nobushes or trees on either side, and it runs through lawns ofclosely cropped grass, with no cover anywhere. When he had almostreached the park gates an incoming car, as we had arranged,driven on its wrong side, got in his way and he had to pull updead. Immediately then half a dozen of the country plainclothesdetective staff, who had been secreted in the lodge, rushed outand seized him. He made no resistance at all, expressing onlyconsternation and unbounded surprise. Then car, traveller, andall his parcels were brought back here to the castle and I againconfronted the man."

"Ah!" exclaimed Vallon, with some impatience, because EphraimSmith had stopped speaking, "and he proved to be another dummy,of course? He had nothing to do with the extortioner, eh?"

"On the contrary, Monsieur Vallon," said Ephraim Smith coldly,"he proved to be the extortioner himself or else a confederate ofhis, and in either case a very clever and resourceful man."

"Oh!" exclaimed Vallon, looking puzzled, "and he escaped thenafter all the precautions you had taken?"

"No, he had no need to escape," was the instant reply, "forthere was no evidence that he was not an innocent man." EphraimSmith thumped his fist upon the table and glared round upon themall. "He was a devil in his cleverness, and we had not a scrap ofevidence against him, for he had got rid of the notes somehow andwe found nothing upon him."

A deep hush fell over the chamber and the interest wasintense. Ephraim Smith went on angrily. "Yes, although I hadmyself handed him the parcel of notes and he had never been outof my sight one second until he got into his car, and from thenon had been watched every yard of his journey down the drive by ascore of others, all provided with powerful glasses, he hadsomehow managed to get rid of the parcel of notes. And there wasnot the slightest proof that he was anything but what he madehimself out to be, a very innocent, harmless, and inoffensiveemployee of his firm."

"And how did he account himself," asked Naughton Jones,frowning, "for the disappearance of the notes?"

"Said he had never taken them out of the room," scoffedEphraim Smith bitterly—"was sure he had put them down toarrange his parcels and had no recollection of afterwards pickingthem up again. Also he appeared to be as astonished as anyone andcould not understand what it all meant." The little man couldhardly control himself. "And the police even, I could see, endedin taking his side. They didn't say so, of course, but I saw themlooking slyly at one another and then back to me, for the manhimself had all the proofs of the innocent and bona fide natureof his visit to me upon him. In his pocket there was a forgedletter typed on my paper and signed with my signature, askingthem to send up a representative at 11 o'clock that morning togive a demonstration of their cleaner."

"And what followed, Mr. Smith?" asked Naughton Jones sharply,because the speaker had again paused.

"What followed," echoed Ephraim Smith, as if surprised at thequestion. "Why, nothing. Or at any rate nothing that helped us inany way. We searched his car and every foot of the drive and thesurrounding lawns, but to no purpose, and then, escorting the manback to his employers, we found that everything was exactly as hehad said. The letter from me had been received that morning bythe firm and everything was open and above board. The man hadbeen in their employ for over six months, bore a mostunimpeachable character and there was not the slightest suspicionof anything against him. We were completely checkmated."

"And how had he carried the parcel of notes out of your study,sir?" asked Gilbert Larose most respectfully. "I mean had he putit in his pocket?"

"No," replied Ephraim Smith, "it was too bulky for that. Hehad carried it in his hand, in his left hand I remember, andunder his left arm he was holding two or three other parcels. Inhis right hand he carried the box containing the vacuumcleaner."

"Sawdust for one thing. I understand," said Ephraim Smithgruffly, "and rice for another. He had been going to sprinklesome of both upon the carpet to demonstrate how his cleaner wouldpick them up, but I had cut him short and he hadn't done it."

"And there isn't the shadow of doubt then," asked Dr.Crittenden, "that he was carrying that parcel of notes away withhim when he walked out of your study?"

"Not the ghost of a shadow," replied Ephraim Smithemphatically. "Oh! and one thing more," he went onquickly—"I forgot to tell you that when I spoke to himabout posting the packet for me he blinked his eyes and moistenedhis lips, and when he took the packet from me I saw that his handwas trembling." Ephraim Smith sneered bitterly. "Yes, in spite ofhis self-control, he was in mental stress then, for he knew whatthe packet should contain, and that the supreme moment of hisventure had arrived. He was privy to the extortion ofcourse."

No one made any comment, They all sat quite still with theireyes fixed intently upon the speaker. His next words startledthem.

"And that night, gentlemen," he said very quietly, "a bomb wasexploded just outside the dining-room window here and—partof the wall was blown in."

"That, of course, was my punishment," he said, "and it was bygood fortune alone that no one was injured. We had not left theroom two minutes when the bomb exploded." He sighed heavily. "Imight have expected some devilry like that."

"And what was the nature of the bomb?" asked Dr. Crittenden."What kind of——"

"Oh, you'll find all particulars of that, doctor," interruptedEphraim Smith irritably, "in the detailed story of the outrages,copies of which I am furnishing you with and which you can peruselater. Just now, I am only giving you the general outline." Hepaused for a moment as if to collect his thoughts, and thensighed again. "Well, that was the last struggle I made, for afterthat night I gave in and accepted the inevitable, and when twodays later another letter arrived, asking me if I had had enough,and if so to insert a reply in 'The Times' under 'Penitent.' Icomplied at once. Then a fortnight later a man called for anothertwo thousand pounds, a dealer in portable wireless receivers thistime, and he went off with the money untroubled. That was threemonths ago, and since then upon five different occasions I havecontributed to the exchequer of the wretch who is torturing me,always two thousand pounds and always collected by a man whoarrived by appointment with something to sell. A gramophone man,a man with a selection of rugs, an individual who brought withhim a small library of books, a man who was agent for a patentinvalid bed-table, and one who exhibited an assortment of thingsalleged to have been made by the blind. And always the same farceis gone through. I look perfunctorily at their goods, give theman order, and then ask them to post the packet of notes."

Ephraim Smith shook his head. "No, except upon the firstoccasion, no business cards have been presented. They just sendin a message by the butler, and then in they come."

"And they are all different men?" asked Naughton Jones. "Adifferent man comes every time?"

"I wouldn't like to say that," replied Ephraim Smith. Hehesitated a moment. "In fact, I don't think so. They lookeddifferent, all of them, but there were certain similarities inthe movements of some of them that have struck me more thanonce." He snapped down the lid of the attache case. "Well, thatis the general outline, and now, gentlemen, for the questionsthat you will certainly want to ask."

"Well, who knows we are here?" asked Professor Mariartygruffly. "Who knows we are here, for a start?" His voice soundedresentful. "We may all get blown up ourselves."

"No possibility, Professor," replied Ephraim Smithconfidently. "I have taken extreme precaution—only mybutler is aware of this meeting, and he even did not know untilhalf-past ten to-night."

"He is forty-five years old," said Ephraim Smith drily, "andtwenty-six of those years he has spent in my service. I wouldtrust him with my life."

"And does he know who we are?" asked Naughton Jones. "Is he inyour confidence in all this?"

"He is not in my confidence at all," replied Ephraim Smith,"and is quite unaware of the position. He believes, of course, asdoes everyone in my household, that some enemy has beendestroying my property and even threatening my life, but he hasno idea that I have given in to my persecutor, and am paying formy peace. He is an ideal servant, Fenton, a most reserved man,with no curiosity, and he never talks."

"Well, who knows," asked Dr. Crittenden, "that you are payingaway these large sums of money now?"

"Not even the police!" echoed Naughton Jones in surprise."Surely you have told them?"

Ephraim Smith reddened uncomfortably. "No, I have not," hesnapped. "It was one of the commands of my tormentor, and Iobeyed him to the letter." His lips curved to a sneer. "I havenever been quite satisfied that he has not spies in the force,and in consequence I am taking no risks."

"May I see the first letter that you received, please?" askedDr. Crittenden quietly, and Ephraim Smith at once opened theattache case again. He extracted a paper, which he handed to thedoctor.

Taking a magnifying glass out of his pocket, Dr. Crittendensubjected the paper to a most careful scrutiny. Everyone watchedhim curiously.

"Humph," he remarked presently, "a man of ruthlessdisposition, cruel and vindictive, and one who would stop atnothing. A natural criminal. The handwriting proves that mostclearly——"

"Eh! doctor," interrupted Ephraim Smith, looking veryastonished and with his eyes opened wide, "but that is myhandwriting there. These are all copies here that I made myself.The originals are in the possession of the police."

There was a moment's embarrassed silence, and then RaphaelCroupin burst into a merry laugh.

"Ha! ha! Meester Smith," he guffawed. "You did not dream whenwe were loading our guns for you that some of the bullets mightrebound."

"I am mistaken, of course," frowned Dr. Crittenden withdignity and impervious to the smiles all round. "Firstimpressions are often erroneous, but the scientific mind isalways ready to revise and correct when necessary."

"And when was the last occasion that you paid out any money,Mr. Smith?" asked Lord Hume, tactfully smoothing over the awkwardmoment.

"Ten days ago," replied Ephraim Smith, "and the next demandwill probably be made in about another ten. The intervals now arenot much longer than three weeks." He looked round the table."But now, have any of you gentlemen got the ghost of an idea? Youhave heard my story and surely somewhere among you a familiarchord will have been stirred."

"There is an old-established firm of blackmailers inHoundsditch that I know of," said Professor Mariarty gruffly,"but I don't think they've got the plant for a big job like this.The heads are friends of mine, but if I could get hold of acertain man who works for them I could soon make him peach. He'dknow right enough if they are in it."

"But that's nonsense," scoffed Naughton Jones. "No Houndsditchpractitioner could handle an undertaking of this size. It means along purse and"—he smiled sarcastically—"with greatrespect to the professor, a much more delicate form of violencethan is employed usually in the East End."

"I don't call bombs 'delicate violence.'" retorted ProfessorMariarty surlily. "Bombs are as bad as anything we do."

"But why, Mr. Smith," asked Croupin curiously, "have younicked three of my countrymen to work off their own ground? WeFrenchmen will be handicapped by our surroundings, so why haveyou brought us here?"

"Because, Monsieur Croupin," replied Ephraim Smith at once,"apart from the reputation in crime which you three gentlemenenjoy—firstly, one of the threatening letters was posted inParis, as I have already mentioned—secondly, the bomb usedat this castle, the police experts say, was of Frenchmanufacture—and, thirdly, because one of the men who calledupon me for money, although he spoke most perfect English, wasobviously, in my opinion, a foreigner, and was wearing, I wouldhave sworn, French shoes." He frowned. "So I was hoping that,failing information from this side of the Channel, some of youthree gentlemen might be able to suggest some organisation inyour country likely to be involved in such a matter as this. Now,what say you, Monsieur?"

Raphael Croupin shook his head. "I work alone, Mr. Smith," hereplied modestly, "and in any case I would have no associationwith such malefactors as these." He looked thoughtful. "But stillseveral things struck me, and I may be able to advise you laterwhen I have thought things over a bit?"

"I can trace the bomb, perhaps, to where it was made," repliedHidou coldly, "but I must have more particulars first."

"You see, Mr. Smith," broke in Lord Hume quickly, "you arereally asking too much of any of us to express any opinion atthis stage. We must consider every outrage separately, and mustgo most minutely into every happening that has occurred before wecan hope to arrive definitely at any idea as to what manner ofman is persecuting you. We shall have to go over the place here,too, and be about when the next parcel is handed over." He shookhis head. "And the difficulty is, I don't for the life of me seehow so many of us are going to work on the investigation withoutattracting attention, for, in my opinion, you are most certainlybeing watched. I should say that you are undoubtedly under themost strict surveillance every hour of the day, and that yourtormentor is on the lookout all the time to make exactly surewhat you are doing, and that you are not plotting again to catchhim in any way." He lifted his hand warningly. "You may have,indeed, escaped to-night for these few hours, but to-morrow againthere will be a shadow behind you and—that shadow will notbe your own. Yes, the great difficulty is how can we investigatethings without the enemy knowing that we are here to get upon histrack?"

"I agree there," said Naughton Jones. "His lordship expresseswhat must be in all our minds."

"Bien, it is a wise thought," added Vallon gravely. "We may besafe now in the dark"—he snapped his fingers—"but inthe dark we cannot see."

Ephraim Smith leant back in his chair and regarded the companywith polite scorn.

"I am not quite a fool, gentlemen," he said coldly, "and youmight have credited me with at least some rudimentary commonsense." He squared his shoulders and swelled out his small bodyin importance. "In my own line I am a master, and I can assureyou that the riches I possess have not by any means fallen intomy hands by chance. My successes have been in great undertakings,and preparation and organisation have been the obsessions of mylife." His voice was coolly confident. "I have provided foreverything."

"Excellent!" exclaimed Croupin facetiously and with a slysmile round at the others. "Then when morning comes we are all todissolve into thin air." He rubbed his hands together gleefully."We are to become the invisible men."

"Monsieur," said Ephraim Smith icily, and there was a venomousglint in his eyes, "If I did not happen to know that sobriety isamong the few virtues that you are known to possess, I should saythat you would be finding yourself in your proper environmentwithin a few hours." He looked round the table without the traceof a smile. "I am providing suitable accommodation for you all inan inebriates' home."

Vallon clicked his tongue as if he were not quite certainwhether to smile or scowl. Naughton Jones yawned as if nothing inthe world could surprise him, and Professor Mariarty looked mostuneasy.

"But I am under doctor's orders," said the professor, "and nomoney will induce me to play tricks with my health. My medicaladviser insists that I take stimulants occasionally."

"Of course I saw that difficulty at once when the idea firstcame to me of getting you here together, and more than threemonths ago I began to prepare for it. Secretly, through distantagents and under a different name, I purchased a big house amongthe sandhills, about a mile from my gates here. I started torebuild it partially, but so timed all the work that it was notfinished until a few days ago. Then for a couple of weeks I havebeen advertising in the medical journals, offering a voluntaryretreat for mild cases of alcoholism, but I made the terms sostiff that there have been no applications save those that I havesent in for you. There is a medical man in charge, but he hasbeen very carefully selected, and he will not interfere with anyof you in any way. He is well qualified, but he is a hopelessdipsomaniac himself, and he quite understands that the treatmentyou are giving yourselves is purely voluntary, and that you areto be allowed complete liberty and freedom of movement. He ishighly paid, and believes he is acting for a company. He hasnever heard of me. He expects you to arrive to-morrow, and in thebook of instructions I am furnishing each of you with you willfind the names you are expected to go under. Now is thatagreeable to you all?"

Ephraim Smith frowned. "That is awkward," he said. "What doyou say, Monsieur Hidou?"

"I shall work alone," replied Hidou with a frown. "I shall notgo to that house. I am not accustomed to hunt in packs." He spokecarelessly. "But you will not be disappointed in me. I know whatI am about."

"All right," said Ephraim Smith curtly, and he turned then tothe others. "But you must all keep closely in touch with me, and,with that object in view, I have noted in your books certaintimes upon each day when I shall be waiting in the telephonecabinet here to be spoken to, if need be. Also at certain othertimes specified I shall expect you to be at the other end of thewire in the Inebriates' Home in case I should be desirous ofcommunicating with you, and, particularly, you must be holdingyourselves in readiness against the day when the next demand ismade upon me."

He took out his watch. "Well, gentlemen, time is flying and inan hour and a half the day will begin to break. You must be allaway by then, so I shall just have time to give you supper, andafterwards at three minute intervals you will each leave here inthe order that you arrived. Mr. Larose first, Monsieur Hidousecond, Monsieur Vallon third, and so on and so on, with Mr.Naughton Jones last. You will proceed down the drive—thereis a new moon—you will pass through the gates, which areunlocked, and you will then turn to the left along the NorwichRoad and walk on until you come to a big oak tree just before abridge. The oak tree lies on the right about fifty yards off theroad. You will wait there until you are all gathered and then atexactly twenty minutes past three—set your watches pleasenow by my time—it is exactly 1.54—a closed motor vanwill appear, going in the direction of Norwich.

"One of you will step out into the road and hail it. It willstop, without a word from the driver, and take you all into thecity, going slowly and in a roundabout way so that you will notreach Norwich until half-past six. Then later in the day you willentrain back in this direction according to your severalinstructions. Some of you are to reach Weybourne Manor, for thatis what the Inebriates' Home is called, by way ofSheringham—that is the nearest railway station, and barelytwo miles away, but some of you are to come by way ofHolt—double the distance." He smiled. "I am sure you willlike your surroundings. The house is lonely, but it isbeautifully situated and just by the edge of the sea. Oh! onemoment," he added. "Of course, if any of you would prefer not togo into Norwich and train back here later in the day, then youneed not keep that rendezvous under the oak tree, but that willmean your hanging about somewhere in this neighbourhood untilhalf past four this afternoon, for you must not reach Weybournebefore that time and you must arrive then in a conveyance comingfrom either Sheringham or Holt. You are all supposed to have comea long distance, remember."

"Well, I shall have to go into Norwich to get some clothes,"said Naughton Jones. "I've no luggage and I've come quiteunprepared for a long stay."

"The same with me," said Dr. Crittenden, "and I shall have toget some chemicals and scientific instruments as well."

"And I have no proper clothes either," said Lord Hume. Helaughed. "I suppose we shall all have to dress as inebriates,shan't we? Jackets with big out-of-shape pockets, bulged bybottles and flasks?"

Ephraim Smith rose from his chair. "Well, now, gentlemen, forrefreshments in a room across the hall, and I hope you will allenjoy the champagne." He held up a finger to enjoin silence. "Butdon't raise your voices too much, please, and step softly. We area long way from the sleeping parts of the castle, but someone maybe wakeful and we cannot afford to give away any chances." Hisface grew very stern. "We are dealing with men who, I am sure,will have no hesitation in shedding blood, and for aught we know,our lives already hang upon a single thread," and, opening thedoor and followed by the company, he passed out of the room.

CHAPTER III.
The Secret of the Mask.

THREE-QUARTERS of an hour later, Ephraim Smithled Larose out through a side door in the thick and massive wallsof the old castle.

"Now, don't forget your instructions," he whispered. "Gostraight down the drive, and, once through the gates, turnsharply to the left, and then wait behind the big oak tree untileveryone is assembled. Don't make yourself too conspicuous, forwe don't know who's about." He laughed softly. "And, remember, Iexpect great things of you and Vallon, for you two are the onlyprofessionals on the side of the law among this crowd. Good-night, or, rather, good morning, and the gods grant I don't getanother bomb for this!"

"And I hope to goodness so, too," muttered Larose, when thedoor had closed softly behind him, "but I'm none too sure aboutit. This old man, in my opinion, is in it up to the neck, and Ishould be very surprised if this super-racketeer of his omits toset a good watch night and day round here." He glanced up at thegreat towering walls. "But what a wonderful old place, and howcalm and majestic in the moonlight, like a rock of ages defyingchange and the decaying hand of time. And wouldn't its originaloccupants be astounded if they could come back and see the kindof warfare that is being waged here now! No winged arrowshurtling over the battlements, no men in shining armour, nocatapults, and no battering rams. Now, just vulgar threateningletters through the post, men calling with vacuum cleaners andgramophones, and then an evil, stinking bomb planted below thedining-room window. Lord! What a change!"

"I must be quick now, or I shall be having friend Hidou uponmy heels before I get out of the gates. He is to follow next, andI certainly somehow don't like that man. He is worse than oldMariarty by a long chalk, and, by Jove! how his heart was beatingafter he had heard Vallon's name first given out. I could feel itpumping as his knee touched mine beneath the table, and I'd verymuch like to know the cause of his excitement." The detectivefrowned. "No, I don't like Hidou at all, and he had some goodreason, I'll swear, for keeping on his mask." He whistled softly."And where will he be going to now?" He shook his head. "He's acrook among crooks, and not even a good bad 'un. He'd be worthwatching, I'm sure, if I only had the time."

The detective accelerated his walk to a quick run, and thensuddenly broke into a laugh.

"But what a rum go altogether," he chuckled, "and what anoriginal idea of old Smith's! The eagles and the vulturessweeping through the skies after the same prey; the cats and therats in the same cage. But, really, the old chap deserves to getwhat he wants for coming up so perkily again after thatbomb."

He reached the gates, and turned into the high road. It wasbroad and straight, and ran through richly-wooded country andstretches of sweet-smelling bracken three or four feet high.Twenty paces off the road a regiment of soldiers could have lainin ambush, so tall and thick were the ferns. In the distance,like a giant of the forest, stood the big oak tree of therendezvous.

"Good," said Larose, "then I'll squat among the ferns and seewhat Hidou's going to do. Really, I'm half inclined to chuck theoak tree business and follow that chap instead, for my instincttells me there's something very wrong"—and the detective,crossing over the road, crouched down among the bracken andprepared to wait.

But his vigil was very short, for barely a minute passedbefore he saw a figure darting through the gates.

"Gosh!" he exclaimed, "but he's come fast, just as if he wereafter me." He frowned. "And what does that mean now?"

Hidou ran almost into the high road, but then suddenly pulledhimself up short and, with head strained forward and body bent,stood peering round in all directions. There was somethingstealthy in his attitude, like that of a crouching beast of prey.The moonlight fell down full upon him, and Larose saw that he wasstill wearing the black mask.

"Ah!" muttered the detective, "and now he is looking for me."He stirred uneasily. "Really, I feel more comfortable among theseferns, for, with the life story that old Smith gave of him, whowould be anxious for the attention of the sewer rat?"

But suddenly again Hidou moved, and plunged abruptly now intothe bracken, Larose marking his swift progress by the swaying ofthe ferns.

"He's making for the oak tree," whispered the detective,"thinking for certain I've gone there. Good, then I'll keep himin view," and, separated only by a few yards of bracken and thewidth of the road, the two ran in parallel lines towards therendezvous that Ephraim Smith had arranged.

When a hundred yards from the tree, however, Larose saw thatthe ferns on the other side of the road had ceased to quiver,and, instantly crouching down, he waited breathlessly for whatwould follow.

Half a minute, a minute passed, and then slowly, and withextreme caution, the head of the Frenchman came into view. Hestared back towards the castle gates, and then long and intentlyin the direction of the big oak tree. Then he dropped down oncemore out of sight, and the fern tops began to move again. Butonly for a few seconds this time, and then everything wasstill.

"Ah!" ejaculated Larose, "then he's settled down for good now,and he must be very near to the side of the road. He's evidentlygot as close as possible to keep an eye on everyone who goes by.Now what's his little game, I wonder?"

Five minutes of intense stillness followed. The road lay whiteand ghost-like under the moon, and there was not a stir ormovement anywhere.

Then a sound came from the direction of the castle gates, andthe figure of a burly man appeared in the road. It was that ofVallon, of the Surete Generale of Paris. The great detective ofFrance came along in leisurely manner, with his head bent low inthought.

Arriving, however, to a point just beyond where Larose and theother watcher on the far side of the road were hidden, he leftthe highway and turned off along a narrow pathway of grass thatstretched between the ferns, in the direction of the big oak.

Perhaps a quarter of a minute passed, and then, with alightening movement, Hidou emerged from his hiding place anddarted across the road. He crossed like a shadow, and entered thepathway not a dozen paces behind Vallon, who, all unconscious ofanyone following him, walked slowly on.

With a feeling of dire premonition in his heart, Larose sprangto his feet and raced like a greyhound to gain the pathway, too.He burst through the ferns just behind Hidou, and saw to hisconsternation that the latter was clutching a long knife in thehand that trailed behind him.

"Look out!" shrieked Larose, "look out behind you, MonsieurVallon," and on the instant Hidou leapt forward with theknife.

But he was just a fraction of a second too late, for Vallon,turning in a flash, saw the impending danger and threw himselfhead foremost at his assailant's feet. Over sprawled Hidou,delivering as he fell, however, a heavy blow with his foot uponthe detective's head. . . . . Vallon was too dazed and stunned torise, but Hidou was on his feet again like an acrobat, and wasabout to stoop and plunge his knife into the prostrate form when,for the first time he apparently became aware of another actorupon the scene.

Larose was within five paces of him and tugging as he ran forthe automatic that was in his hip pocket.

Hidou was a quick thinker, and saw his chance. He sprang atLarose, and closing with him, aimed a vicious blow with his knifeat the Australian's heart. But Larose was equally as quick, anddiscarding instantly all attempts to get at his pistol, he threwup his hand and caught the descending wrist in a grip ofsteel.

Then ensued a deadly struggle, for they were both of equalweight and fairly evenly matched in strength. Hidou gripped thedetective round the waist with his free arm, and tried to throwhim, but Larose planted his feet wide apart, and with hisdisengaged hand thrust back the Frenchman's chin until thelatter's neck was almost at breaking point.

In dreadful silence they swayed and circled, and the sweatburst in big beads upon their foreheads. Then it seemed thatLarose was weakening, for Hidou's knife descended nearer andnearer to the detective's heart. Three times Hidou almost droveit home, but each time the Australian managed to save himself,and then suddenly like a flash of lightning, his right hand leftthe Frenchman's chin and chopped viciously upon the biceps of hisknife arm.

The assassin's arm collapsed like a broken stick, and thenquicker almost than the eye could follow, Hidou's knife, still inHidou's hand, was driven deep up into Hidou's throat. TheFrenchman's body sagged forward, but Larose thrust it violentlyaway to escape the rush of blood. Hidou crashed to the ground,coughed horribly once, and then lay still. Larose drew in a deepbreath, and sinking down upon his knees, rubbed his handsshudderingly into the grass.

"What's happened?" asked Vallon weakly, after a few moments.He opened his eyes but closed them again quickly, for he wasstill dazed. "So it was you, Mr. Larose, was it? Well, what'shappened, I say?"

"Nothing much," panted Larose still out of breath from hisexertions—"only Hidou's dead."

"He wasn't Hidou," said Vallon slowly, with his eyes stillshut. "Hidou is a diabetic and that fellow I saw took sugar inhis coffee. He wouldn't unmask because he knew I should seethrough the fraud, and that's why he wanted to kill me, to stopmy mouth."

The stout detective opened his eyes again with an effort, andthen, catching sight of the body not a dozen feet away,immediately forced himself to sit up. His giddiness was forgottenin his surprise.

"Mon Dieu! and so you've killed him," he exclaimed hoarsely,as if he only then realised it for the first time.

"But turn him over and take off his mask," went on Vallonexcitedly. "Then we'll see who he is. I've got a torch in mypocket here."

"I've got one, too," said Larose, and in three seconds theywere both staring into the dead man's face.

He made a clicking noise with his tongue and turned to Larose."One greater than Hidou, my friend," he said solemnly. "A masterand a renowned artist of crime." He nodded his head slowly. "Yes,one who led, who organised, and who was so clever and so nimblethat we could never bring him within the meshes of the law. Alion who bade the jackals to the feast he had prepared for themand a ghoul who called the rats from their sewers to feed out ofhis hand." His eyes wandered back to the body. "La! la! and nowhe lies dead among these beautiful English ferns!"

Vallon's eyes blazed suddenly. "But what was he doing overhere and how did he come to take Hidou's place?" He raised hisvoice in his excitement. "But this means evil for us all. We arebetrayed somewhere at the very start. We are in danger nowourselves. Ravahol always had his band of killers and they werenever far away."

He started abruptly to his feet, but then staggered and wouldhave fallen if Larose had not sprung to his side and supportedhim.

"Oh! but I'm giddy," he exclaimed. "It was a hard blow I goton my poor ear. Put me down quickly or I shall faint."

"Walk a few steps," said Larose sharply, glancingapprehensively up the road. "We must get among the bracken andhide until the others have passed. Things are complicated now andwe can't let all the crowd know what has happened. At any rate,there'll be no travelling by motor van for you and me."

Two minutes later Vallon was lying propped against a smalltree behind the bracken about twenty yards away, the body ofHidou had been drawn out of sight from anyone coming along thepathway, and Larose himself was hiding among the ferns again,close by the roadside. He had managed things only just in time,for at that moment Raphael Croupin debouched from the castlegates, and, humming a lively tune, marched nonchalantly along tothe big oak tree. Then at short intervals all the others hove insight, the last two being Professor Mariarty and Naughton Jones,who turned into the road together.

But the explanation was much more simple, for as they camenearer to him he saw that the professor was walking heavily, withthe labour of a chronic gout sufferer. The three minutes' starthad been too short for him, and the long strides of the lankyJones had brought the two together.

"But, my dear Professor," said Naughton Jones laughingly, "Itell you frankly that next time I shall pistol that enterprisingassistant of yours on sight. Two attempts on my life already, andI shall be quite justified in dealing with him in the mostsummary manner possible."

"Quite so, Mr. Jones," assented Professor Mariarty with greatrespect, "quite so, and I should be the last one to deny you yourright." He gesticulated disgustedly. "And the man will deserveit, too. Two excellent opportunities and he has failed to removeyou out of my way. He is a bungler out and out, heis——"

But the professor broke off suddenly and stood stock still. Heswept his head round and sniffed hard. He was just opposite toLarose now and not twenty feet away.

"I smell blood," he said slowly, "fresh blood." He paused amoment. "I was a butcher once."

Naughton Jones laughed delightedly. "But what an interestingcompanion you are, Professor, and how thoroughly you must enjoyevery phase of the activities of your calling! When you strikedown your victim every sense in you is gratified at one and thesame time. You feel the impact of the blow, you hear the poorwretch groan, and you see him fall and you even smell the veryoutput of his severed arteries and veins. Really, youare——"

"A Rabbit most probably," said Naughton Jones with a superiorair. "The supper of some weasel or some stoat." He looked roundand sighed. "These woods are beautiful, but who knows whatagonies and what horrors are the toll of night in the midst ofall this beauty and apparent peace. Yes, Nature is cruel andbloody, and even you, Professor, can give no points to her in anyway." The rumble of a car was heard in the distance. "But come,we must accelerate a little, for if I mistake not this is ourconveyance and we must be with the others by the oak tree when itcomes."

"And fancy being nearly downed by a heavy-minded chap likethat," he muttered in disgust. "But who would have had any ideaof his smelling blood!" He shook his head. "Really I must becareful, for I am among great artists now."

A big motor van came lumbering by. He saw it stop just beforethe bridge and then in two minutes pick up passengers anddisappear in the distance. The dawn now was beginning tobreak.

He went back to where he had left Vallon, and found himfeeling a little better. He could not, however, open his eyes yetwithout feeling giddy.

"Let me alone for half an hour or so," he pleaded. "I shall beall right again then, and we can arrange what we are going todo." He sighed. "And it'll want a bit of arranging, too, Ithink." He stretched out and grasped the Australian's hand. "Butthank you, thank you." There was emotion in his voice. "You savedmy life, my friend, and Vallon is not the one to forget." Heleant back weakly against the tree. "But go away now and leave mein perfect quiet. A blow on the ear is always as bad as a bout ofseasickness to me, but I'll have a doze and then I shall be allright."

So Larose left him, but it was much longer than the stipulatedhalf-hour before he returned—indeed the sun was then highin the heavens and the time was nearly 7 o'clock.

The Australian came up at a quick run, looking very red in theface, but arriving where Vallon was lying, he pulled himself upsharply and then with a stealthy movement sank down upon thegrass. He smiled as if he were very relieved about something, andthen, leaning back against a small tree, proceeded to restquietly and get back his breath. The great Vallon, his face paleand drawn from the experiences of the night, was fast asleep.

Presently Larose sat up, took out and lighted a cigarette, andthen coughed loudly.

Instantly Vallon awoke with a start. He stared round, and,glancing at the sun, immediately sat up and regarded hiscompanion with a frown.

"But why," he exclaimed sharply, "why have you let me sleep solong?" He looked at his watch and his expression was an angryone. "Seven o'clock, and I've slept over three hours."

"I'm all right," replied Vallon roughly, "but where have youbeen all this while?" His eyes searched Larose's face. "Don'tpretend to me you've been here all the time. You've been away andonly just come back. You're hot and perspiring."

Larose grinned sheepishly. "I've been back about five minutes,Monsieur," he said, "and it's a mercy you've been asleep. We'velots of things to consider and you're rested now. Your head willbe quite clear."

"But we've lost three hours," retorted Vallon with risinganger, "three hours when every minute is of importance." Heglared at the Australian. "What about that brute Ravahol? We'rein England, remember, and in this country things can't be hushedup. We must acquaint the authorities at once." He roseenergetically to his feet. "Where's that body now?"

Larose looked uncomfortable. "It's gone," he said slowly. Hefaced Vallon with an air of resolution. "In fact I've just buriedit."

Vallon gasped and Larose went on quickly. "Yes. I've buriedit, and for the present everything is going to be a secretbetween you and me. No, no"—for Vallon was shaking his headviolently—"I've thought it all out, and it's the only thingwe can do. Listen"—and he raised his handemphatically—"that man would have murdered you and he onlygot what he deserved. Apart from that, you say he was a dangerouscriminal in your country, and so it's a good thing for everyonehe's gone. He's——"

"That's nothing to do with it," burst out Vallon impatiently,"nothing at all. There's been death done here, and we must reportit." He calmed down all at once and drew himself up proudly. "Iam an agent of the Surete Generale of Paris, and I work withinthe law, not without it." His face was uncompromisingly stern."At whatever cost we must report at once to the authorities whathas taken place."

"I know it," snapped Vallon sharply, and then his facesoftened and a note of huskiness crept into his voice. "And thereare a wife and two little ones, my friend, who to the last day oftheir lives will remember you in their prayers for that." Hiseyes moistened. "Papa Vallon is a great man in his little home atVersailles."

"I fought him with my bare hands," went on Larose slowly, "andthree times, Monsieur, the knife that he had intended for youalmost reached to my heart."

"You are brave, Mr. Larose," said Vallon, frowning, "but whyinsist upon what is common knowledge?" He scowled at theAustralian. "You would not surely have me discharge a privatedebt at the cost of my public honour?"

Larose smiled engagingly. "Not for one second, Monsieur. Ionly want you to listen to me, and if I have brought up my smallservice to you it is only to emphasise that I at least deserve ahearing."

"Certainly," replied Vallon at once, "and you shall have it.If that be all, I'll listen to you most carefully," and he satdown by the small tree and lit a cigarette.

"Monsieur Vallon," began Larose very quietly, "everything inlife should have its proper perspective, and it is difficult forus all at times to see exactly where our duty lies. Now Mr. Smithhas honoured us by bespeaking our services, and we have alltacitly pledged ourselves to give him the best that we canproduce. We know that in working for him there is risk and dangerfor us, but we know equally well that in agreeing to undertakethe work we are exposing him to risk and danger, too. If we hadrefused service to him, then he would have gone on paying tributeand would presumably have been in perfect security and safe fromany violence. Now that is so, is it not?"

"Yes," went on Larose with a smile, "our intervention to gainhonour and glory or reward."

"I want no reward," commented Vallon sharply, "and there isdoubt if I should be allowed to receive one if I did; I have beenlent by my government to him"—he shrugged hisshoulders—"through political influences."

"And I also," said Larose. "I have been lent by favour, too.So it is honour and glory only that you and I are after.Still"—and he smiled again—"we are after something.We are serving him for certain ends of our own, if indeed theyare lofty ones, with no sordid side."

"Well, what I mean is——" continued Larose,"Ephraim Smith deserves the utmost consideration at our hands andpersonal sacrifice on our part, if need be. So you and I must notthrow him over because of our own timidity, we must not ruineverything for him because we are afraid to delay—only fora few days perhaps—an official report of what has happenedthis morning. Remember, nothing will be lost by this delay, andno good purpose will be served at any time by the broadcasting ofthe fact that you were attacked by a compatriot here, who is nowdead." Larose raised his voice in his earnestness. "It meanspublicity as you say, Monsieur, if we inform the authorities. Itmeans the police coming here and collecting the body, it meansinquiries being made, a coroner being summoned, and a coroner'sjury being empanelled——" He wrung his handsdespairingly. "It means the ruin of everything so far as Smith isconcerned."

"And the position here now, as I take it, is this," went onLarose as if he had not heard Vallon's remark. "There isundoubtedly a cordon of espionage round Ephraim Smith, but he mayhave organised so cleverly for the meeting last night, that, butfor an unfortunate chance, his enemy would never have foundthings out. It was Hidou he summoned from Paris, but for somereason Ravahol took Hidou's place, and unhappily the persecutorof Smith is in possession of that fact."

"How do you know that?" asked Vallon quickly, and judging fromthe expression on his face, curiosity had now taken the place ofobjections.

"From this letter that I found on the body," replied Larosequietly, and he took a paper out of his pocket and with a covertsmile handed it over to his companion.

"Hum," remarked the Frenchman frowning, "typed, no address andno signature and written just a week ago." He readaloud:—

"So many thanks to you. I am most interested in your news, forit happens that I have a special interest in the same gentlemanmyself. Yes, certainly, it will be worth your while to go, but besure and call in here directly afterwards. Don't telephone fromanywhere, and make certain you are not being followed when youcome. On no account either give the slightest hint that you knowor have even heard of me. I am scribbling a rough map below, sothat you will have an idea where the castle is. You know in whichdirection I live. P.S.—I can give you a most wonderfulglass of Barsac. You will be surprised.

"Here is it," replied Larose—"posted in Norwich at 11a.m., July 10th," and Vallon read again:—

There was a long silence, and then Vallon asked, abruptly:"And what else did you find on the body?"

"Nothing of any importance now we know who he was. Anautomatic, of course. French money to the value of over twothousand francs, fifty pounds in English money, and miscellaneousodds and ends. I've got everything tied up in a handkerchief,handy to here."

Vallon was very thoughtful. "So, Mr. Smith," he remarked,"wrote to Hidou under the generally prevailing idea that Hidou isthe biggest operator in the Paris underworld. Hidou did notunderstand what was wanted of him, and passed the letter over toRavahol, who he knew worked on bigger lines. Ravahol was a man ofimagination, and decided to come. He happened to be acquaintedwith someone living in the neighbourhood from which the letterwas written. So he wrote to that acquaintance, making inquiries,and this letter is obviously the reply. He carried it on hisperson, undoubtedly, only because of the map at the bottom." Thestout Frenchman frowned at Larose. "Now, the acquisition of thisletter means everything to us, for it gives us certain very clearand definite ideas to follow."

"And they will be almost useless," said Larose, quietly, "ifRavahol's death becomes known. The enemy will immediately playfor safety, and with a snip cut all the wires that would lead usto him. We are putting him on his guard as if we were hisallies."

"And if I refuse to countenance this silence about Ravahol'sdeath"—and he scowled at the Australian—"what are yougoing to do then?"

The face of Larose was the very picture of astonishment. "Whatdeath, Monsieur Vallon?" he asked innocently. He put the sympathyhe could into his tone. "You had an accident last night. Youknocked your head up against a tree in the dark. You becameunconscious, and you had a bad dream. Someone actually attackedyou, you say? You think you saw a body somewhere? You saw a manin a black mask, and there was a lot of blood about?" He spreadhis hands out incredulously. "But where is the body now, andwhere are the traces of blood? Look, Monsieur, it was on thatgrass pathway that you tell me you saw the body in your dream,but it is empty now. The grass is a little trampled, perhaps, butwhat of that? I was anxious before you regained consciousness,and it may be I walked over it backwards and forwards manytimes." He peered down on to the ground. "At any rate, thefootmarks now are certainly all mine." He looked back at Vallon."Dreams are funny things sometimes, are they not, monsieur?"

Vallon's face was a study. His eyes were cold and stern, butthe corners of his mouth were twitching as if he were trying notto laugh. But laugh he did in a minute, a laugh he could notrestrain, and one which was hearty and had not the slightesttrace of malice or annoyance it.

"Bien, my friend," he exclaimed, clapping Larose upon theshoulder. "You are a blackmailer, are you, and would make thegreat Vallon a laughing stock for the English police?" He grippedthe Australian by the arm. "Well, I am wrong in giving way, butyou're a plausible fellow, and so we'll sit down and talk." Thelaughter dropped from his face. "And now you shall tell me whatyou have been doing whilst I slept."

CHAPTER IV.
The House in the Wood.

"I ASSURE you, monsieur," began Larose with asigh, "that when the motor van had gone off with the others Irealised what it meant for us to be saddled with that body here,and I was filled with consternation at the thought of theposition in which we were placed. It was a terrible misfortunethat I had had to kill that wretch, and for the moment it seemedthe end of everything, and the complete ruin, at the very onset,of our plans." He looked with worried eyes at Vallon. "And thenwhen I had searched the body and found that letter, the extent ofthe calamity appeared if possible to be worse. Here was a spycaught in our midst with most valuable information upon him, andwe would have to shout it out everywhere and inform the wholeworld of the fact. It meant the end of all our secrecy and theenemy would know at once that we were unloosed upon histrack."

"It was good and bad luck," said Vallon. "We are fortunatethat Ravahol did not get away with the information that hepossessed."

"And then, Monsieur Vallon," said Larose, lowering his eyesmodestly, "it came to me suddenly that there might be a way out.If we could only hide the body, who would know anything about itbut you and me?" His voice was most apologetic. "And I could notconsult you, remember, for you were dazed and half unconsciousfrom that dreadful blow. I had to act all on my own and actquickly, too, for there are habitations about here and any momentsomeone might have been coming through these woods. So Icommenced at once to scout about for some place where I couldhide the body, and I did not have to seek for long. I found aspot not far from here, overhung by a bank and thick with thedriftings of the leaves of many years. It was ideal for thepurpose, I saw instantly, since something more than a merecovering of leaves was necessary. There are pheasants in thesewoods, and pheasants in this country mean gamekeepers,gamekeepers"—he looked meaningly at Vallon—"anddogs."

"Then through an opening in the trees," continued Larose, "Isuddenly noticed a cottage in the distance, and I thoughtperhaps"—he hesitated a moment—"I thought thatpossibly, as the day was still young, I might, unknown to anyone,borrow a fork or a spade. So I ran up and was just creeping amongthe ferns behind the garden when I saw the back door of thecottage open and a man come out. He threw open the door of asmall shed and brought out a large white goat. Then, havingtethered the goat to the fence, he fetched a pail and began tomilk. He had only started, however, when I heard the rumble of acar in the distance and the man immediately left the goat and raninto the front garden. He sprang upon a packing case behind thepalings there, and, with his body pressed close against the sidewall of the cottage, stood perfectly still for quite two minutes.The car came and passed, and the man stepped down and returned tohis milking. But he had hardly begun when another rumble camefrom the road. It was a motor bicycle this time, and the man didexactly the same as before, jumping on to the packing case andcrouching there until the bicycle had gone by. After it hadpassed he came back to the goat. He was——"

"Mr. Larose," broke in Vallon testily, "is this minutenarration of such importance? My opinion is the same as yoursthat all Ephraim Smith's actions are being watched and that ourpresence in this neighbourhood therefore is dangerous. We shouldbe getting away from here as soon as possible." He looked rounduneasily. "So please, get on and come to the point quickly. Thesedetails——"

"Monsieur," said Larose calmly, "in a few minutes we will gotogether to this cottage, you and I, and—" his face wasvery stern—"the great Vallon himself shall be the judge asto whether my minute narration has been unnecessary." He smileddryly. "In my own country, Monsieur, I am not without somereputation, and I assure you it is not my habit to waste eithertime or breath."

Instantly Vallon was all apologies. "Your pardon, Mr. Larose,really, your pardon sincerely," and he made a wry face. "You see,in Paris I am Vallon. I am accustomed to work only with inferiorsand not"—he bowed—"with an equal. Go on, sir, and Iam sure you will not say one syllable too much. I am an irritableold man."

"Well," went on Larose, as if quite mollified, "the manfinished his milking without interruption this time. After thathe fed some fowls, wheeled a bicycle from a shed, and wentindoors. Then from the smoke that came out of the chimney I knewhe must be getting his breakfast. Five and twenty minutes passed,but I waited patiently, for from the trim appearance of thegarden I was sure I should find a spade somewhere, and I guessedfrom the bicycle that he would soon be going out. His machine hadtwo hammers with long handles tied on to it, a large one and asmall. Therefore I knew he was a stone-breaker by trade."

"But how did you know it would be safe to go into the gardenand look for a spade, even after he had gone?" asked Vallon,frowning. "There might have been a wife and a pack of childrenabout."

Larose shook his head. "I didn't think so, because I was verynear the cottage, and could hear no voices and, besides, I hadheard him unlock the door before he first came out and had seenhim put the key in the keyhole outside. That meant that he wasgoing to lock the door again soon, implying of course an emptyhouse."

"Well, he came out presently," said Larose, "and he now had apair of binoculars in his hand. He went straight to the packingcase again and for a couple of minutes, I should think, stoodlooking at something through the glasses. Then he jumped down andwent back into the house, coming out again, however, almostimmediately, this time without the binoculars. He locked thedoor, as I had expected, put the key in his pocket and, wheelingthe bicycle out through the front garden, rode away. I was overthe fence at once and found the spade and fork that I wanted."The Australian turned his eyes away. "Then, Monsieur, I made agood job of putting our friend under the ground." He sighed. "Butit was hard work and, as you noticed when I returned, it warmedme up. He lies three feet or more down in the earth and thenagain under a thick shroud of leaves. The soil is rich and,uncoffined as he is, in a very few days he should beunrecognisable. It is a damp place and——"

"But about the cottage, if you please." interrupted Valloncoldly, "for it is there I presume you gathered the news you haveto tell me."

"Oh! yes," replied Larose readily, and his face brightened asif everything was plain sailing now, "for I am sure I have foundsomeone who is spying upon Smith." He looked thoughtfully atVallon. "You see, I was interested in the man at once. He hadleft his milking so suddenly when the vehicles went by and hismovements when he jumped upon the packing case had been sostealthy. It seemed he thought it necessary above all things thathe should not be seen. I wanted therefore to know what he hadbeen looking at through the glasses, so when I had put back thefork and spade, hearing no sounds in the cottage, I went at onceto the packing case and climbed up as he had done. Then Irealised instantly what he had been after."

Larose paused dramatically. "He could only have been watchingthe entrance to the castle gates or the castle itself, for thatwas all he could have seen. The cottage lies about a hundredyards back from the road, and from his position on the packingcase his only view between the trees was that of the castle orits gates. Therefore he had jumped up to find out if either thecar or motor bike were simply passing or were going into thecastle grounds; and when he used the glasses it was undoubtedlythe castle he was watching."

"Perhaps then he had been there all night," commented Vallonwith a frown, "and had seen us all go in and come out. He couldeasily have done so with the bright moon there was."

"No, I don't think so," said Larose promptly, "because when Isaw him first come out of the back door he looked like a manstill heavy with sleep. He was only half dressed, too—inhis trousers and shirt." The Australian went on. "Then I startedlooking about the place, and the first thing I noticed was acollection of empty wine bottles in one of the sheds." He sniffedcontemptuously. "A stone breaker drinking wine, and good wine atthat—Chateau Lafite!"

"Ah!" exclaimed Vallon, "and remember one of those letters toMr. Smith had been posted in Paris."

"Exactly," said Larose, "a coincidence that struck me, too."He nodded his head. "Well, I thought I'd like to see inside thecottage, and I took a piece of wire off the fence and tried topick the lock of the back door, but the lock was a goodone—much too good for a cottage like that—and I hadno luck. But I found a knife in one of the sheds and managed toprize back the bolt of one of the windows, and so get into theplace." He shrugged his shoulders apologetically. "I could onlygive myself a few minutes, since I had already left you for solong, but almost at once I lighted upon one very suspiciousthing, which alone seems to make it imperative that we should goback and make a further search." He spoke very solemnly. "I foundthe glasses, an expensive Zeiss pair, wrapped with apparentcarelessness in an old dish cloth and lying in a corner under achair."

"What's the man like?" asked Vallon sharply, without amoment's pause. "Did he look like a working man to you?"

"No," replied Larose, "he's rough, certainly, with an unkemptbeard, but his face is oval and intellectual, and he has big,thoughtful eyes. His complexion is very dark, and he doesn't lookEnglish to me."

"Ah!" exclaimed Vallon again, and he rose instantly to hisfeet. "Come, my friend, we must waste no more time. I will gowith you to this cottage. We are in the enemy's trap undoubtedly,and this is one of his outposts. Quick, for this man may becoming back."

"No, I'm sure not," said Larose. "He cut a lettuce and tookother food with him, wrapped in a pocket handkerchief, and thatmeans he's taken lunch."

The two walked quickly through the wood and in a few minutesthey had climbed the fence and were in the garden of thecottage.

"There are only two rooms," said Larose, "and they should nottake us long to go over."

Vallon frowned uneasily. "But we shall have to break inagain," he said, and then smiled. "I am in bad company, I see,Mr. Larose."

"It may be, Monsieur," the Australian smiled back, "but thereneed be no breaking in for you. You will enter after me throughthe window."

They were soon inside the cottage, and then the eyes of Larosegleamed. "Now, Monsieur," he said "we will go hunting together,you and I, and the Lord have mercy upon those we are lookingfor."

But Vallon made no comment. His eyes were darting everywhere,his lips were tightly shut and at short intervals he nodded hishead. "Ah! but he lives soft," he whispered, after a few moments."The furniture is that of a labouring man, but the essentials tocomfort are all here. Look at those blankets, the best quality;look at that petrol lamp; look at the things in which he cookshis food." He tiptoed to a cupboard and opened it. "Gruyerecheese," he whistled, "and the best quality olive oil. Baconrashers, the middle of the back. Now quick, where does he keephis clothes?"

But a smothered exclamation from Larose brought his attentionround to the Australian in a flash, and then instantly as withone movement, they jumped back and stood crouching in a corner inthe shadows, away from the window.

A man had just come through the front garden gate and waswalking up the path to the front door.

"Mon Dieu!" whispered Vallon hoarsely, "we are trapped. It isthe man coming back."

"No, no," returned Larose quickly; "it is not he, but astranger instead. I heard him fumbling with the catch of thegate. He is certainly not accustomed to unlatching it."

But the stranger was not to be shaken off so easily, for,getting no answer to his summons, he stepped over the flower bedand glued his face against the window.

"Keep still," whispered Vallon, "not a movement, and he won'tsee us. We're in the dark."

The stranger stared hard through the window, and then,apparently convinced that there was nothing more to be seenthere, withdrew over the flower bed. A moment later his footstepswere heard going round to the back.

"He's persistent," scowled Vallon, and, followed by Larose, hetiptoed into the back room to watch the visitor from the windowthere.

The man had his back to them, and he was standing before thechicken run. His head was bent down, and he stood motionless fora long time.

"He's a thief. He's going to steal them," whispered Vallon."He's worse than even you and I."

But suddenly Larose's expression relaxed—he grippedVallon fiercely by the arm and the latter, turning round, sawthat his companion was making desperate efforts not to laugh.

"Look, look," Larose whispered hoarsely, and he pointed intothe yard. "It's Naughton Jones!"

Vallon's face was at first incredulous, and then angry. "Bychance, by chance," he growled. "He's only come here bychance—but keep perfectly silent, and he'll go away."

But Naughton Jones was showing no inclination to go away, for,with his inspection of the fowls over, he proceeded to examinethe little garden. He was interested in everything that grewthere; he inspected the rubbish heap, and finally he disappearedinto the shed.

"Good Lord!" ejaculated Larose. "And what's he up to now?" Helooked back at Vallon, and grinned.

A long minute passed, and Naughton Jones, coming out of theshed, strode up to the back door of the cottage and rattled thehandle vigorously. Then he stooped down and peered into the lock.Next he turned to the window, and they saw a gleam come into hiseyes as he pulled it open. Larose had not thought to shoot thebolt back after they had entered.

"We must surrender," whispered Vallon, sourly, and he at onceadvanced to the window and thrust his face into that of NaughtonJones.

"Don't trouble to come in that way, Mr. Jones," he said,apparently with great amiability. "Go round to the front door,and we'll let you through. It's only bolted there, and we'll undoit. Mr. Larose is here, too, and we shall be pleased to have alittle chat with you."

Naughton Jones's eyes bulged, and his mouth had opened wide,but he recovered himself quickly.

"Good," he said, with a grim smile. "I am delighted to find Iam among friends," and a minute later they were all seated in thefront room.

"Now, all cards upon the table, please. I am here because Inoticed this cottage when I came out of the castle grounds withMariarty this morning, and I considered it an ideal place forespionage upon Ephraim Smith." His face darkened. "I am convincedthat the movements of that gentleman are being watched."

"But how did you get here so soon?" asked Vallon, scowling."You can't have been to Norwich, then, at all?"

"No," replied Jones, carelessly. "I stopped the motor vanabout half a dozen miles out, and walked slowly back toinvestigate." He smiled as if to himself. "Professor Mariarty wasgood enough to agree to purchase some small articles of necessityfor me, a comb and a tooth brush, etc., and to promise to bringthem along with him to the Inebriates' Home. We shall meet therethis evening." His face hardened again. "Now, your cards upon thetable, please. What are you doing here, you two?"

Larose hastened to provide the answer. "We were curious,also," he replied quickly, "and, hiding among the bracken at theback, were fortunate enough to see the occupier himself veryearly this morning. He follows the trade of a stone-breaker, buthis actions were highly suspicious," and the Australian detectivethen proceeded to narrate all that had happened in connectionwith the cottage since daybreak.

"Excellent," commented Naughton Jones when Larose hadfinished, "and I can add some information, too. The man growschicory, garlic, and globe artichokes, and all those fowls at theback have been caponised. There are no nestboxes in the run. Heis a foreigner, therefore, or has lived in France. He is not anEnglish working man, at all events."

Larose frowned. "Really," he thought. "I am a poor thing, andI am meeting my equals, if not my superiors, at last." He noddedruefully. "Yes, I am getting shaken up a lot."

Naughton Jones rose to his feet. "Now we'll go on with thesearch, but"—and he shook his head—"I don't expecttoo much. This affair of Smith's has been long prepared for, andthe wretches are of infinite courage and resource. We can bequite sure that everything will be open and innocent here, sonear the castle."

And certainly their search produced no fresh discovery ofimportance, though Vallon found something to interest him in thecork stops on the door and Naughton Jones drew attention to apeculiar little knife that he picked up.

"Cut from champagne corks," said the French detective,indicating the stops. He knelt down close to the floor andgrinned. "Fancy a breaker of stones drinking 'Veuve Clicquot.'"He stood up and smacked his lips. "I should like a glassnow!"

Naughton Jones found the knife among some homely medicines ina small box upon a shelf, and he held it up to Vallon atonce.

"Know what this is for, my friend?" he asked, and upon theFrenchman shaking his head, he explained. "A tenetomyknife—cuts only in the middle third of the blade. That'swhat he operates upon those fowls with, and look—tinctureof iodine and lysol, too. Everything quite up to date except thathe has no rubber operating gloves." He put the knife back in thebox. "Now out of the cottage—quick, and we'll go away intothe wood and talk things over. We've got a good start, Ibelieve."

Making certain they had left no trace behind them, they closedup the cottage and Naughton Jones with big strides led the wayinto the wood.

He was not content to go only a short distance, but walked onfor a couple of hundred yards and the farther he went the moregrim and uneasy became the face of Larose.

Jones stopped at last by a high bank where the groundeverywhere was thickly carpeted with leaves.

"This will do," he said sharply, as if naturally in command ofthe little party, "and now we'll talk."

He leant against the bank, and then suddenly turned his headround and began to sniff deeply.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed, "someone's been digging here. I smellrecently turned earth. I do gardening in my spare time."

Larose's uneasiness gave way to dismay but Vallon, smotheringa smile, came to the rescue with great energy.

"A gardener!" he ejaculated explosively. "A gardener! Thenundoubtedly you excel there as in everything else. You are amaster, too, in the cultivation of vegetables and flowers?"

Naughton Jones sniffed again, and then, with a change in hisvoice, turned to the Frenchman.

"Roses are my chief interest," he said. "I am raising a newvariety that my friends insist I shall call after myself. It willbe known as 'The Naughton Jones.'"

"So many, Monsieur," admitted Jones with modesty, "thatnotwithstanding a notice on the gate, 'Beware of the dog.' Iassure you I cannot keep a blossom a couple of days after it hasappeared upon the trees."

"But your hound! Mr. Jones," said Vallon incredulously. "Doeshe not protect you from intruders?"

Naughton Jones frowned. "He would do so, no doubt, Monsieur,but——" the great detective coughed—"it sohappens that he does not exist. I do not keep a dog."

"La, la," laughed Vallon and then suddenly he became seriousagain. "But now to business, Mr. Jones, and then we will walk tothe next village and get a meal. I feel vast spaces encroachingupon my very soul."

"Yes, to business," echoed Jones gravely, looking in turn atVallon and Larose, "and my considered opinion is this. Theauthorities here have failed because they are up against a man ormen with no records behind them. They are not dealing with anyonewell known over here as a practitioner in this particular line.They are dealing with an importation, or rather, I would preferto imagine, from all Ephraim Smith disclosed to us, with a newstar in crime. A man, a leader, who himself before was virgin toevil-doing. An amateur, in fact, but one highly gifted andcertainly, perhaps, a genius in his way," Naughton Jones lookedfrom one to the other again, and meeting with no remark, went onimpressively—"I say this because the whole affair exhibitssuch elaborate preparation, such infinite patience, and suchgreat resource." He shook his head. "No professional that I canconceive of would have been content to wait so long for hisreward. The prime mover here must have been in the very beginninga well-to-do man."

"Excellent," commented Vallon, and no one would have been ableto determine whether there was irony or admiration in histone.

"Yes," continued Naughton Jones, "and, granted these premises,we can be sure at once that the closest intimacy exists betweenSmith and someone in the enemy's camp. Every movement of themillionaire is reported at once."

"Exactly," said Vallon, and he was undoubtedly serious thistime, "and that bomb, for instance, was purposely not explodedoutside the dining-room window until the room was empty. It wasnot intended to kill. It was not going to injure the bird thatlaid the golden eggs."

"Of course not," replied Naughton Jones at once. He hesitated,and then rapped out—"And I suspect that butler of his. He'sgot a thumb on him the very spit of that of the banker SimonLewisjohn who went down for seven years."

"But a life in his master's service!" exclaimed Vallon,shaking his head. "Remember, the man's been with Mr. Smith fornearly thirty years."

"And Lewisjohn," retorted Jones, "had served his bank fornearly forty and then"—he laughed scornfully—"heabsconded with £60,000."

"Gentlemen," said Larose modestly, "did either of you noticeanything significant about the manner in which it was expresslyordered that those treasury notes should be wrapped up the firsttime?"

"In ordinary newspaper," replied Jones frowning, "but I don'tknow why." He eyed the Australian distantly. "What of that?"

"Only," said Larose, and his voice was very gentle, "that theblack and white of the newspaper would exactly harmonise with thefurnishings of the hall. The walls there, the carpets, and allthe rugs are in patterns of black and white."

"That the vacuum cleaner man," replied Larose quietly, "slidthe parcel down upon one of the rugs when he was near the frontdoor and the butler picked it up afterwards and took it away.That is why no parcel was found upon the vacuum man when thedetectives dragged him from his car."

"But Smith was watching," snapped Jones again. "He saw the mantraverse the whole length of the hall, he says, right down to thefront door."

"Mr. Smith's sight is not good," explained Larose. "Did younotice how he takes off his glasses when he becomesexcited—and screws up his eyes? Besides," he added, "thehall is very long. It took me fifty-three paces to walk from oneend to the other last night; and, remember, too, Mr. Smith saidit was a gloomy day when the vacuum cleaner man came."

"Bravo, young man!" he exclaimed, with enthusiasm. "You scoreone over us there, and no more will Vallon of the Surete ofParis"—he laughed happily—"treat you as a child.You've cleared up what was worrying me a good deal." He turned tothe lanky Naughton Jones. "Now, what do you think of that, Mr.Jones?"

But Naughton Jones was a little longer making up his mind,and, for the moment he frowned, as if he still thought there mustbe a flaw in the argument somewhere. In a few seconds, however,his features relaxed, and then he smiled in quite as friendly afashion as had Vallon.

"Really, I think you're right, Mr. Larose," he said. "Iwondered at the time at the significance of the newspaperwrapping, but I could think of no special reason for it; and thenI let the matter pass out of my mind." He nodded his heademphatically. "And that confirms my idea about the butler, too.He's got that patient oyster type of face, the face of a man whowould wait for years and years. Well, now," he went on, "we havethree avenues of inquiry to follow. Firstly, that butler must beshadowed; secondly, we must make the acquaintance of our friendat the cottage; and, thirdly, we must find out where Hidou hasgone." He turned sharply to Vallon. "I don't like yourcompatriot, Monsieur."

Vallon looked just a little bit embarrassed. "Nor I, either,"he said. "He has an evil name, even in our evil underworld ofParis. It was a mistake for Mr. Smith to have sent for him."

"But he's different from what I should have anticipated,judging by his reputation," said Naughton Jones meditatively. "Hehas a presence, he seems capable, and, although, of course, Ididn't see his face, his whole bearing gave me the idea ofpower." He laughed dryly. "I don't wonder you haven't been ableto catch him up to now."

"But we shall do, we shall do," replied Vallon, almost, itseemed, with over-emphasis; "and it won't be long."

"Well," said Naughton Jones, looking at his watch, "we'll goafter a meal now, for, like you, I feel the need of sustenance;and then we can consider in detail exactly what our next stepshould be."

CHAPTER V.
Gentlemen of Crime.

THAT same afternoon, only five miles distantfrom Bodham Castle, a little man as short in stature as EphraimSmith, but very different from him in every other particular, wasreading a letter. He sat in a big arm-chair in a long, low room,which looked out through large windows over a hundred yards ofclose-cut lawn to the sands of the seashore, and the white wavesof the sea itself.

The house, a rambling, old-fashioned building, was situatedupon so low-lying a stretch of ground that the room in which thereader sat seemed to be scarcely above sea level; but in realityit was only the expanse of lawn, with its gentle downward slope,and the clear and uninterrupted view of the ocean that conveyedthis impression.

It was a lonely house, and on every side except seawards laythe dreary Salthouse marshes, for ever swept by the winds of thegrim North Sea.

The room itself was comfortably, if not luxuriously,furnished, with deep easy chairs, rich warm-looking rugs, andthick curtains that extended from the ceiling to the floor. Thewall at one end was entirely covered with books.

The reader of the letter was about 60 years of age, plump andround of body, with a cultured, thoughtful face. He had a highforehead and deep-set keen blue eyes. Altogether he was mild andpleasant-looking, except that his lips were set in a straightline, and were pressed too closely together in repose. He worebig glasses with broad black rims. Just now he was frowning as heread:

"And I did not learn until after half-past 10 just as I wasgoing to bed that anyone was coming. Then he rang for me and toldme that he was expecting some late visitors. It was mostextraordinary. They would come before 12, one by one, at shortintervals, he said, and they would knock on the postern door. Iwas not to speak to them, but was to show them straight into thebanqueting room, and only one light was to be switched on there.He told me nothing more, and they began coming just before 11.30,and all wore black masks. There were eight of them, and when theyhad arrived he shut himself in with them and locked the door. Hetold me to have coffee ready in 20 minutes, and then he came outand I took it in to them. The lights were turned up then, and allexcept one of the men had taken their masks off.

"They were detectives, I am sure, although certainly some ofthem didn't look like it, but they talked together like ordinarypeople, and I managed to hear some of their names. There was thatMr. Naughton Jones, of London, for one, and Vallon, the Frenchdetective from Paris for another, and that Dr. Crittenden, whoworks with the police for a third. Then there were two otherFrenchmen, whose names I didn't catch, one of whom was veryquiet, but the other seemed as if he thought it was a joke. Therewas another they called Professor, but he didn't look educated tome, and he was elderly and stout, and talked mostly to the manwho hadn't taken his mask off, and I heard them say that Pariswas an easier place to hide a body in than London. That was all Icould find out for the door was locked again, and they didn'tcome out until nearly 2.

"Then he sent me off to bed at once while they hadrefreshments, and I went straight up to my room, because I alwaysact as you tell me to as if I was never interested in anythingthat goes on. Besides I thought he might come up to my room togive me some other orders if anything came into his mind, for, asI have told you, he is always walking about the place late atnight now, and you can never be certain where he is. I don't knowwhen the men left for they didn't make any noise; but, of course,something is going on, and I ought to see you at once. I will beat the usual place to-morrow afternoon at 3. Oh! there, wasanother man there that I didn't mention. I heard them asking himabout Australia, so he must have come from there. He was ratherstupid-looking, and was the only one who didn't look at me when Iwas bringing round the coffee.

"S. was in good temper this morning but he did not refer tolast night in any way, and I don't think that either Mrs. S. orMiss E. know anything. I believe——"

But suddenly there was the sound of a car pulling up outsideand the reader rose in annoyance to his feet.

"Now, who's that?" he exclaimed querulously, "and just when Imust be quiet to think!"

"Mr. Smith, sir," he announced, "and Miss Eunice and anotheryoung lady. They won't come in, they say, if you're busy. They'veonly just come down for a few minutes to the sea."

"Wonderful!" he murmured to himself. "An extraordinarycoincidence and it couldn't be better," and thrusting the letterdeep into his pocket, he walked out briskly through the hall.

A big open touring car was parked before the front door andEphraim Smith and two young girls were interestedly watching thebig waves roll in from the sea. They turned round at once whenthe owner of the house came out.

"Hullo! Professor," called out Ephraim Smith cheerily. "Now Ihope we are not interrupting any highly important cogitationsupon the regeneration of the world but my daughter has a youngfriend here who is most anxious to see you." He turned to thetaller of the girls beside him. "Sybil, this is the famousProfessor Ingleby. Professor, this is Miss Sybil James." Hesmiled. "She is foolish enough to be an admirer of yours."

"Delighted to meet you, young lady," he smiled; "but my goodfriend here is over-generous in describing me as famous. Really,I am a very insignificant person." He turned to the other girl."And here is Miss Eunice, as radiant and attractive as ever."

And certainly the other girl possessed unusual charm. Tallerthan her father, and of a lithe yet graceful build she bore inher face a marked resemblance to him though in her dark eyes andmobile lips there was a beauty that had come to her from hermother. Her expression now was piquant and animated as shesmilingly regarded the professor.

"Nonsense?" she exclaimed to him with a laugh, "but you werealways a flatterer, and I'm sure I'm anything but radiant today.I had a dreadful headache until the drive here took it away."

"But, oh! what a lovely situation for a house, ProfessorIngleby," cried Sybil James enthusiastically, "and I don't wondernow from where you get all the inspiration for your writing. Tobe alone on this seashore here, with its glorious golden sands,and with all those stretches of beautiful green grass behind you,why—after London it seems a paradise to me."

"But a paradise with a serpent in it, young lady," sighed theprofessor, with the pretence of a shudder. "A beautiful place, ifyou like, but—as dangerous and as uncertain as a woman'ssmile!"

"Don't listen to him, Sybil," said Eunice Smith. "He's alwayslike that. He's a horrid old bachelor, you know."

"I'm not old, Miss Eunice," retorted the Professor, withinstant indignation, "and I'm not horrid either, and I'm only abachelor because it just happened that I was born thirty yearstoo soon." He sighed again. "Now if I were only twenty eightinstead of fifty-eight, it would not be my fault"—he puthis hand on his heart and regarded her with humorous and admiringeyes—"if we did not hear the sound of wedding bells."

Both the girls laughed, and then Sybil James asked. "But whatis there dangerous about here?"

"Young lady," said the professor solemnly, and he stretchedout his arm towards the sea, "not two hundred yards from where weare now standing lie some of the most dangerous quicksands to befound anywhere round the British Isles. When those beautifulwhite waves, that you now see, have rolled back and the tide islow there are uncovered harmless-looking pools that to the unwarywanderer, however, invite a most dreadful form of death. One stepinto them and, unless immediate help is forthcoming, there wouldbe no hope for you. You would be sucked down in a matter ofseconds."

"How horrible!" exclaimed Sybil James, looking reallyfrightened, "and are there no warning notices posted up?"

"Certainly," replied the professor. "There are warnings onthose boards all along the sands." He shook his head. "But thoseare not the only danger." He laid a hand gently upon the girl'sshoulder and turned her round. "Now look out over those marshes.They appear all beautiful lush green grass to you, but noticethere are no cattle or sheep there. And why?" He paused a moment."Because there are places on those marshes so boggy that theyconstitute a deadly menace to any man or beast that passesthere."

"Yes, and as dangerous as the quicksands," nodded theprofessor; "and winter and summer they are just the same. Theyare fed by subterranean springs, and are veritable quagmiresunder their covering of green."

"Really, professor," frowned Eunice prettily, "you willfrighten us into believing that with its dreadful surroundingsthis house is like an ogre's castle."

"And no one can ever cross those marshes, then?" asked Sybil."You have always to go round?"

The professor laughed slyly. "Now, now, you want to knowsomething." He squeezed Eunice Smith's arm. "But come, I'll letyou both into a secret." He pointed landwards. "You see that bigbungalow over there about a mile from here straight across themarsh? Well, that's on our golf course and it's the clubhouse.Notice too the big flagstaff at the side. Now look back aboutanother mile and a little to the left and you will see a bigtower-like structure arising above that clump of trees. That'sthe town hall of Holt." He beamed at the two girls. "Well, getthose two objects exactly in line, and you can walk with perfectsafety from here over the marsh on to the golf course. There's aridge of firm going all along." He raised his hand warningly."But mind you, you must keep the clubhouse and the tower mostcarefully in a straight line all the time, for the fairway overthe marsh in some places is not even twenty feet wide andsometimes in wet weather it is very muddy."

"On the contrary," replied the professor, "it is just as easyafter dark, for the clubhouse has a large arc-light in front ofit on the flagstaff and the town hall has a clock, illuminateduntil midnight."

"Very convenient," commented Ephraim Smith with a yawn, "butthere seems a catch in it to me. You can't cross the marsh,coming this way, unless you walk backwards all the time.

"Well, that's exactly what we do," laughed the professor. "Ithink nothing of it when I've been stopping late at the clubhouseover a game of cards." He rubbed his hands gleefully together."It's quite an adventure and a test of one's courage and nerve.It always gives me a thrill, although I've done it hundreds oftimes."

"I shouldn't have thought it worth while," said Smith. "Anunpleasant muddy walk."

"Oh, yes, it's muddy right enough sometimes," replied theprofessor, "especially in the winter after rain, but with thickboots on you scarcely notice it, and when you're not motoring itsaves a couple of miles." His eyes rested on Ephraim Smith's car."But what's happened here? The Rolls is a different colour to-day?"

"This is another one," said Ephraim Smith, carelessly. "I havetwo at the castle."

The professor frowned. "It isn't right, sir," he saidearnestly. "It's wrong. It's unsocial"—he seemed almostangry in his fervor—"that one man should possess so much."He looked round at the two girls and shook his head. "Now thatisn't as it should be, is it, young ladies, that any one personshould possess two wonderful cars like this and others have nocar at all?"

"Yes, yes," retorted the professor, and he almost scowled,"with money, with money"—but suddenly the whole expressionof his face altered and he was all courtly smiles again. "Well,come inside all of you and I'll poison you—I'll poison youwith a cup of my green tea."

"The professor's tea, Sybil," said Eunice, "is delicious," andshe added maliciously:—"He's so rich that he imports ithimself."

They went into the long low room and the professor rang togive orders to his butler.

"Oh! what a delightful place," exclaimed Sybil James. "And soit is here that you do all your work, Professor Ingleby. It ishere you write those great books that are going to make the worldso much better and everyone so good and true."

"But he's a bad man, Sybil," warned Eunice, "and he's verycruel. He would have everyone killed who doesn't come up to animpossible standard of perfection."

"No, no, Miss Eunice, now that's not fair," said the professorreproachfully. "I only advocate the putting away of the mentallydeficient. We are much too namby-pamby in dealing with thecankers"—his voice hardened suddenly—"and the wrongsin our social life."

Sybil James was looking at an etching of a seagull on the walland she turned round quickly.

"Why, it's your own, I see, professor," she exclaimed, "andmost beautifully done, too. I draw and etch myself and appreciatefine work." She looked at him with beaming eyes. "I knew you werea great man, but I had no idea you were so versatile."

Eunice Smith laughed teasingly. "Oh! that's nothing, Sybil,dear. The professor is really a wonderful man. He knows somethingabout everything, but I think"—she smiled at theprofessor—"his heart is really in criminology. That's hischief hobby at all events, for he's always to be found at the bigtrials."

The professor leant back in his big armchair, and with hisplump little body huddled up he looked like some big round ball.His eyes twinkled.

"Miss Eunice has no mercy," he laughed back. "She is alwaysexposing all my little weaknesses, but she is so pretty to lookat that I can never be really angry with her for doing it." Hebecame serious. "Yes, I am interested in crime, and I can't helpit, I suppose, because some long-gone ancestors of mine happenedto be real bad eggs. I'm descended from the Ingleby's of Williamthe Second. They were robber barons andscourged——"

But he stopped speaking, for Eunice had burst suddenly into amerry peal of laughter and she rippled on until the tears cameinto her eyes.

"Oh! forgive me, professor," she said penitently, when finallyshe could control her voice, "but the very thought of your beingconnected with robber barons"—she laughed againroguishly—"seems so extraordinary and unnatural."

"And why shouldn't I have robber ancestors?" he asked withanimation. "Are fire and courage anything to do with size? Lookat your father, for instance. He's no taller than I am, and yethe's got the spirit of a lion. Anyone can see that."

"Oh! but you look so innocent," said Eunice. "More like acherub than an inheritor of crime."

The butler brought in tea, and the conversation continued in alight and merry vein. The professor and the girls were in goodspirits, but Ephraim Smith seemed in a thoughtful mood and rathertired. Presently Sybil James went up to admire the etching again,and then all at once a light flashed into the professor's eyes,and he smiled cunningly. He rose briskly from his chair, andreached for a thick portfolio from a shelf.

"You are interested in my little effort, Miss James?" he saidwith a bow. "Well, then, I'll show you something else in the sameway." He placed the portfolio on the table. "Now all gather roundand you shall see some sketches of mine from real life." Helaughed shyly. "Miss Eunice has told you that I have a fondnessfor trials, and so I have. My cousin is Mr. Justice Selbourne,and so I can always get a seat anywhere when I want it. I havebeen a spectator at great trials not only here in England, butalso in Belgium and France." He warmed up in his enthusiasm. "Ihave seen a score and more of men sentenced to death, and indeedduring the last twenty years few great criminals have receivedtheir sentences without my being there. I have been over most ofthe big prisons in the three countries I have named, and I havestudied the punishments that the prisoners are receiving. I havechatted with men who had only a few hours to live, who had lifesentences to serve, and again with others who were about toreceive the lash, and these sketches here——"

"Professor, you are horrid now," said Eunice, frowning, "and Iam inclined to believe that you are correct about yourancestors."

"And these sketches here," went on the professor, ignoring theinterruption, "are part of the harvest I have gathered in. Theyare all done on the spot, and pasted in here afterwards. Nonehave been touched up." He opened the portfolio. "Now this firstone——"

"Yes—er, certainly," said the professor hesitatingly, asif rather taken aback. "It is a bit unpleasant, I admit. However,it's my cousin, Mr. Justice Selbourne."

"Ha! ha!" laughed Ephraim Smith, "you're worse than mydaughter, Miss Sybil. You're both in the professor's bad booksnow."

"Oh! I'm so sorry," said Sybil James remorsefully. "It wasquite a mistake, I can see now. I didn't get the sketch in theright light then. It's got quite a different expression turnedthis way."

The professor chuckled. "Oh! you young ladies, what fibs youcan tell us men!" He looked meditatively at the sketch. "Yes,certainly he's not handsome, but he's got a rich mellow voice,and it's like a great organ solo when he's sentencing someone todeath." He began to turn over the pages. "Now there's Middick,the poisoner. Adolf Middick. Just look at his face. Hedistributed arsenic most lavishly for seven or eight years beforehe died, and was responsible, we are sure, for ten deaths. Buthis face was quite as mild as I've got it there and he ambledthrough life a harmless inoffensive little grocer until he wasfound out." He pointed again. "That's Marie Blumellier, tried inParis about three years ago. A crime of passion there. She killedher husband just because he danced three times one evening withanother woman. Cut his throat when he was asleep. Oh! no, shewasn't guillotined. She got off, and if I remember rightly shemarried one of the gendarmes who had arrested her. She wasfascinating, was Marie.

"That is Charles Sangster Wicken, a blackmailer. He cried likea baby when he got seven years, yet we know for certain he hadcaused three suicides and had pity neither for man, woman, norchild. Very pleasant party, though, to talk to, one of theseemingly jovial, hearty kind. Now here's a bad man, really bad.He was Johann, the Knifer, and king of the Brussels underworld.No one knows how many people he had killed, and yet he's got theface and soul of an artist. He was a great musician and they lethim play the prison organ the day before he died. I was alistener and his rendering of the 'Marche Funebre' was the mostbeautiful I have ever heard. It has haunted me ever since."

The professor turned over a lot of the pages very quickly andthen stopped suddenly.

"Guess who that is," he said, and, although it was to Eunicethat he spoke, it seemed he had unconsciously pushed theportfolio nearer to her father, "Naughton Jones," he went on, asno one made any answer. "I sketched him a couple of years or soago. He's got something to answer for, at any rate, for hebrought cocaine to the notice of thousands of people who wouldnever have heard of the vile drug except for him."

"But he can't be a drug fiend," said Ephraim Smith, frowning."He couldn't have the brain he has, if he were."

"Don't think he ever was," replied the professorcontemplatively. "It was affectation on his part to be differentfrom everyone else. That's all."

"I know who that is," said Sybil James when another page hadbeen turned. "That's Vallon, of Paris. I remember seeing hisphoto in a French paper a little while ago."

"Yes, Vallon," remarked the professor, and he laid his handsuddenly upon Ephraim Smith's arm. "Now that's a thinker ofanother kind. He looks heavy and solid, but he's got every bit asmuch imagination as Jones. He's conceited, too, but in quite apleasant sort of way. He says openly, 'I'm Vallon. I am a greatman,' and one forgives him at once. He's like a sharp, precociouschild."

They discussed more faces, and then at the last the professorlaid his finger upon one page by itself and frowned.

"I'm not satisfied there," he said, "and I never was." Hehesitated a moment and then went on slowly. "I don't think that'shis real face. I think he balked me, I think he deceived us all.I think he gave all his evidence partly disguised, for his faceseemed to me different every time I tried to sketch it. He hadhis eye, too, on me and my pencil, I am sure. Who is it?" theprofessor laughed, and again gripped Ephraim Smith lightly on thearm. "Why, it's Gilbert Larose, of course, the Australianstar"—a sneer crept into his voice—"the man who neverfails."

"Well, it hasn't got much character in it," said Eunicecritically, "and it's quite different to what I thought it wouldbe. I read all about him in that lonely island case inEssex."

"Yes, and that's where I saw him," said the professor. "I waspresent all through that trial." He looked thoughtfully at theface before him. "He has not been long over here, and we don'tknow much about him, but still he's very much out of theordinary. He's got an extraordinary imagination, and I'm notsure"—he hesitated and went on speaking almost as if tohimself—"I'm not sure he mightn't be very dangerous toanyone when he was on their tracks. He's absolutely lawless, thatman, and if he thought it necessary—he would pistol anybodyhe suspected—on sight—if he had any idea they weregoing to try and get away."

Ephraim Smith got up and said they must go, and they went outto the car. Then Sybil James, who seemed insatiable for allinformation about the professor, asked him if he lived alwaysalone.

"Not at all," he laughed, "not at all. I always have my workand my books, and, as Miss Eunice has told you, I take frequentlittle excursions away. Besides, I have some very good friends inthe neighbourhood. My dear Mr. Smith here for one, and—" helooked round at the sound of a car approaching in thedistance—"if I make no mistake here come some others."

A car driven at a great pace was jerked with grinding brakesto a standstill before the house, and two men alighted and raisedtheir caps. A few seconds later a third man drove up on a motorcycle and stopped, too.

"McAlbane," scowled Ephraim Smith to the driver of the car, ahandsome, rather dissolute-looking man about thirty, "you oughtnever to be trusted with a good car. You took a hundred mileswear, at least, off your tyres in those last ten yards."

"But it was worth it," smiled back the man with an admiringglance in the direction of the girls, "when I saw who was waitinghere," and followed by the two other men at once walked up toEunice Smith and made an elaborate bow.

"Sybil," said Eunice, and there was not too much warmth in hertone, "Mr. McAlbane, Mr. Texworthy, and Dr. Grain. My friend,Miss Sybil James," she added to the men.

"Real celebrities this time, Miss James," chuckled ProfessorIngleby. "Arnold Texworthy, the big-game hunter, known all overthe world wherever a white man lifts a rifle to his shoulder; theHonourable James McAlbane, the winning jockey of last year'sGrand National; and Dr. Ronald Grain, whose chief claim todistinction, is that he cured my lumbago a couple of monthsago."

They all chatted together for a few minutes, and then theprofessor drew the big-game hunter aside.

"Get hold of one of Smith's gloves on the back seat of his carthere," he whispered, "and stow it away in your pocket. You canreach over better than I." He half closed one eye. "I'll explainlater. It's urgent," and he moved up to Ephraim Smith andproceeded to engage the latter's attention.

"Come over to dinner one evening, will you, Smith?" he saidheartily. "All of you, and we'll have some bridge. I'll haveyoung Grain up, too." He grinned maliciously at the millionaire."He seems quite interested in your daughter."

Ephraim Smith frowned and glanced across to where Eunice andthe doctor were talking together. The latter was a good-lookingyoung fellow, and the face of the girl was flushed and animatedas she looked up at him.

"Hum!" remarked Smith, and then his face cleared. "No, youcome up to us, professor," he said. "Come up on Friday, you andyour friends." He moved to where Texworthy and McAlbane wereinspecting his car. "Dine at the castle on Friday, gentlemen,will you, and we'll show you how to play bridge?"

"And I hope then," laughed Eunice, as if she were taking itfor granted that the doctor was included in the invitation, "thatI don't get Dr. Grain for a partner." There was just the faintesttremor in her voice. "He's just been telling me that he's alwaysunlucky at cards."

The shadow of a grim smile crossed into Ephraim Smith's face,but he took his cue instantly.

"You'll be able to leave your patients, I hope, doctor," hesaid. "Let them die in peace and quiet for once."

Dr. Grain flushed now in his turn and accepted the invitation.Then with a few more words of conversation the party from thecastle got into their car and drove away, with the doctorfollowing almost immediately afterwards.

"Quick, you two," exclaimed the professor with all themovements of his plump little body now as swift as those of astriking snake, "come inside at once. I've got some startlingnews for you, but I must telephone first."

They followed him into his study, and with a jerk he picked upthe telephone receiver from his desk and gave a number. A fewmoments silence followed and then—

"Is that the castle? Oh! it's you, Fenton, is it. ProfessorIngleby speaking. Mr. Smith has left one of his gloves here, andplease tell him I'll drop in and return it to-morrow some timewhen I'm motoring to Holt. No, he needn't send you or anyone herefor it. I'll bring it round tomorrow afternoon, most likely aboutthree. Understand? Sure you do? Perfectly? Well, that's all. Goodafternoon."

He put back the receiver and then turned to the two men. Helooked round to make sure the door was shut and then he rappedout——

"Smith had a mass meeting of detectives at the castle lastnight. That's what Ravahol had been sent for, and among othersNaughton Jones, Vallon and Gilbert Larose were there." An uneasylook came into his eyes. "And Ravahol hasn't reported yet."

"Damn!" swore the Honourable James, "so the little devil's gota kick in him still."

CHAPTER VI.
The Masters of Ephraim Smith.

"YES," said the professor, frowning, "I receivedFenton's letter this afternoon, just before three. He put thearranged signal in his window early in the morning, a blind drawnunevenly this time, and Mattin sent a boy up to the castle tocollect a pair of boots for mending. The letter came out underthe cork sole of one of the boots, and Mattin bicycled with ithere. Now I'll read it to you."

He read the letter slowly and without comment, and then,leaning back in his chair, regarded his two companionssilently.

"Well, I'm not going to stand it. It's a breach of faith, onSmith's part, and he won't acknowledge yet that he's met hismaster." He worked himself up in his anger, and his eyes blazedfuriously. "I won't have it, I tell you, I won't have it. ThisYankee, this foreigner"—he sneered—"coming here withhis vulgar riches and buying up our old ancestral homes, ourabbeys, and our beauty spots, just as if——" he calmeddown all at once and sighed—"just as if we were the dirtunder his feet or beings of some inferior race."

McAlbane laughed scornfully. "Well, I'm not frightened bythese comedy policemen," he said, "and I don't think much ofthem. They're not likely to succeed where the regulars failed.All this crowd are probably bunglers too."

"No, no," exclaimed the professor instantly, "drop that ideaat once. They're not bunglers, any of these he mentions." Hefrowned uneasily. "Not by any means."

"My oath, no," ejaculated Texworthy fervently. "Not Vallon,for a certainty. I met him when he was after a man in Tunis acouple of years ago, and you couldn't wish for a more dangerousanimal in front of your sights." He scowled at McAlbane. "I'drather meet a charging rhino than Vallon of the Surete ofParis."

In his early forties, the big-game hunter was tall and sinewy,and carried with him an air of strength and self-reliance. Helooked in every way as fearless as any of the beasts that he hadkilled, and, tanned to a deep olive colour, was altogetherdecidedly handsome, except that his lips were too full and hiseyes were rather hard and cruel. He had fine, sensitive hands,with long tapering fingers.

"Well, I'm not frightened," repeated McAlbane carelessly."I've met Naughton Jones and wasn't impressed. As I say, there'sno need for us to get the wind up."

"Certainly not," agreed the professor sharply, "but it's not aquestion of fear at all. It's just a matter of gauging theposition correctly so that we can determine what action we musttake ourselves. We are threatened with danger from a new quarterand we must prepare for it."

"When I'm in the jungle," said Texworthy slowly, "and beastscome near me that I don't want, I just keep still until they'vemoved off." He nodded to the others. "That is reason and commonsense."

"And that's what we must do now," said the professordecisively. "We must not under-rate these men, and for the momentwe must drop everything. We must keep away from everyone who isworking with us and must close down all avenues of communicationwith them, so that it will be impossible for any trails to bepicked up which might lead to us. But, mind you"—and hiseyes glinted angrily—"Smith's not going to get off. He'sgoing to pay for this. He'll have a short respite and that's all.I'm acting on the principles of a lifetime that it's wrong andunsocial to possess such riches as his. I told him so thisafternoon."

Texworthy looked down his nose and smiled. "So you told himso, did you," he asked dryly, "just now?"

"Yes," replied the professor, "but only in connection with hiscars. He has two Rolls-Royces at the castle, besides the carsbelonging to his wife and Eunice and one they use for thehousehold."

"But fancy the little beast refusing to take his fencesagain," said McAlbane with a scowl. "I thought we'd cured himthere once and for all."

"No," commented the professor, shaking his head. "I was surehe was not tamed yet. He was bent but not broken. I've watchedhim chafing all the time." An amused smile came into his face:"But really, the conditions could not be better if we hadarranged them ourselves. We have our friends right in the enemy'scamp." He looked up at the clock. "Monsieur Ravahol may come atany time now, and we shall then have first-hand information abouteverything that's taking place. It was for that reason I riskedtelephoning and warned Fenton not to come out to the sandhills,as he proposed, to-morrow."

"But how are you certain that Ravahol was there last night?"asked McAlbane. "He may not have gone after all."

"Of course he was there," laughed the professor. "Why don'tyou see?—he was the one who wouldn't unmask. He didn't wanteveryone to take stock of him, naturally. He's a very shy birdand that's why they've not been able to get him in the net. He'svery careful and takes no chances, and I only met him because,when in France, I was able to send him some inside informationthat prevented his falling into a trap. As I've told you, I waswith my cousin, the judge, then, and we were the guests of theSurete of Paris. I learn't something and put him wise, and he'sbeen grateful to me ever since."

"Well, I suppose, then, we shall have to let him work with usnow," said Texworthy, thoughtfully. "I don't see how we can getout of it."

"We don't want to," retorted the professor instantly. "Wecouldn't take in a better partner, and he'll be worth every poundhe receives." He looked amused again. "We needn'tworry—we've inexhaustible supplies."

"We're not in any danger," went on Texworthy, after a pause,"as long as we don't lose our heads."

"Of course we're not," exclaimed the professor, confidently,"for now we shall be reaping the benefit of all those long andcareful preparations that we made before we ventured on a singlemove." He raised his hand impressively. "We have done a largepart of the work ourselves, and every man we have employed hasgood reason for keeping out of the way of the police." He rubbedhis hands together. "Yes, my acquaintance with the criminalclasses has been of great value, for we have never taken onanyone whom, from a knowledge of his history, and a knowledge ofhis temperament, I could not thoroughly trust. They arepowerless, too, to conspire together against us, because, withtwo exceptions, they have never been brought in contact with oneanother, and, indeed, are unaware of one another'sexistence."

"What about Fenton?" said McAlbane, sharply. "Remember, he'sthe very keystone of the arch."

"Fenton!" laughed the professor. "Why, his soul's in it, andmoney is nothing to him. He's a zealot, as I'm always tellingyou. He's my disciple, and the strongest passion in him for along time has been his hatred of the rich. He's mixed with Smithand his wealthy crowd for all these years, and he's got agrievance now that's become almost an obsession." He laughedagain. "Why, it's a crusade to him, and he'd suffer martyrdomrather than squeal."

"And how do you know that the Australian there was GilbertLarose?" asked Texworthy, after a moment. "Fenton doesn't mentionhis name in that letter."

"Because," said the professor, "I tried it out here thisafternoon on Ephraim Smith. I showed him some sketches I havemade of various detectives, and when I came to Jones and Vallon,and later to Larose, he had to take a grip of himself, each time.He was too curious, and I could see it."

"But we did wrong in the first instance, as I've insisted allalong," growled the big game hunter. "We ought to have kidnappedSmith right away, and gone for a heavy ransom, and that wouldhave finished the business. This niggling for small amounts runsup the risk every time."

"No, no," said the professor emphatically. "We should haveroused all England, if we had. Besides, there would have beengreat danger to us in the transfer of a large sum of money." Hethumped his fist on the table. "I tell you, our great safety, andthe whole genius of our present procedure, lies in the fact thatwe have never handled a note of a greater value than one pound.They can't trace us there, and we are safe." He leant backcomplacently in his chair. "And we can bring Smith to heel againat once, whenever we want to."

"Well, I vote he has another letter to-morrow," said McAlbane,"and we sting him again. The little devil!—daring to callin this crowd after pretending he'd given in."

But the professor shook his head. "Wait," he said, "until wehear what Ravahol has got to tell us"—his eyes gleamedunder their bushy brows—"and, really, it should be asinteresting a recital as we've ever heard." He raised his handwarningly. "But, mind you, again, we've got to be very carefulnow, for Smith must have no inkling that we know what's going on.Any discovery on his part that we have learnt of last night'smeeting and he will be asking himself where the leakage occurred.Then, even the stone faced Fenton may become suspect, and we mayslip ourselves."

A long silence followed, and Texworthy said quietly:—"Ofcourse, if Fenton and Mattin were to take a holiday anytime"—he spoke slowly as if weighing his words verycarefully—"a long holiday—then none of ourtransactions with Smith could, by any chance, be traced."

The professor flashed a look at him. "It will not benecessary," he said, "but if it were"—he frowned—"Ishould not hesitate a moment. What is one life, or two, when thefurtherance of a great principle is involved?"

"Exactly," remarked Texworthy, looking down his nose again,"and I have never hesitated either on that score myself." Hislips curved to a sneer. "Life does not mean anything to Fenton,as far as I can see. The man's a fool—and dangerous."

"But Mattin is quite different," said the professorthoughtfully, "for life is all joy and happiness with him." Hesmiled and rubbed his hands together again. "Yes, I did well whenI picked him out to help us, for his services have beeninvaluable. He is an artist in everything he does, and has greatcourage and resource, and is as secret as the grave as well. Wecan rely on him always, for he has no scruples whatever."

"He's not," snapped the professor angrily, "as I'm alwaystelling you." He looked disdainfully at the big-game hunter. "Howcan you call a man a nigger when his father was a cavalry officerin the French army—a chef-de-battaillon?"

"And so he looks," cried the professor. "Why anyone can seethere's breeding in him, even if he is dark on account of hismother being a Syrian." He shook his head disgustedly. "You don'tappreciate his capacity enough. Why, there is no man whosefinger-prints the Rue de Jerusalem would be more delighted to gethold of and no man whom the French police would be more delightedto catch. For years they have known of him, and yet—theyhave never seen him, and he is still a veritable shadow of thenight."

"I've always thought that something would have to be doneabout Fenton eventually," he said carelessly. "As you say, Mattinhas his points, but Fenton is half mad, and it's always on thecards that he'll bark out to Smith one day like a man raving on asoap-box in Hyde Park, and then we'll all be in the soup." Helaughed slyly. "But there's another thing that may perhaps upsetour plans, and that is——"—he lookedchallengingly at the others—"I may be marrying the fairEunice before long, and in that case"—he grinned—"youwill all have to cry off, and I'll write you out big chequesinstead."

Texworthy yawned. "But isn't there some impediment to that?"he asked. "Don't you happen to be married now?"

McAlbane looked as if he had just remembered something. "Forthe moment I am," he admitted. He blew a wreath of smoke into theair. "But as I understand that I am going to be served withpapers shortly, the impediment, as you call it, may not exist forlong."

Texworthy's face was almost expressionless. "She'll be a luckygirl," he remarked, and hesitated a moment—"and I'll cometo the wedding with my gun."

"But you haven't a hope, Jimmy," broke in the professorquickly as he saw an ugly frown gathering upon McAlbane's face."I've always noticed that you've no sex-appeal for her. She's aYankee lassie and you're too much of a cave-man to please.Besides"—and he nodded his head slowly—"if I'm anyjudge of evidences and the case goes to a verdict, the prettyjury will decide for Dr. Ronny Grain without leaving the box.Anyone can see that."

"Poof!" sneered McAlbane contemptuously. "Papa Smith would nothave him at any price. It was the girl herself who forced thatinvitation for him just now."

"Exactly," was the professor's comment, "and don't you knowthat when a woman is in love she has neither shame nor fear? Awoman then"—his eyes fell suddenly upon the clock and heshook his head irritably—"but confound you and your loveaffairs. Why on earth doesn't Ravahol come? From all I know ofhim, he's to be depended upon in every way, and my injunction tohim was that he should call here at once." He touched the bell."Well, we'll have something to drink whilst we are waiting."

That night, at 8 o'clock exactly, Ephraim Smith was sitting inthe hall of Bodham Castle when the telephone bell rang and,entering the cabinet, he closed the door behind him and picked upthe receiver.

"Well," went on the voice, "in exactly twenty minutes be bythe fence near those two big elms beyond the rose garden. I wantto speak to you. Take a stroll there and wait until I come. Walkclose to the fence. You understand?"

Twenty minutes later, and about a quarter of a mile from thecastle, Ephraim Smith was leaning nonchalantly against a big elmtree when he heard a voice behind him on the other side of thefence surrounding the castle grounds.

"Don't turn round, don't move, remain exactly where you are,"said the voice, "and when you speak bend your head down and don'tmove your lips. Someone may be watching you from a distance withstrong glasses. Understand?"

"No names, please," came the voice again, "and now listencarefully to everything I am going to say. I want to place anassistant of mine in the castle as your guest. Have you got it?Well that guest is going to be a friend of some friend of yoursin New York, and he will have met your New York friend inAustralia. Now who among your friends in New York is likely tohave recently made a voyage to Australia? Now think—don'thurry, for the probability must be plausible enough to deceiveboth your family and your domestics. What name? Say it again.Silas John Willard. Have I got it? Well, write a dossier aboutthis Silas John Willard, all the particulars about him that youcan remember, and have it ready to give to my assistant directlyhe arrives. Got that? Yes, all particulars to make it appearfeasible that this guest and Silas John Willard have reallymet.

"Well, this man will phone up to-morrow from Norwich exactlyat 2 p.m., and will tell you that he has been asked to call onyou upon his arrival in England. He will give his names as DavidTasker and will say that his father has a sheep station in SouthAustralia. You will then immediately insist that he come to stayat the castle, and not a soul, not even your wife or daughter, isto know his identity. Got that—understand all right? Well,you're to take this man out and show him to all your friendsabout here. Entertain while he's with you, and don't be afraid ifhe's willing to play high at cards. He can take care of himself.Oh! you've got a dinner party arranged already for Friday, haveyou? Capital!

"Now, one thing more. Never in public or in private, neverwhen in company nor when with him are you to imply by word oraction that this man is otherwise than he describes himself.Understand? You are to act always as if everything is quite bonafide. If the man himself wants to speak to you privately, he willdo so, but you will then only answer questions, and never, never,never refer to me. My name would be like another bomb, in yourhome. Now, have you any questions to ask? Oh! yes, we all gotthere all right. No, we haven't seen any more of our foreignfriend. Yes, we are all quite happy together, and the gaygentleman from Paris is teaching the professor some new game ofcards. I fancy, however, the professor is not doing too well atit, for when I left a few minutes ago he was about thirtyshillings down. Oh! and another thing. Have a plan of the castleready for my friend, with the rooms marked where everybodysleeps. Yes, that's all. I don't know when I shall be ringing youagain. It may be to-morrow, and yet it may not be for a few days.Good-night, and now walk very slowly back."

Half an hour later Naughton Jones and Larose were promenadingtogether on the moonlit sands near Weybourne Hall.

"And, above all things," said Larose earnestly, "he must notknow that it is I. The whole success of everything depends upondeceiving Smith as well as the others." He spoke mostrespectfully to the elder man. "If you are right, as I feelcertain that you are, that the butler is in league with theenemy, then we must give him no chance of noticing anythingdifferent in his master's demeanour. Old Smith may have thetypical poker face and be able to hide his feelings successfullyfrom outsiders, but it is against all reason to imagine that hecould keep so great a secret from a man who has been in dailyintimacy with him for over twenty years. I mean that if Smithknew that it was really I who was his guest, then I am sure itwould be impossible for him so to conduct himself towards me thathis butler would not see there was some bond between us." Larosespoke very solemnly. "And remember, that butler of his will be ina very suspicious mood. If he's what we think he is, he will beon the alert now about everything."

"But Smith will be interested in you in any case," remarkedNaughton Jones, frowning, "for even if he will not be aware whoyou are, he will know you have been planted in the castle forpurposes of espionage. So he will naturally be mostinterested."

"Exactly," exclaimed Larose, "interested—and he willshow it. He will be curious about me and the butler will see it.Fenton will not think then we are allies."

"But can you carry it through?" he asked. "Won't they, in suchclose association with you, see that you are disguised?"

Larose shook his head. "No, Smith will not recognise me," hesaid, "for I shall look quite different to last night and I shallbe less made up to-morrow than now." He laughed lightly. "Youhave not yet seen my face in natural repose, Mr. Jones, notexactly, for as friend Vallon would say, the good God has givenme features that lend themselves to many changes, and all thetime I have been in England I have been in some respects made up.I reserve the face that my mother gave me for times of crisis andthis—" he hesitated a moment—"is, I think, one. Ishall be under observation every day. I shall be near to Smith'sbutler, hour by hour. I shall be among Smith's friends, and if wemistake not"—he was grave again—"the enemy will beclose at hand."

"But, why," asked Naughton Jones, after a moment, "are youchoosing to pass yourself off as an Australian when it is almostcertain that the butler heard you last night talking about theTest matches in Sydney?"

"Because that is the only country I know," answered Larose atonce, "and I don't want to be caught out by any chancequestioning. I have been in England such a short time that Imight make some bad mistake if I tried to pass as one of you.Smith said to-night that he was giving a dinner party on Friday,and who knows who may not be there? Besides, it will not bethought unusual if as an Australian I sleep out of doors. I shallarrange that with Smith, and so at night, if need be, I can comeover and talk to you here."

Two other promenaders appeared upon the sands, and,approaching Larose and Naughton Jones, stopped to speak.

"A lovely evening, gentlemen," said the taller of the two."Dr. Crittenden and I were just remarking how peaceful andrestful everything was, and then up come you two and spoil thewhole effect."

"Peaceful and restful only on the surface, perhaps, my lord,"replied Jones stiffly. "For it was on just such a sea shore asthis, and not very far from here either, that that poor woman wasstrangled near Yarmouth ten years ago. I sat on the very spot inthe moonlight only two nights afterwards, and everything was sobeautiful you would have sworn the place was a veritablesanctuary of God."

"Really, Mr. Jones, you are quite poetical," laughed LordHume, "and do you, too, Mr. Larose, sense possibilities for evilon these sands?"

"I do," laughed Larose, "for sand is an excellent medium forthe disposal of a body. A grave could be very speedily dughere."

"Ah, well," said Lord Hume, with mock earnestness, "then ifMonsieur Vallon does not reappear to-morrow I shall begin tosuspect you. I noticed at dinner to-night that you were holdingyour knife as if you had a blister on your hand—the kindyou might have got from digging here."

Larose smiled inscrutably, "Well, I didn't take into account aform like that of Monsieur Vallon," he replied. "Fifteen stonewould take a good deal of putting away."

They walked slowly back along the sands together, and, turninginland, were joined by Raphael Croupin and ProfessorMariarty.

The conversion broke into varying streams, and in a fewminutes they had reached the Hall.

They mounted the steps below the entrance in silence, and thenCroupin exclaimed suddenly.

"Oh! One moment, please. I want to ask you something, if Imay, Mr. Jones. Professor Mariarty and I have been having anargument and we cannot settle it." He looked round at the othersand grinned.

Jones regarded the lively Frenchman with distaste. "Just sucha question as might have been expected from you, Mr. Croupin," hereplied coldly, "but I have no intention of answering it," andthe great detective turned upon his heel and entered thehouse.

CHAPTER VII.
The Beginning of the Trail.

NEXT morning at Bodham Castle, just before 9o'clock, the Smith family and Sybil James were at breakfast whenthe telephone bell rang, and in a few moments the butlerappeared.

"A gentleman to speak to you on the telephone, sir," he said,addressing Ephraim Smith. "Name of Wenn."

"Wenn! Wenn!" ejaculated his master. "I don't know him." Hefrowned crossly. "Ask him what he wants."

"He says the matter is important, sir. He is speaking fromNorwich and is very sorry to be ringing up so early."

Ephraim Smith hesitated a moment and then, with a gesture ofannoyance, rose from his chair and left the room. Reaching thetelephone cabinet he picked up the receiver and rapped outcurtly. "Ephraim Smith speaking. Well?"

"I'm D. T. Wenn," came a voice very distinctly. "David TaskerWenn and I'm a friend of a friend of yours, Mr. Silas Willard. Imet Mr. Willard in South Australia a few months ago and hesuggested I should call and see you when I came to England. May Imotor over today? I'm staying at the Grand Hotel, inNorwich."

Ephraim's heart gave a bound and turning his head, he saw thatthe cabinet door was wide open. He trembled a little but thenspoke loudly and with great interest.

And then ensued two minutes of animated conversation, withEphraim Smith concluding heartily, "Well, come along at once. Iinsist. And stay as long as you can. We shall be delighted tohave you."

"Clever—very," he muttered, "to change both the time andthe name. He surprised me right enough, and there was nonecessity for pretence on my part. Also, he saved me anyunpleasant feelings—nervousness I suppose they would callit—while waiting for the agreed time of 2 o'clock."

He went back into the breakfast room and told them the news.Eunice and her friend were mildly interested, while Mrs. Smith, agentle, sweet-faced woman, was very pleased.

"It will be so interesting to hear about Australia," she said,"and the drought and floods they have there."

Mr. Wenn duly came upon the scene before lunch, and old Smithblinked his eyes as they shook hands.

The Australian was very young, only just out of his teens, itseemed. He had a pleasant open face, with gentle smiling eyes. Heheld himself a little awkwardly and although his clothes were ofgood quality it needed no close observation to see that they wereready-made.

At first Eunice and her friend Sybil were rather inclined tolaugh at him, but long before the meal was over the charm of hismanner had ingratiated him with them all, and they were listeningwith great interest. He was certainly most intelligent and hisremarks about England and the people he had met were so naive andhumorous that even Ephraim Smith, much to Mrs. Smith's delight,was soon laughing as heartily as the others.

"He'll do you good, Ephraim," she exclaimed happily when laterthey were alone in the lounge. "You want somebody to take you outof yourself and he'll be quite a tonic for you. But he's such aninnocent-looking young man, isn't he?" and her husbandimmediately laughed more than ever.

In the afternoon the curate of the village arrived and twohours of strenuous tennis ensued. Here again it was soon provedthat Mr. Wenn, notwithstanding his gentle appearance, was nofool—indeed he was undoubtedly the best player there. Bydinner time his shyness had entirely disappeared, he played anexcellent hand at bridge afterwards, and when finally, long aftereleven, he went up to his room, it was agreed by all the Smithfamily that never had they entertained a more interestingguest.

But the moment he closed his bedroom door the amiable Mr. Wennbecame a very different man. The smile left his face and his eyesbecame hard and thoughtful. He was quickly in bed, and, lying onhis back, stared into the darkness.

"Now in what way have I profited today?" he asked himself."What have I found out? Now let me think of them, one byone—the four characters in this poignant little drama here.Smith himself a man with a halter about his neck, a halter themore galling because of his natural pride and independence. Henever knows what new demands may be sprung upon him by thisunknown racketeer, and his nerves are at breaking point. Then,Mrs. Smith—a woman with a shadow over her life. A gentlecharacter who sighs and trembles because in the profoundintimacies of the married state she is aware of all her husbandis suffering. Then, the daughter—a shadow over her too,less pressing, however, because of the resilience of her age." Hefrowned. "Now, I wonder if she's got a sweetheart. She has asecret, I am sure, for she is preoccupied at times and her facethen is surely that of a woman in love. Yes, she is probably inlove, for Nature will have its way and at twenty-two what elseshould a young girl think of but love? Then the fourth character,the butler—what of him?"

Larose blinked his eyes and for a long while gave free rein tohis thoughts. "Now what exactly are my impressions of this man?"he asked himself. "I have been in his orbit nearly one round ofthe clock and surely some ideas must have come to me in thattime." He blinked harder than ever. "A perfect servant, unfailingand machine-like in his duties. An automaton. Eunice says that heis quite without vices. He doesn't drink; he doesn't smoke, andthe other sex has no attraction for him. Now what then does hethink about when he's off duty—and is it humanlypossible—after his long association with them, that he canaccept every evil happening to the Smiths without interest orcuriosity? He has been aware all along of the misfortunes thathave been descending upon Ephraim, he has been a spectator ofmany of them, and he has been in actual contact with theemissaries of the man who is harrying his master.

"Fenton is a person of intelligence—his physiognomyshows that—and I would have sworn that his eyes, if theywere not so fixed, were those of a thinker and dreamer. What doeshe remind me of? I can't think. What does he hide under theexpressionless mask of that cold face? I don't know. Onething—even if I were not prejudiced already against him, Ishould say that in his attitude towards his master there isdistinct coldness, perhaps hostility. I have noticed it not oncebut two or three times, and when he was serving the coffee to usto-night he bent over all the others but stiffened perceptiblywhen he came to Smith.

"Well"—and he turned upon his side—"to-morrow Iwill get in closer touch with him. I will talk to him and I willget into his room somehow."

The next morning after breakfast Eunice announced that she andher friend were going into Cromer to do some shopping, and sheinvited Larose to come with her, too.

"And I'll take you for a short run along the coastafterwards," she added when her guest had smilingly accepted,"and show you some pretty scenery before lunch."

So off Larose went with the two girls, and, Cromer beingreached, the car was parked, and it was suggested that he shouldamuse himself for half an hour, with the strict injunction,however, that he should return to the minute when the time wasup.

Larose wandered idly about the town, and, with the half-hournearly expired, he was returning to the rendezvous with the girlswhen, passing a tobacconist's, and happening to glance inside, hesaw to his amazement Naughton Jones there. He was standing at theend of the counter near the window and critically regarding alarge assortment of pipes spread out before him.

Larose's first thought was to move off quickly, but then anidea came to him suddenly, and he smiled.

So he pushed open the shop door, and, lining up beside Jones,asked in a high-pitched voice, and with a slight lisp, forAlgerian cigarettes.

The wizard of Dover-street looked up carelessly, but hisglance was a very fleeting one, and he at once resumed hiscontemplation of the pipes. Larose was served with the cigaretteshe wanted, and left the shop without attracting any furtherattention.

"Good," grinned the Australian. "He didn't know me, and I'llpull his leg when next I see him." He frowned rather disgustedly."But what's he wasting his time here for when he should betracking that stone-breaker at the cottage?"

The girls were waiting for him when he got back to the car,and Eunice rewarded him with a pretty frown.

"You're late, Mr. Wenn," she said with mock severity, "justone minute—and I think we ought to fine you two icecreams."

"A dozen if you can eat them," laughed Larose, and he led theminto a cafe near by.

Larose frowned. "Good heavens! yes," he replied, and thenbroke into a laugh himself. "Why, bless your heart, we can geteverything in Australia except the beautiful complexions of youEnglish girls!" He spread out his hands. "Caviare from theDanube, pate de foie gras from France, cheeses from Switzerland,Paris frocks, chewing gum from America, refrigeratorsfrom——"

"Oh! spare us, please, Mr. Wenn," smiled Eunice. "We feelquite crushed." She bowed apologetically. "You see, here inEngland we know so little of Australia."

"Well, I'll enlighten you both a lot in the next few days,"Larose laughed, "and I'm sure,"—he bowed—"I could nothave a more charming audience."

They left the cafe and climbed into the car again. Eunicedrove along the coast road, pointing out the interesting placesas they went along.

"Now, you see that long, low house?" she asked presently,indicating a building close by the shore, about half a mileahead. "Well a very celebrated man lives there. The greatProfessor Ingleby."

"Never heard of him!" echoed Eunice, pretending to lookshocked. "Why, it's as bad as Sybil asking if you could get icein Australia." She went on severely, "Well he's a great man,although you have never heard of him, and it happens that you'llsee him to-night. He's coming with some other friends todinner."

Larose's interest quickened at once. "Oh, he is, is he?" heexclaimed, "and what is he celebrated for?"

"He's a great sociologist," replied Eunice, "the greatestwriter on social problems we have now, and he's a very wise manabout everything else, too. He studiescriminology——"

"A lot," replied the girl, "for his cousin is a judge, and heis always present at the great trials. He knows all the greatcriminals and the star detectives by sight, and has sketched manyof them in court."

"Oh!" exclaimed Larose, and there was an uneasy feeling in hischest, "then he must be a very interesting man."

"Yes," went on Eunice, "he is, and we had tea with him the daybefore yesterday, father, Sybil, and I." She turned to herfriend. "And he thrilled us pretty badly, didn't he, Sybil?"

"Yes," replied Sybil, "he gave me the creeps." She made a faceat Larose. "He showed us sketches of men who'd done murders,who'd poisoned people and of a woman who'd cut her husband'sthroat. Horrible-looking, all of them."

Eunice laughed. "And the sketches of the detectives," shesaid, "were almost as bad. Hard-looking, all of them, exceptthose who looked fools."

"Oh, lots," replied Eunice; "but I remember in particularNaughton Jones, Vallon of Paris, and Gilbert Larose. Jones lookedlike a poisoner himself, Vallon a man who kept a public house,and Larose like nothing in particular—just a simpleton."She laughed apologetically, "Oh! beg your pardon—of course,Larose is compatriot of yours. Have you ever heard of him?"

Larose regarded her with pained surprise. "Of course I'veheard of him," he replied indignantly. "Why, he's the greatestdetective in the Commonwealth"—he coughed—"although,of course, he doesn't come up to any of yours."

"No, of course not," agreed Eunice. She accelerated as theyapproached Professor Ingleby's house. "We'll dash by here, for ifthe professor sees us he'll want us to stop, and we haven't time.I hope we shan't find him outside."

But Eunice Smith need not have worried, for the professor wasat that very moment speaking on the 'phone to Fenton. No news hadcome to hand of Ravahol and, becoming anxious, he had rung up thecastle, with the excuse of finding out if dinner that night wouldbe at the usual hour, seven o'clock, but in reality to tellFenton to meet him among the sandhills that afternoon. Theprofessor did not mention sandhills or refer to any meeting. Hejust added that Fenton could call in for the glove in theafternoon if he were passing, lest he, the professor, shouldforget it.

Eunice drove a few miles farther along the coast, and then sheremarked: "Well, we shall be turning inland almost immediatelynow, so you'd better take your last look at the sea. Isn't itlovely on a day like this?"

She brought the car to a standstill, and then in silence theycontemplated the stretch of ocean before them.

But the thoughts of two of them were certainly not upon thewater. Larose was thinking about the activities of the greatProfessor Ingleby. Eunice was thinking—well, the thoughtsof Eunice were far away, but they were evidently not unpleasantones, for her face was half smiling and half tender. Only SybilJames had any real interest in the beauty of the sea.

Suddenly Eunice awoke from her reveries, and, looking acrossthe marshes, pointed to another house.

"Now, look, Mr. Wenn," she exclaimed, "that's also the home ofa celebrity—that big house standing right away by itself inthe curve of the bay. Well, Mr. Texworthy, the great hunter,lives there." She screwed up her face in pretended scorn. "Everheard of him?"

"Yes," replied Larose, searching his memory hard. "I've heardof him. I remember something. Now, let me see." His facebrightened. "Oh, isn't he the man who was going to be received byRoyalty—and then it didn't come off? Didn't something comeout about his being mixed up with the slave trade in the Red Sea,as well as hunting elephants and lions?"

"I don't know," Eunice replied slowly and with her mannerstiffening just a little. "He plays golf sometimes with father,and comes up to the castle too."

"Oh! I am not quite sure," went on Larose hurriedly. "I mayhave confused him with someone else." He pretended to lookjealous. "Is he a friend of yours?"

"Not exactly," replied Eunice, "but he's an acquaintance." Shesmiled dryly, "You'll be meeting him, for he's coming to dinnerto-night."

"Oh!" exclaimed Larose, ruefully. "Then I've put my foot init, I see. I'm so sorry I mentioned it. As they say, I may bequite wrong."

"But you may be quite right," said the girl, thoughtfully. "Helooks like a man who would be afraid of nothing, and I shouldthink he'd be rather cruel. He's handsome, though, in a way."

"Nothing," replied Eunice. "He's resting between hisexpeditions, and appears to have plenty of money. He golfs andshoots, and fishes, and he's a great friend of ProfessorIngleby's."

Larose's interest became intensified at once. "Is that so?" hesaid, thoughtfully. "And is he married?"

"Don't think so," replied Eunice, and she turned and laughedto Sybil James. "Now, Sybil, there's a chance for you. Set yourcap at him to-night. You'll have to be quick, if you're goinghome on Friday."

But there was no enthusiasm in Sybil's intellectual face, andshe tilted her nose disdainfully.

"I don't like his house, dear," she replied. "It would be toobig and draughty for me."

"Oh, but it isn't draughty," exclaimed Eunice, instantly."It's in good condition, although so big! It is built on the siteof an old Danish camp, and they say it was used by smugglersonce. There are tremendous cellars underneath."

"An elderly woman," replied Eunice; "but I've never seen her."She looked at her watch. "But we must be off now. Lunch is atone, and father's a demon for punctuality."

CHAPTER VIII.
Guests at Bodham Castle.

LAROSE changed into his dinner clothes thatnight in a well-contented frame of mind. His second day at thecastle had been by no means uneventful, for, although he had beenunable to study Fenton at close quarters, he had gleaned somefurther information about him.

It had started to rain after lunch, and, tennis beingimpossible, he had taken on the two girls at snooker. Then fromthe billiard-room window he had seen the butler, closelymackintoshed, going down the drive. He had remarked upon theirservant's hardihood to Eunice, and she had mentioned that walkingwas the only recreation Fenton ever indulged in. Almost everyafternoon the butler went for a long walk, generally, shebelieved, in the direction of the sea.

Later they had gone into the library, and upon Larose adroitlyswitching the conversation upon Professor Ingleby he had beenshown a row of the latter's books making quite a good show uponone of the shelves. 'The Principles of Sociology' was one of thetitles, and 'The Ideals of Communism' another. He had thenremarked that from the appearance of the pages both had been wellperused, whereupon Eunice had laughingly replied that probablyonly Fenton had read them. The butler was allowed access to thelibrary, she said, and as on one occasion he had been loaned fora month to the professor, when the Smith family were in Paris, hehad probably fallen a victim to the great man's personality andhad thus become interested in his writings.

Then, Ephraim Smith coming into the library, Larose hadabruptly changed the conversation, for, above all things, he wasdetermined that the master of the castle should not know that hehad suspicions of his lifelong servitor. He was the more decidedupon that because of the peculiar attitude the millionaire hadadopted towards his guest since the morning. They had had no wordtogether in private, and it was obvious to the physchologicallyminded Larose that his host was unsettled and annoyed. His proudspirit seemed to be chafing under the secrecy that had beenimposed upon him, and he had vented his irritability upon hisfamily.

Larose smiled whimsically to himself in the mirror as he madethe final adjustments to his tie.

"Now, Gilbert, my boy," he said, "you ought to be quite happy.You're going to meet some of Smith's friends, you're going todance with his charming daughter, and you're going to have a gooddinner." His face grew serious. "But 'ware of that professor,Gilbert, and watch your steps carefully, for he'll be an awkwardcustomer if he starts asking questions and you're not ready toanswer them."

It was a party of thirteen that gathered just before seven inthe great drawing-room of the castle, and never surely werecircumstances more propitious for the passing of a pleasantevening.

The surroundings spoke of comfort and great luxury. The finelywrought furniture, the rich tapestries, the pictures, the paintedceiling with its wonderful blue clouds, the lights around thewalls set like jewels in an emperor's crown—all blended ina harmony of beauty and distinction. And then the peoplethemselves; Ephraim Smith, a man of power and great achievement,a very prince among the aristocracy of wealth; and his wife, asweet and gentle woman—his daughter, pretty enough to leadastray a saint, and her friend the personification of wholesomeEnglish girlhood. Then the great Professor Ingleby, with thewisdom of the world behind his smiling face; the Honourable JamesMcAlbane, with the stamp of breed and birth about him, and thedashing descendant of a long line of Scottish kings; the renownedbig-game hunter, calm and soldierly, with the intrepid bearing ofhis kind, Dr. Ronald Grain, the perfect type of an Englishgentleman, with his clearcut profile and honest eyes; CanonBrown-Hatton, important and imperious as became a dignitary ofthe Established Church—with his plump wife and two plumperdaughters, who every moment regarded him with the awe andreverence that the Cloth should surely always inspire—and,finally, the boyish-looking D. T. Wenn, so smiling and happylooking, although so many thousand miles distant from hishome.

Unbeknown to her guests, however, Mrs. Smith was verydisturbed, for at the last moment a 'phone message had arrivedfrom an invited guest, the fourteenth, cancelling his engagement,and she was fearful lest it should be noticed that there werethirteen diners at table. Her husband had pooh-poohed the wholematter as sheer superstitious nonsense, but he had frowned,nevertheless, mindful of what the effect might be upon some ofthose present.

The professor gave Larose a quick glance when they wereintroduced, and the detective noticed that both the big-gamehunter and the Honourable James also favoured him with a sharplook.

"Hullo," he thought, "but they all acted in the same manner. Aquick 'once, over,' and then they turned their eyes away. It'sfunny—just as if they had been talking about me. I hope togoodness now that old Ingleby doesn't recognise anything familiarin me, but still a man who sketches faces is always dangerous,and I must not be caught unprepared."

Just when the chimes were sounding seven and it seemed, asMrs. Smith rose, that dinner was about to be announced, anunexpected incident occurred.

Ephraim Smith looked puzzled, and, putting on his glasses,intently examined the card. Then he said something in a low toneto his wife, and instantly left the room. He returned, however,very shortly, and was then accompanied by a slim and elegant-looking man with a huge monocle.

The new arrival was obviously a foreigner, and a Frenchman atthat, for, in immaculate evening dress, he wore the sash of theLegion of Honor. He had a beautiful head of hair, finely archedeyebrows, and a big moustache with the long ends waxed. There wasa long, vivid, scar across his right temple, and as he advanced,twirling the end of his moustache, it could be seen that twojoints of his left forefinger were missing.

"My dear," said Ephraim Smith, addressing his wife with aninscrutable expression on his face, "this is Monsieur le Comte deSurenne, a friend of our mutual friend, Monsieur Henriot ofChantilly." He added in explanation—"His car broke downclose by the castle, and he called in to use the telephone. Buthe has already missed his engagement in Norwich, and I havepersuaded him to dine with us." He turned round to the companygenerally. "We are fortunate"—he smiled—"forotherwise—I may mention it now—we should have satdown at table—thirteen."

The Count, bowing almost to the level of his waist, and takingthe proffered hand of Mrs. Smith, apologised in a rich voice andexcellent English for so unceremoniously thrusting himself uponher hospitality. He was then introduced to the other guests, andthey all went in to dinner.

Larose had been allotted to one of the canon's daughters, andfacing him were Eunice and the Honourable James McAlbane. On theopposite side also, and at each end of the row, were theprofessor and the Count de Surenne.

A short silence followed as they settled themselves in theirchairs, and then conversation began.

It was a perfect dinner. The castle chef was a master, and thewines were the best that money and good choice could provide. Thecanon's daughter was vivacious, and Larose soon began to enjoyhimself. He kept his mind on business, however, and with his eyesand ears on the alert, took care that he should miss nothing thatwas happening. Unobtrusively he studied the others aroundhim.

He was prejudiced against Texworthy at once, for the latterate everything very quickly, and gulped down the rare wine as ifthey were water.

"A callous man," ran the detective's thoughts, "and with poorappreciation of good things. Yes, he's the slave trader rightenough, and would be cruel, too, if he were pushed. And he's afriend of the Honourable James, is he? Well, I don't like James,either. He has a brazen, insolent look and is more interested inEunice's neck and shoulders than he decently should let anyonesee. But Eunice is not flattered and if I mistake not she's sentdown one or two smiles to that young doctor chap whom old Smithdoesn't appear to like overmuch. At any rate, Ephraim was not tocordial to the boy in the drawing-room just now. He seemed quitedistant then."

He let his thoughts run on. "The professor's clever—veryclever, but I can't quite place him yet. His manner's notentirely natural, and I'd swear he was sneering covertly whenanswering Smith just now." He shook his head. "No, I can't placehim for the moment, but wait until I've talked to him a bit. Hekeeps on looking my way and, for that matter so do the hunter manand the Honourable James."

He glanced down the table. "Now that Frenchman is distinctlyinteresting and yet I don't exactly know why. He is veryobservant and is taking us all in. He's cocked his eyes severaltimes on me and he's been staring a lot at Mrs. Smith's pearls.Also, he's noticed Texworthy's big diamond stud and has pricedEunice's dress down to the last penny; but he's not a bitinterested in old Smith, which is peculiar, considering thatthey've met for the first time to-night. Well, he doesn't looknearly as haughty as he did a few minutes ago. The champagne'sbeginning to liven him up and we shall soon see the realman."

And certainly, it seemed, the rich wine had in part brokendown the Count's reserve, for he was now vivaciously discussingthe aristocracy of France with the gratified good lady of theCanon.

"But of course," Larose heard him say, "we are no longerallowed to use our titles in my beloved country. I am just plainMonsieur Surenne over there, and I have only my castle inBrittany and my chateau on the Loire to remind me of my family'sformer greatness. Still——"

"My dear Canon," laughed the great man, "am I not alwaystelling you that you reverend gentlemen must remodel all yourviews of life and bring yourselves more in accord with modernideas? The pew is always a generation in advance of the pulpit."He raised his finger reprovingly. "Now you have just said thatyour worthy bishop would not harm a fly and you could not havegiven him a worse character." He pretended to bristle up inindignation. "Why, the man who will not harm a fly, in the lightof our present day knowledge, is a most dangerous character. Heis a menace to the community and an enemy of the human race. Heis a monster of iniquity. Why, flies are the scourge of allanimal beings! They carry pestilence and disease,they——" he caught Larose's eye, and instantly he shothis hand out; "but ask Mr. Wenn there. He is a sheep man fromAustralia, I understand, and he can tell you of the untold agonythat flies have caused to millions and millions of innocent andharmless sheep." He was at once all smiles again. "Now, is thatnot so, Mr. Wenn?"

"Certainly," replied Larose, who was not too pleased to bebrought into the limelight so suddenly, "the blowflies are theworst enemies we have."

The professor thereupon at once dismissed the Rev. CanonBrown-Hatton from his mind as if that gentleman did notexist.

"Now I'm very interested in sheep, Mr. Wenn," he smiled, "andI always think that anyone who has a big flock of sheep is on avery good wicket indeed." He laughed. "All you have to do is tolet your sheep browse away while you sit still and see your moneygrow."

Larose shook his head and laughed back. "Oh! it isn't likethat, sir," he replied. "The life of a sheepman is a very hardone, and from dawn to dusk he is out and about doingsomething."

"But tell me," went on the professor, and he eyed thedetective very intently, "what is the average amount of wool thatyou get off a sheep in a year?"

"About 14lb. from good stud ewes," replied Larose; "but less,of course, from the inferior breeds of sheep."

"And I suppose," asked the professor most politely, "you go onshearing the sheep year after year until finally they drop downand die?"

Larose felt himself getting rather hot. "Confound," ran histhoughts. "Now, if he asks me any questions like this, I shall beout of my depth." He answered readily enough, however. "Oh, no!At five years a ewe has about outlived her usefulness as a woolproducer."

"Not particularly then for wool," replied Larose; "but she canrear good lambs for a couple more years or so, and then we fattenher up for the table."

"I see, I see," said the professor; and his eyes were likegimlets, boring the detective through and through. "Well, anotherquestion, if I may. Do you——"

"Professor Ingleby," she exclaimed, in mock reproof, "nowplease don't talk any more about sheep. You're taking all thetaste for me out of this saddle of mutton. Besides"—and sheshook her finger at him—"you should be aware of thesethings already, for everyone says you know as much about sheepbreeding as any farmer round here."

The professor bowed deferentially. "My dear Miss Eunice," hesmiled, "I stand corrected and will curb my insatiable desire forknowledge until we have left the table." He made a humorous faceat Larose. "I'll talk again to Mr. Wenn later."

Larose grinned to himself. "Now, it's lucky I happened to readthat article about sheep the other day," he thought, "or I shouldhave looked a perfect fool." A sudden suspicion leapt into hismind, "But those were shrewd questions he asked me, and hecouldn't have asked better ones if he had been testing me out."He frowned. "And Eunice's opinion is that they were quiteunnecessary, as he was certain to know the answers already. Now Iwonder——"

But the voice of the Count de Surenne was rising loudly abovethose of all the other diners.

"But, Monsieur Doctor," he exclaimed, excitedly, to RonaldGrain, "champagne may, as you say, have saved hundreds ofthousands of sick people, but, nevertheless, to the connoisseurit is not the king of wines. It does not bring home to usconvincingly the supreme majesty of the grape over all the fruitsof the earth given us by the good God. Only a still wine can dothat, and among the still wines only Burgundy. Burgundy,therefore, is the king of wines." He laughed loudly. "Burgundyfor kings, champagne for duchesses, and port for common people,"and he waved his arms round for the approval of the companygenerally.

Larose sat up with a start. What chord of memory was stirredin him by the tones of that compelling voice, and where, before,had he seen those graceful arms? He stared hard at the count,observing intently every feature of his face. Then sudden lightcame.

Raphael Croupin! No scion of the French nobility—nocount with castle and chateau! Only the debonair thief of Paris,Raphael Croupin!

The Australian's heart warmed in professional admiration. Therascal's make-up was the work of a consummate artist—soperfect that, had not his suspicion been accidentally aroused,Larose was sure he would never have seen through it. But therecould be no doubting now, and the longer he looked at thesupposed count, the more he was reminded of the lively Croupin ofa few nights back. Well then, did Smith himself know? Was he inthe secret or was he being bluffed as well? Itlooked——.

But the Frenchman was concluding his little dissertation uponthe wines of his country.

"White wines!" he exclaimed scoffingly. "Bah! white wines aretreacherous and they're like a beautiful woman without a soul.Red is our blood and blood-red for all time has been the colourof the great wines of the world."

"But I don't agree with you, Monsieur le Comte," he said,smiling, "and with some considerable knowledge of the choicestwines of your country I yet give the crowning glory to a stillwhite wine. Now, I have just received a new consignment of winesfrom my agent in Paris, and if you will sometime do me the honourof calling at my poor place—I live only four miles fromhere—you shall taste a wine of the century and one thatwill cause you to think very differently about the merits of yourburgundy." He lowered his voice in reverence. "I will give you awonderful glass of Barsac and you will be surprised. If youtaste——."

But Larose heard no more, for the throbbing of his arteriesmomentarily dulled his senses, and his breathing ceased as a waveof amazement surged through him. He kept himself steady with aneffort, and cast down his eyes.

"I will give you a wonderful glass of Barsac and you will besurprised!"—the very words that he had read in the lettertaken from the dead body of Ravahol, the assassin!

Was it possible that Professor Ingleby himself could be thewriter of that letter! Was it credible that none other thanhe—the great sociologist—was the mysteriouscorrespondent of that wretch whose body now lay rotting underthose drifts of withered leaves?

It was inconceivable—yet it must be true, and in what anextraordinary light then it placed the professor!

Professor Ingleby had been aware of Ravahol's proposed visitto the Castle and he had commented in his letter that he also hada special interest in Smith. He had urged Ravahol to come and seehim immediately afterwards, but had enjoined great secrecy, andthe Frenchman was to make certain after leaving Bodham Castlethat he was not being followed.

Then what did it all mean—this sinister understandingbetween Professor Ingleby and the worker in the underworld? Whatcould the letter imply except that the professor had been ofopinion that, when he and Ravahol met, they would find commoninterests in Ephraim Smith? And in the light of this insistentneed for secrecy was it likely that these interests would befriendly towards the millionaire? No, no—on the face of itthey would be unfriendly, and the professor therefore wasconspiring in some way against Smith.

There was no denying the force of this reasoning and,impossible though it seemed, Professor Ingleby might well be inalliance with the gangsters, if he were not actually himself themoving spirit in their organisation. Indeed, everything pointedto the latter supposition, because he was undoubtedly a man ofmasterly disposition and, in frequent touch with Ephraim Smith,he would be aware of all the millionaire's movements and in thevery position to know when and where to strike. And formotive—well, was not the whole bent of his mind, asevidenced by his writings, inimical to the possession of greatwealth?

And then that butler, the man who was now actually cominground with the port—if he had been won over to theprofessor's opinions, as Eunice Smith had suggested, thenprobably he had been hand in glove with the gang all along. Hewas keeping them constantly informed of all that happened in thecastle, they would be aware of that midnight meeting, and theymight even have the names of some of those present.

Good Heavens!—and when the professor had been exhibitinghis sketches to Ephraim Smith and the girls, he had drawnparticular attention to those of Naughton Jones, Vallonand—Gilbert Larose!

Larose drew in a deep breath and calmed himself by a greateffort of will. The situation was disclosing itself as sodangerous that the utmost coolness and resource would benecessary to cope with it.

The reason for those searching questions about sheep was nowself-evident, for the professor was undoubtedly suspicious of theidentity of Mr. Wenn, the Australian. But, if he was suspicioushe was not certain, and in a state of uncertainty he mustremain.

The detective sipped his port appreciatively, and, looking upafter a few moments, became aware that the professor was eyeinghim with the demeanour of one who was very puzzled.

"Forgive me staring," said the great man, and he spoke soimpressively that everyone broke off their conversation tolisten, "but I am very intrigued about you, Mr. Wenn, and youhave been puzzling me all the evening. You have been reminding meof someone I met once, and I have only just remembered who." Hescrewed up his face. "Now have you by any chance a relation herewho is a public man?"

Larose's heart gave a great bound. He made no mistake as towhat was to follow, for there was gloating in that suave voiceand triumph behind those smiling eyes. The professor was about topretend that he recognised a likeness in him to the detective,Larose, whom he had once sketched in court.

"Yes, I have," he exclaimed instantly, "but I don't knowexactly whether you'd call him a public man." He hesitated amoment, "He's a detective—Gilbert Larose."

A dead silence followed, and the eyes of everyone were uponthe speaker. The professor's lips snapped grimly together,Texworthy and McAlbane were frowning hard, and Ephraim Smith'sface had the inscrutable expression upon it of a man who had justpicked up his hand of cards. At the far end of the table theCount de Surenne stared at him with the curiosity of a startledbird. He began to polish his monocle vigorously.

"Yes," went on Larose smilingly, as if he were quite gratifiedwith the interest he was occasioning, "and I'm supposed to bevery like him, too." He beamed at the professor. "Now is that theman you mean?"

Professor Ingleby nodded curtly. His thunder had been stolenfrom him, but for the moment he could not size up the thief.

"But, Mr. Wenn," gasped Eunice, "you never told me thismorning. You didn't say——"

"No, I know I didn't," broke in Larose, afraid of what thegirl might say. He shook his finger playfully at her. "I saw youhad a poor opinion of Australians, and I didn't like todisillusion you." He drew himself up proudly. "My cousin is agreat man."

"Oh! Mr. Wenn," cried the Count, excitedly. "I'm so intriguedfor, of course, we've heard of Monsieur Larose over in France. Dotell us about him."

Larose looked round upon the speaker, and if he imagined hecould detect a delicate irony in the Count's voice he couldcertainly see none in his face, for the expression there was allinnocence and animation.

"Monsieur," he replied very solemnly, "my cousin is the bestdetective in Australia, if not in the whole world, and he is soclever"—he smiled round to the companygenerally—"that when a murder has been committed it ispopularly supposed that, however long afterwards he may come uponthe scene, he can still see the shadow that the murderer castupon the wall."

"Yes," went on Larose, warming up in his enthusiasm, "and oncehe is put upon a trail he never leaves it; and although the wayhe works may sometimes seem very extraordinary toothers—still, he very, very rarely fails in the end."

The inscrutable expression faded from Ephraim Smith's face,and he looked quite cheerful.

"And have you then, Mr. Wenn," asked the professor dryly,"seen this remarkable cousin of yours lately? I mean, since youarrived in England?"

"No," replied Larose, "I only arrived from the Continent lastweek, and when I rang up Scotland Yard they said he was away, andpretended not to know where." His face brightened. "But when didyou see him, Professor Ingleby, and do you know himpersonally?"

"I saw him once at a trial, Mr. Wenn," replied the professorslowly. He shook his head. "No, I don't know him personally."

A short silence followed, and then suddenly there came fromoutside in the garden the sound of a violin. Someone was playingRubinstein's 'Melody in F.'

"Who's that, Fenton?" asked Ephraim Smith sharply, and whenthe butler replied that he did not know, his master added: "Thengo and find out."

The butler left the room, and in a few seconds the musicstopped, to be commenced again, however, almost at once Fentoncame back into the room.

"An old man, sir," he said, "a stranger here. He's walked fromSheringham, he says."

"Oh, no, Father," interrupted Eunice reproachfully, "don't becruel—he's playing so nicely." An idea struck her and sheclapped her hands. "Let's have him inside and hear him play inthe hall. It will be great fun." She turned to the butler. "Bringhim into the lounge, Fenton."

A few minutes later they all trooped into the big lounge hall.The Count walked just behind Mrs. Smith and Larose noticed thathe was again scrutinising her beautiful rope of pearls. Texworthyand McAlbane followed behind the Count.

The musician was waiting for them and he was obviously nervousin his grand surroundings. He was a dissipated looking man,inclined to stoutness, and he had something of the appearance ofbroken-down actor. His face was red and blotchy, his nose hadbeen broken and his mouth was twisted to one side. He had a largehead of unkempt black hair, and was very shabbily dressed, withhis coat buttoned tightly over his chest. One of his boots waslaced up with string.

The man bowed. "I was leader of an orchestra once," he saidhoarsely, "before misfortune"—he looked round gloomily uponthe company—"before misfortune brought me low."

"Drink! drink!" whispered the Count melodramatically into Mrs.Smith's ear. He sighed. "But it is strange how the good Godshould bestow upon us one gift—to take away another."

"Anything, miss," replied the musician. "I have a good memoryand an extensive repertoire."

"Well, what about the 'Intermezzo' from 'CavalleriaRusticana'?" said Eunice. "Everyone likes that."

"Fireworks, fireworks," commented the musician, deprecatingly.He put the violin to his shoulder. "Still it's pretty in parts,"and he at once commenced to play.

Larose was standing back behind the others, and for the thirdtime that evening he was receiving a great shock.

"Jupiter!" he murmured, breathlessly. "Naughton Jones! Ishould have known that supercilious manner anywhere." He lookedat the musician critically. "Yes, Naughton Jones right enough,and he's another artist. His make-up's splendid, and that brokennose is as good as Croupin's bent-in finger." He made a wry face."Really, Gilbert, now you're finding out you're not quite themighty atom that you thought you were. There are others asgood"—he corrected himself—"almost as good as youare."

He frowned. "And I suppose Jones has come here to form anopinion, on his own, about Smith's guests. Mine, apparently, hethought, would not have been reliable enough." He nodded hishead. "But, gosh! Doesn't he play well?"

And, certainly, the musician, whoever he was, had a mostappealing touch, and the beautiful melody of the intermezzo hadsurely never sounded so entrancing than it did that night in theold baronial hall of Bodham Castle. The player was generouslyapplauded when he had finished, and then, by request, he played'O Sole Mio,' some Scotch airs, and the divine 'Blue Danube'waltz.

"Now you shall have a rest," said Eunice, "and we'll give youa glass of champagne—that is, of course, if you don'thappen to be a teetotaller."

"God bless you, miss," replied the musician, and he lookedchallengingly round. "No, I'm not quite a teetotaller, andchampagne will recall pleasant memories of more fortunate days."He patted his violin fondly. "We have experienced many up anddowns in life together."

"Yes, you play well, my friend," he said, "but, if I maysuggest it, you hold your bow at too acute an angle. Allow me.See," and, taking the violin and bow from the hands of theglaring musician, he struck an attitude and proceeded to strum afew notes.

The twisted mouth of the musician quivered in anger, and herestrained himself obviously with an effort.

"Thank you, sir," he said, icily. "If only I had learnt thatbefore. No one told me about it."

There were smiles all round, and the Honourable Jimmy McAlbanegave a loud guffaw, but the Count was in no way abashed.

"And I've a great idea," he exclaimed delightedly. "When thisgentleman is refreshed, let us switch off the lights and thenhear him play 'The Funeral March of a Marionette' in the dark."He was all eagerness in his excitement. "It was played once thatway at the house of one of my great friends, the Duke ofChantilly, and the effect was simply marvellous—so weirdand so thrilling." He turned to his hostess, and asked,smilingly; "May we, Mrs. Smith—have we yourpermission."

Mrs. Smith gave her assent at once, and, Fenton leading themusician away for his refreshment, the company began to talkgenerally.

Larose strolled over to the Count. "A word with you, Monsieurle Comte," he said very quietly, and there was a stern glint inhis eyes. "I see you have been taking notice of Mrs. Smith'spearls."

"To be sure," replied the Frenchman, looking surprised. "Theyare very beautiful and worth at least six or seven thousand ofyour English pounds."

"They remind me of some my mother has in our chateau on theLoire," went on the Count, lowering his voice confidentially,"only they are not quite so big."

"Well, if I were you," said Larose slowly. "I would make noattempt to compare the two sets side by side"—he fixed theCount with his eyes—"for I would warn you, Monsieur, thatit is the butler's duty to keep a watch over those pearls, andbesides—the rope is fastened to the dress with a safetychain at the side and it cannot be snatched away."

The Count seemed in no wise annoyed—indeed, he laughedas if he were amused. "Thank you, thank you, Mr. Wenn," he said,laying great stress upon the 'Mr. Wenn.' "I am obliged both forthe information and the advice"—the laugh vanished from hisface—"and I'll tell you something in return. I have verysharp ears, as it happens, and I heard that tiger fellow sayingjust now to his Scotch friend that it would be better to stick aknife into someone, and throw him afterwards into the quicksandsto make quite sure." He laughed softly again. "I don't know, ofcourse, to whom they were referring, but I fancy"—and hegrinned—"I fancy from the direction of their glances thatthey were referring to you."

"Much obliged," said Larose grimly. "I can take care ofmyself." He smiled. "You are a great artist, Monsieur Croupin,and your disguise is almost perfect"—he shrugged hisshoulders—"but your gesticulations gave you away, at anyrate to me."

The Count looked very downcast. "It was the champagne, Mr.Larose," he said sadly. "I ought never to have touched it. As arule when I'm on business I never take anything." He dropped hisvoice to a whisper. "But this fiddle man—do you know who heis? He's an imposter, at any rate, just as we are. He's a goodamateur, but he's not up to professional standard by a long way,and he has certainly never led any orchestra. I am a musicianmyself." He glared at Larose. "Besides, he's lying about hisviolin. He's not at home with it, and he's not had it long. It'smy opinion that he just borrowed it in order to get in here."

"Perhaps so," agreed Larose carelessly. He looked gravely atCroupin. "But remember, please, to leave Mrs. Smith's pearlsalone when he is playing that funeral march as it was played atyour friend's, the Duke of Chantilly's—in the dark. Youunderstand?"

Croupin grinned, and his eyes gleamed, but he was preventedfrom making any reply, for at that moment Canon Brown-Hatton cameup and buttonholed him. The reverend gentleman was desirous ofbeing recommended to a first-class hotel in Paris, where thetariff would be below all reason and the moral atmosphere aboveall question.

Larose left them at it, and a few minutes later, the musicianreturning into the hall, the Australian sidled up to him as hecommenced to tune up the violin.

"Perhaps you would like an Algerian cigarette?" he askedquietly, and with a gentle lisp. "I only smoke Algerians."

"So it was you in the shop to-day," he replied sharply. Hefrowned. "It was remiss of me not to have taken more notice." Hisnext words came hissingly from almost closed lips. "Look out forboth Texworthy and McAlbane. I know them, and McAlbane knows me.They're black men, and first cousins to the criminal class. Alsothat Frenchman looks a bad egg. See me to-morrow upon the sandsat three. Now get out and don't talk to me again. They'rewatching you," and he resumed his tuning up with all theimpressiveness of a great virtuoso about to make his bow beforeRoyalty.

'The Funeral March of a Marionette' was a great success in thecavernous darkness of the hall, and it was some time after thelights had been switched on before it was noticed by anyone thatEunice and Ronald Grain were no longer there.

Eunice had happened to mention that funeral marches alwayssounded better in the distance, and the young doctor hadimmediately agreed, and suggested accordingly that they should gooutside to listen.

"All right," said the girl. "We'll go down into the rosegarden. It'll be lovely there."

They opened one of the long French windows and tiptoed quietlydown the steps so that they should not disturb the others. Therewas no moon, but the stars were shining, and they could just seethe way along the path. Proceeding for about a hundred yards,they came to a rustic seat behind some big shrubs, and Euniceimmediately sat down.

It was a beautiful summer night and Romance was in the air.The faint wind stirred among the trees as a far-off choir ofangel voices, and the scented darkness was like incense in atemple of love.

"I!" laughed the girl as if surprised. "Why, it was father whoasked you, not I."

"Oh! yes," laughed back the doctor, "still——." Hechanged the subject suddenly. "Do you know I've only seen youfive times?"

"No, only five," he said. "At the golf club dance, in thepaddock at Newmarket, at Lady Ringer's, then outside ProfessorIngleby's house, and now to-night."

"Well, I hope you'll often come up here now," said Eunicerather quickly. "Father's very lonely in spite of all the friendshe has, and we can always give you tennis and bridge."

The young doctor smiled in the darkness. "I'll always come upwhen you ask me," he said. "You may be sure of that." He laughedlightly. "Moths always love to fly around a candle, don'tthey?"

The girl made no comment, and he went on meditatively. "But itmust be wonderful to possess a place like this." He looked at herface so bewitchingly profiled now against the stars. "I supposethat you have everything in the world that you wish for, MissEunice, haven't you?"

She hesitated a moment. "No, not everything," she repliedslowly. "Money cannot give you all you want. Sometimes"—hervoice was very gentle—"it raises barriers that should notreally exist."

"And you mean?" asked the doctor with his heart beginning tobeat a little faster.

"Oh! that people put us on a pedestal," sighed the girl, "andforget that we're just the same as they are. Just the same achesand pains, just the same thoughts, just the same—" shebroke off suddenly—"but really, we mustn't stop any longer.That old man will have finished playing and——."

"But wait a moment," said the doctor as she started to get up,and he laid his hand upon her arm. "When shall I see youagain?"

She thought for a moment. "I shall be playing golf on Sunday,"she said softly. "I shall get there about ten, and so if you areearly—hush! here's someone coming down the path! Keepstill."

They heard the scrunch of feet upon the gravel and the soundof low voices in earnest conversation.

"Keep still," whispered Eunice again, bending her face nowclose to that of her companion. "They're on the other path andwill go by without seeing us if we don't show ourselves. It'sthat bothering Mr. McAlbane and Mr. Texworthy, and we'll neverget rid of them if once they know we are here."

The young doctor nodded his head, and then, reaching down,laid his hand upon hers. She seemed too intent about thenewcomers to notice it.

"But he looks a fool to me," they heard McAlbane say, "and Idon't think there's anything in it."

"Well, I'm not so sure," replied Texworthy brusquely, "andhe's certainly not a fool. His eyes were on us all at dinner, andhe noticed everything. I saw him scowl at you when you werelooking at Eunice."

McAlbane laughed coarsely. "Well, I'd like to punch his headfor it," he said. "The damned sheep farmer,I'd——"

"They were talking about Mr. Wenn," exclaimed Eunice quickly."Now what did they mean?" and then, apparently becoming aware forthe first time that the doctor was holding her hand, she drew itaway and rose to her feet. "But we must go in now before theycome back."

"Wait one moment," said the doctor quickly, and he touched heron the arm. "You know I shan't see you alone again to-night,shall I?"

She shook her head. "I don't suppose so," she said, and sheturned away her eyes.

She hesitated just a moment, and then made a little curtsey."Good-bye, Dr. Grain," she said demurely, and she held out herhand half mockingly and half as if the farewell were reallysad.

He lifted her hand reverently to his lips, and then,emboldened by the tightening of her fingers upon his, he drew herto him, and, tilting up her chin, kissed her softly on the lips.She shivered in his arms, but then suddenly returned the kiss asspontaneously as he had given his. One trembling, breathlessmoment, and then they dropped away from one another, and withouta word turned and, side by side, walked up the path. The gloriesof the starlit sky were all about them, but there was greaterglory far within their hearts.

Just as they reached the window a figure detached itself fromthe shadows and joined them as they went into the drawing-room.

"Yes, it is," said Eunice, and then she added innocently: "Itwas delightful in the rose garden where Dr. Grain and Iwere."

He was hot upon a trail, believing that he was in actualcontact now with the members of a criminal band. Moreover, therewas a decided spice of danger in the situation, for he wassuspected by the men he was pitting himself against, and two ofthem at least, he judged, were of the type who would go to anylengths in dealing with him if they got the chance. Well andgood—that was what he liked. He was a hard hitter himselfand could be as forcible and ruthless in a fight as any he wouldmeet. He would give no mercy, and he certainly expected none.

He had several dances, and then in a spirit of business leftthe younger people and cut into a hand of bridge with his host,Professor Ingleby, and the reserved Texworthy. He put up quite agood game, partnering the professor, and the latter was soonsmiling amiably upon him.

"When they can spare you here, Mr. Wenn," he said, "you mustcome out and spend a night with me. I live in a most romanticspot right on the edge of the sands and the sea is actually at myfront door. We'll have a long evening's bridge, and then, ifyou're energetic enough, you shall get up before it's light andtry your fortune with Mr. Texworthy among the ducks. Also, if youare interested in foreign stamps, I've got one of the finestcollections in the country. I value it at over £5,000." Heturned to the Count, who was standing near. "I think, Monsieur, Ihave nearly every stamp of your country that has beenissued."

The Count smiled without interest, and Larose expressed thepleasure it would give him to come.

One rather disquieting incident, however, occurred during theevening, and Larose decided that Fate was certainly dealing somegood cards to his adversaries.

It was the canon who brought the matter up by asking Dr. Grainif he had yet met the new medical superintendent there, and, uponthe doctor replying in the negative, the reverend gentleman hadthen proceeded to enlighten the company generally. The villagersin Weybourne, he said, were very intrigued about some newarrivals at what was popularly known as the Inebriates' Homethere. Eight or nine had come, and they were certainly aneccentric lot. He had heard all about them from his verger, whosebrother was the gardener there, and it was considered mostpeculiar that no adequate supervision was exercised upon them,for, although ostensibly under treatment for alcoholic excess,they did exactly as they liked—and, indeed, one of them wasalready a well-known frequenter of the village public house.

McAlbane laughed and seemed about to make some remark, but hechecked himself suddenly and frowned thoughtfully. The professormade no comment, but Larose noticed that his eyebrows went up andthat he immediately took off his glasses and proceeded to polishthem, an action which should have been unnecessary because he haddone it only a few minutes before.

The guests said their good-byes soon after half-past eleven,the professor and his two friends being the last to go.

Texworthy drove off, as usual, at a great pace, and not a wordwas spoken until the professor was at his door.

"Well, I'm very tired," said the latter as he got out of thecar, "and I won't ask you fellows in." He spoke sharply. "We've alot to think about, and I want a good night's rest. We need allour wits about us now, for that man Wenn is certainly Larose, andwithout a doubt those bogus patients at Weybourne are Smith'slot, too. They are after us, right enough, and we must look out.Good night."

Twenty minutes or so later, in the middle of undressing, thebig game hunter started violently.

He shook his shirt out over the bed, and then, upon his handsand knees, went over every inch of the bedroom floor. Then,switching on the light, he walked slowly along the passage to thehall door. Finally, carrying a large torch, he went down thedrive and into the garage, where he minutely examined the insideof the car.

But he soon returned, angry and scowling to the house, for thecostly stud was nowhere to be found.

CHAPTER IX.
The Threads of Fate.

THE next day the waters of fate began toconverge together and to flow more swiftly towards that pointwhere it was destined they should bear upon their dark bosom thetragedies of violent and sudden death.

At breakfast Larose saw that his host was in a sullen mood,and took an early opportunity to whisper that he wanted to seehim alone.

"All right," frowned the master of the castle, "in my studydirectly we've finished."

"No, no," whispered Larose again. "Not directly afterwards.Wait ten minutes and I'll be on the lawn in front of the window.No hurry and no secrecy."

And so presently Ephraim Smith came casually up to Larose infull view of the castle. The detective was interestedly examiningthe sun-dial in the middle of the lawn.

Smith went to the point at once. "Now who the devil are you?"he asked sharply. "Are you that man Larose or are you not?"

"That's right," replied Larose. "Keep your back to the windowsand, if you do happen to turn round, try and look a bit morepleasant." He bent over the sundial. "Yes, of course I'm GilbertLarose."

"Then what do you mean by all this foolery," asked Smith, asblack as thunder, "and why wasn't I told in the beginning?"

"Because," said Larose quietly, "—bend over the sundial,please—because it was essential to my plans that no oneshould have a thought that you knew who I was. No one was to seeby your manner that there was an understanding between us."

"And what have you gained by it? How has this pantomime helpedyou?" went on Smith, more furious still.

"I have gained what I wanted," replied Larose calmly, "forwhen you introduced me to your family, and later to your friendslast night, there was none of that embarrassment with you whichthere undoubtedly would have been if you had been aware that youhad brought a detective into the castle. I was as unknown to youas to them. Now, do you see?"

"No, I don't see," replied Ephraim Smith bluntly. "Whatnecessity was there for me to fool my family and my friends?"

"Mr. Smith," asked Larose solemnly, "who are your friends? No,no," he went on quickly, for the millionaire had made a gestureof contempt, "don't be annoyed, for understand——" hisvoice was grave and stern, although he was still looking downsmiling at the sun-dial—"we are convinced that it is amongyour friends that your enemy hides."

"But it is the idea we hold, sir," replied Larose firmly, "andit is supported by reason and common sense." He went onpersuasively. "Now, did you not tell us the other night that youwere being pursued with devilish cunning, that your adversaryknew all about you and your disposition, and that he had studiedyou to such purpose that he was fully aware it would take manyshrewd blows before you would finally give in? Now did you nottell us that?"

"Well," said Larose, "and when you add to all this theincontrovertible fact that the time and manner of the misfortunesthat had befallen you betray a most intimate acquaintance withyour habits and movements, what more convincing do you requirethat your enemy might quite possibly be among your friends?" Heturned away from the sun-dial. "But now let's walk along theflower beds and you must appear to be pointing out the flowers tome." He laughed. "Let me see what sort of actor you are."

They proceeded a few steps with their back now towards thecastle, and then the detective rapped out suddenly:—

Smith gasped. "Ingleby!" he ejaculated. "He's a man of world-wide renown. You don't suspect him!"

"But I do," said Larose, "and Texworthy and McAlbane, too." Hespoke very sternly. "And now you see how vital it was that youshould have met them with no antagonism last night. The slightestsuspicion in your mind, and you would have betrayed yourself.Well, how long have you known the professor?"

The millionaire seemed crushed. "Less than two years," hereplied, slowly. "Only since I came here."

"Less than a year," replied Smith. "The professor brought themhere." His annoyance came back. "But what on earth makes yoususpect the professor?"

"Several things," said Larose curtly, "and one—he'sabnormal. He feasts his mind on crime."

"Well, never mind that for the moment," he said sharply, "but,tell me—your daughter says he showed you a sketch he'dtaken of me in court. Now, was it like me?"

"No, it didn't strike me so," replied the millionaire, withsome hesitancy, "at any rate, not as you look now."

"Exactly!" sniffed Larose. "Then, of course, he's got spiessomewhere, and, knowing I come from Australia, he suspects me.That's what he meant by asking me those questions about sheeplast night."

"But spies!" ejaculated Smith, incredulously. "Where? And whatin heaven's name, I ask again, has made you suspect the professorat all?"

"Mr. Smith," said the detective with great earnestness, "Iwant you to go on trusting me implicitly, and I promise you on myhonour that the very instant I can tell you anything definite Iwill do so. For the moment, please, don't ask me anythingmore."

"But, if I meet Professor Ingleby and the others,"expostulated Smith, "how can I pretend to be friendly with themwhen you have sown this awful seed of suspicion in my mind?They'll see at once that something has happened."

"Poof!" replied Larose, confidently. "They'll not noticeanything. With all his cleverness the professor is not toopsychological, and the others are not particularly shrewd. Theycan be only amateurs in crime, after all. Frown and be irritable,and explain that you've got rheumatism in your back. Have Dr.Grain up here, and that will make it quite all right." His voicehardened again. "But now I want to ask you a question. You knowwho that Count Surenne was?"

"Yes," replied Smith, sourly. "He's another mountebank. He'sthat thief, Croupin, and he forced himself upon me at a minute'snotice, swearing that it was vital he should see me among my homesurroundings." The millionaire scowled. "But you knew he wascoming, of course?"

"No, I didn't," replied Larose, "and I didn't recognise himeither until half-way through dinner last night." He laughedcheerfully. "He's a great artist, Mr. Smith, and you are beingwell served."

"But what good did his coming do?" asked Smith, in a mannerimplying that he in no way shared the detective's opinion.

Larose inclined his head thoughtfully. "He was very useful, asit happens," he said, "and he gave me some valuable informationthat strengthened my suspicion about Professor Ingleby and theothers." He spoke most respectfully to the millionaire. "Now,sir, just have a little patience and bear with us, and I canpromise you that we will get you out of all your trouble." Asolemn note came into his voice. "And I assure you, Mr. Smith, Inever promise anything unless I am certain of delivering thegoods."

"Very well," said Smith; and there was decidedly morepleasantness than hitherto in his voice. "And now I'll leave youuntil this evening. I have to go into Norwich on business."

The second consultation took place very soon afterwards.Ephraim Smith had not been gone a quarter of an hour when Eunicebroke a sewing machine needle into her hand, and had to be takenin to Dr. Grain, at Holt. Directly the accident happened, Mrs.Smith rang up, and was informed by the doctor's maid that hermaster was out, but was expected back within a few minutes,whereupon Larose suggested he should drive the girl direct to thedoctor's house.

Sybil James accompanied them into Holt, and they werefortunate to arrive at the surgery at the very moment that thedoctor alighted from his car. The latter looked ratherembarrassed when he saw who his visitors were, but changedinstantly to the cool professional man when he learnt upon whatmission they had come.

Then Sybil James suddenly became faint, and so it was Larosewho went into the surgery with Eunice, and helped hold her fingersteady whilst the broken needle was extracted.

The doctor was very calm and collected during the littleoperation, but, when it was over, Larose quickly perceived howthings were between the two, and promptly excusing himself on theground that he wanted fresh air, went to join Sybil in thecar.

It was quite an appreciable time before Eunice came out, andthen she looked so animated and happy that Sybil at once remarkedhow wonderfully quick she had been in recovering from the painshe must have suffered.

Eunice made no comment, but Larose thought she flashed him agrateful look when he apologised for having left her, owing tohis distaste for the sight of human blood.

And at that very time an earnest consultation was being heldat Marsh House, Professor Ingleby's place.

The professor and his two friends had their heads closetogether in the same room where, a few days before, Ephraim Smithand the two girls had been given tea. Although the door was shut,their voices were subdued and their faces very grim.

"Yes," said the professor, solemnly, "there is no doubt Smithis making a great effort to uncover us, and we are now up againstforces very different from those we have met before"—hefrowned—"and it is that that makes me a bit uneasy."

"But, good gracious, why?" asked McAlbane, with someirritation. "These men, as I say, have less to go on than theregular police had, and they are working weeks after anything hashappened, and with the trails that were left stone cold."

"But they work differently," said the professor, shaking hishead, "and they've more imagination." He looked very thoughtful."And, if that fellow's really Larose, which I'm most sure is so,we are up against a man as reckless and as lawbreaking"—helaughed—"as we are ourselves."

"Well, I don't think he is Larose," said McAlbane, stubbornly."It's just a coincidence that he turns out to be hiscousin—that's all."

"But I think so," said the professor, thoughtfully, "and sodoes Texworthy," He turned to the big-game hunter. "Don'tyou."

"Sure," replied Texworthy, "I didn't like his eyes. I've seenthat look in a crouching beast many times before. Justwaiting—waiting for his chance." He frowned. "And if he'sanything like what Ingleby tells us, I shouldn't be a bitsurprised if he pinched my stud out of pure devilry."

"Quite possibly," said the professor dryly. "Larose is brim-full of conceit and gives the impression that he is alwaysshowing off to himself." He was silent for a moment, and thensighed. "Well, just let's sum up everything again and see exactlyhow things stand to-day." He looked down at a paper upon which hehad jotted some notes.

"Now Smith called eight men to a secret meeting at the castlelast Monday night, and four at least of their personalities havebecome known to us. Naughton Jones, Vallon, Dr. Crittenden andRavahol. Of a fifth man, we know that he was an Australian. Ofthe other three we know nothing, but from our inside knowledge ofSmith's predicament we may reasonably suppose they weredetectives like the first three. One of the eight refused tounmask, and he was undoubtedly Ravahol, for, in addition to thefact that I knew Ravahol was going to be present, the descriptionthat Fenton gives of the masked man exactly tallies with that ofmy friend from Paris—a man who held himself very erect, wasbuilt on the light side, and had a deep voice.

"Well, Ravahol should have come and seen me on the Tuesday,and I confess I am very disturbed there, for he is not the typeof individual to break his word. Five days have now gone by and Ishould surely have had news. Then yesterday in that long talk Ihad with Fenton among the sand dunes, I learnt all about thisAustralian who had come to stay at the castle, and we were atonce suspicious that he might be the detective Gilbert Larose.Well, at the dinner last night, what did we find out?" Theprofessor laughed scornfully. "It was not Gilbert Larose as wehad thought, but, by a most marvellous coincidence, it turned outto be a relation of his! Just think of it? Among the other sixmillion or so of people who inhabit Australia we had happened ata single chance to pick out the very individual who was hiscousin." He sneered, "Ah! but that chap was clever. He saw whatwas coming and he got his blow in first."

"He was Larose," said Texworthy, "and Smith knew it rightenough. His face was like a blank wall, which wasn't natural, forhe should have been interested of course."

"Ah! There I'm puzzled," broke in the professor, shaking hishead, "for Fenton is certain Smith was most surprised when theAustralian rang up, and he is certain, moreover, that Smith isnot too friendly with his guest. He is distant and sulky, hesays, and doesn't take much notice of him."

"But Smith is no actor," commented the professor, shaking hishead again, "and it is that that puzzles me a lot. Smith isimpulsive, a man of strong likes and dislikes, and when he wantsto hide his feelings he just puts on that wooden face of his andkeeps mum. He doesn't give any indication of what he is thinkingeither way. He doesn't pretend to be friendly when he's not, andvice versa."

The professor went on. "Well, we got one very valuable pieceof information last night. We know where all those men arestaying. They are the drinking squad at Weybourne Manor, ofcourse. I watched Smith closely while the parson was talkingabout it, and on went his wooden expression at once—and hehad been quite animated a moment before."

"Well," remarked Texworthy, with unpleasant cheerfulness, "ifthey are all together, like tigers in one lair, it could not bebetter." His eyes flashed and he curved his lips to an evilsmile. "A good sized bomb and they will all go sky-high."

"But what's their plan?" asked McAlbane, frowning, "and if itis Larose up at the castle, what does he expect to do?"

The professor sighed. "If only Ravahol would come," he said,"we should know everything. As it is, we can only guess."

"Well, guess away," said McAlbane rudely. "For if there were ahundred of them instead of a miserable eight or nine I don't seehow they can get a start anywhere."

"Ah!" exclaimed the professor, holding up his hand, "andthat's where we score. They're out in the open and we're lyinghidden. They know we're somewhere, and they're waiting for ournext move to disclose our whereabouts. They've prepared anelaborate plan, no doubt, to follow our next messenger when wedemand anything more of Smith." He looked quite cheerful. "Yes,as I said the other day, if we keep still they can't possiblyfind out a single thing."

"That's all very well," grumbled McAlbane, "but Smith won'tput up with the suspense too long. Coming here just now I met oldColonel Young, and he said Smith told him last week he wasdisappointed in England, and it was quite on the cards that anyday he might decide to sell up and go to one of thecolonies."

"Well," said the professor, after a while, "we shall have tobe prepared for that, and, at any rate, I think Fenton willalways get an inkling of it beforehand, and then we'll strikeheavily." His face suddenly suffused in anger. "I'm not going tolet Smith escape like that, and I tell you I'd go to any lengthsto penalise him." He thumped the table with his fist. "He and hisvulgar money are an insult to the human race. I want£20,000 to endow a chair of Sociology at LondonUniversity."

The big-game hunter laughed sneeringly. "Well, I wish someonewould insult me with money. I could do with £20,000 for anexpedition to Tibet."

"Well, what are we going to do now?" asked McAlbane sourly."I'm not afraid of these men."

The professor had cooled down. "We're going to put Mattin onto that Inebriates' Home straightaway," he said, "and withinforty-eight hours we'll know all about them. Also we'll get thisMr. Wenn out here to dinner. Texworthy has given me an idea. Now,listen, I've got a plan." He lowered his voice to a whisper, andall their heads came together again.

That afternoon Larose, after lunch, asked Eunice for the loanof her car. He knew she was not going to use it herself, becausehe had heard Dr. Grain enjoining strict quietness for the rest ofthe day, and the doctor had added that he would look in duringthe afternoon to see how she was. The doctor had also said that,although the wound was a slight one, still the risk ofinflammation had always to be guarded against and the hand wasnot to be used more than necessary.

Eunice gave her assent readily, and off Larose went. A mile orso from the castle, however, turning into a lonely byroad, hemade some slight changes in his appearance with the aid of amirror, and then drove into Sheringham. There he placed the carin a garage, and on foot proceeded along the sands towardsWeybourne.

A few hundred yards from the Manor he saw a man walking slowlyalong by the margin of the waves, stopping every now and then topick up a shell.

"Good," he exclaimed with a glow of satisfaction, "it's thegreat Vallon. I'm in luck to-day."

"La la!" he exclaimed sadly, "and I had forgotten all aboutevil and was gathering shells for my little ones. Look at thisbeautiful pink one, so dainty and so fragile, and with thecolours in it of the hands of a babe." He sighed. "Yes, I,Vallon, was as a child myself again and now here come you and Iam reminded of crime at once." His eyes flashed and his voicebecame hard. "I flew from Paris this morning, my friend, andcaught the early Norwich express here. I have spent three dayssearching for Hidou, assured that we could compel him to tell uswho this correspondent of Ravahol was."

"Yes, Monsieur," replied Vallon gravely, "last night I sawhim—" he paused for a moment—"with his eyesstaring—his face bled white—his hair matted and aknife wound over his heart. He had been dead about ten days." Thestout detective nodded his head solemnly. "Yes, Ravahol wasthorough and would brook no rivals, and he probably found thatletter on Hidou when Hidou was dead." He smiled. "I rejoice nowthat Ravahol died at your hands."

Larose wetted his dry lips. "Sit down, Monsieur," he said. "Ihave a lot to tell you, but I must be quick, for I am meetingNaughton Jones at three."

"Ah! the great Naughton," exclaimed Vallon, a littleenviously. "I have just left him. He was arguing with ProfessorMariarty as to the quickest way of throttling a man. He favoursthe breaking of the Adam's apple, but the worthy Mariarty insistson pressure only on the jugular veins." The Frenchman sighed."They are great masters, both of them, and I don't know which isright." He spoke in matter-of-fact tones. "But Jones is waitingfor you now. He has made a great discovery, he says, but he willnot say what it is until we three are all together."

They sat down on a sandhill and rapidly Larose put the Frenchdetective in possession of all that had happened since he hadbeen away. Vallon clicked his tongue and snapped his fingers inastonishment and satisfaction when he heard about ProfessorIngleby and the glass of Barsac, but his face grew long when helearnt that mention had been made of the new patients atWeybourne Manor.

"Well, well," he said warmly, when Larose had finished, "youhave done wonders in such a short time, and I, Vallon who amfeared and hated in every prison of my country, am proud to callyou colleague. It seems a miracle that we can have struck thetrail of the gang so quickly—and in a manner, too, thatleaves them in the dark. But that Professor Ingleby would be thevery type of man to be organising an affair like this. Anintellectual, with resources behind him, and therefore neverforced to strike before the right moment." He frowned. "The weakpoint in our attack is that we must at all times combine it withdefence, for if they are in the open so are we, and men of theirtype, once they realise they are in a corner"—he shruggedhis shoulders—"are like the deceased Ravahol and hisknife." He rose to his feet. "But, come, we must go in now, forNaughton Jones will become impatient and his mightiness isirritable enough already."

But there was no need, as it happened for them to go rightinto Weybourne Manor, for they had not walked a hundred yardswhen they saw Naughton Jones striding towards them.

"You're late," he said scowlingly to Larose. He took out hiswatch. "It is three minutes later than you arranged."

"Five and twenty minutes," commented Jones coldly. "I waswatching you through my glasses." He turned his head round. "Butcome up among the sandhills, where we shall not be seen oroverheard."

"Now," he said, when they were all seated, and his voice tookon a careless note—"I have uncovered the heads of the gang.I know who they are." He waited a moment for his words to sinkin, and if he had expected surprise he was certainly notdisappointed, for Larose opened his eyes wide, and Vallon lookedastonished.

"Yes," went on Naughton Jones. "I found out last night." Heturned to Vallon. "But I suppose Mr. Larose has told you about myvisit to the castle?"

Jones glanced up quickly at him, and then frowned. "Ah! it washe, was it?" He sniffed. "The imbecile—he thinks he canhandle a violin!" He shook his head, as if to dispose of anunpleasant memory, and went on impressively:—

"Well, when I arrived before the castle last night there werethree cars parked in front, and, according to my custom ofneglecting no trifles, however small, I at once proceeded toinvestigate them. One was a shabby Ford that had brought up somewomen in it, for it smelt strongly of perfume. Also, as there wasa box of cough lozenges, a large Prayer Book, and a copy of the'Church Times' in the door pocket, I conjectured that it belongedto a clergyman. The second car was the two seater of the medicalman, for it smelt of ether and there was a bag of surgicalinstruments in it. The third car was an expensive racing Daimler,and it had brought up three men, for I saw that three seats hadbeen occupied and there was cigar ash beneath each of them."

"Well, I was asked into the castle to play, and immediatelyrecognised among the assembled company a man I had shadowed once,on Government service. It was known at that time that he hadsucceeded in bringing into the country a large parcel ofprohibited drugs, but unhappily we were not able to bring it hometo him, although I proved up to the hilt that he was an associateof habitual offenders in that particular line. His name isTexworthy, he hunts big game, is a racing motorist, and outsidethe United Kingdom has an unsavoury reputation connected with theslave trade in Africa. Another man I recognised there was thecrank, Professor Ingleby, a genius, it is supposed, as aphilosopher, but a man of morbid mind and invariably to be foundat all murder trials which present features of unusual horror. Ihave seen him many times gloating over them in the courts.

"Then there was a third man I knew, the Honourable JamesMcAlbane, a prominent amateur jockey, but a trickster of the turfand with an evil reputation in gambling circles generally."

"Well, I played before them all, and, keeping my eyesspecially on Texworthy and Professor Ingleby, soon saw that theywere more than ordinarily interested in Mr. Larose; for, not onceor twice, but many times, they whispered together, and thenturned their eyes towards him. Then afterwards, when I hadpartaken of a glass of wine in the pantry, and was being usheredback by a maid into the hall, I saw this man Ingleby and thebutler in earnest consultation between the drawing-room doors.They were too far away for me to hear anything of what they weresaying, but Ingleby's expression was hard and intent, and thebutler's mouth was working as if he were talking with greatrapidity." Jones raised his hand solemnly to emphasise his point."And the very instant they caught sight of me they turned awayfrom each other in a flash, the professor going back into thegreat hall, and the butler stepping to one side and waiting forme to pass, with a face as wooden and immobile as if he had neversaid a dozen consecutive words in all his life. The whole actionwas significant, because they had so obviously stopped in themiddle of a conversation, and not at the end of it. Their conductin my eyes was most suspicious."

Jones went on:—"A quarter of an hour later I left thecastle, with a five-pound note which Smith had given me. I walkedinto the village, and in a telephone call box found that bothTexworthy and Ingleby were on the 'phone, and lived in theneighbourhood. Thereupon I went into the village inn, and madediscreet inquiries. Texworthy lived about seven miles away, butIngleby's house was quite near—less than three miles fromthe village. I learnt they were great friends, and that they andthe other man, McAlbane, were always about together. Leaving theinn, and knowing now the whereabouts of their places, I thought Iwould walk home by way of the professor's, for it is barely twomiles from here. It is called Marsh House. So off I went, andeleven o'clock found me inspecting his domicile. There were nolights to be seen anywhere, and I had a good look round. Flashinga torch through the chinks of his garage. I saw that a car wasthere, and reasoned at once that either Texworthy or McAlbanewould be driving him home in the Daimler. Then an idea struck me.I would wait and see them come home, and, if possible, hear whattheir last words were when they said good night." Naughton Jonespaused here, and eyed them gravely. "The last words of parting,you know, often epitomise all the conversation that has gonebefore."

"Well," went on Naughton Jones, "I lay down at the angle ofthe wall on the far side of the house, away from the direction inwhich they would come, and, shortly before midnight, theyarrived."

"There were three of them in the car," drawled Jones, in nohurry. "Ingleby got out, and said he would not ask them to stopbecause he was tired. He added that they must all have their witsabout them now, for Wenn, he was nearly sure, was Larose, andthat he was quite certain the patients of Weybourne Manor werebogus ones and in the pay of Smith, too. He finished bysaying—his exact words—'They are after us sureenough'—and then went in." Jones shrugged his shoulders."And there you are."

"Mr. Jones," said Larose warmly, "what you have discovered isreally wonderful, and I am sure there is no one amongst us whocan seize on an opportunity better than you. All that you havesaid confirms what I have been almost certain of ever since Iwent to stay at the castle, particularly that the butler is amember of the gang. Professor Ingleby has known all along aboutthat midnight meeting, for three days ago he was showing EphraimSmith and his daughter sketches that he had drawn, when in court,of you, Monsieur Vallon, and myself. He laid special stress, ofcourse, upon you, and he was only showing the sketches, I amsure, to watch how Smith would take it," and then the Australianproceeded to tell Naughton Jones all that Eunice had relatedabout the tea party at Marsh House, and all that he had learntsubsequently about the butler and his association with theprofessor.

A long silence followed, and then Jones saidthoughtfully:—"Well, as far as I can see, for the moment itis stalemate. We may be pretty certain who they are, but theyknow for certain who we are, and as long as we remain here theywill suspend their demands upon Smith, and there will thus be noopportunity of taking them in the act." He hesitated a moment."But I should like to have absolute proof about that butler andthe way in which he keeps the gang informed, for, remember, wemust be quite certain of our facts when we acquaint hismaster."

"How?" asked Jones. "He won't report to Ingleby and Co. unlessanything unusual happens at the castle."

"Well, something unusual shall happen them," said Vallonpromptly; "we will make him eager to communicate with hisprofessor, and then watch him. Listen, this evening Mr. Larosegoes back to the castle. To-morrow morning early I will beginsending him telegrams one after another, at short intervals, fromSheringham, and their arrival will surely arouse the curiosity ofMr. Fenton. He will wonder what is happening, and, with the gangalready suspicious of the slightest move, he will not dare toneglect letting the others know."

"No, no," agreed Jones emphatically—"they have neverdone that, we may be sure. The telephone is much too public inthese local exchanges, and, if that had been their means ofcommunication, with the police about, something would have leakedout long ago." He looked at his watch. "But I'm going in for acup of tea now and we'll have a further conversation afterwards."A thought seemed suddenly to strike him. "Oh! one thing." he saidslowly—"if those men take it into their heads now to beaggressive, we must look out. The face of Professor Ingleby hasthe same expression on it that I noticed once upon that ofSattery the poisoner, and as for Texworthy—well, he's anoted rifle shot and can pick off a man every time at a thousandyards——" the detective looked roundgloomily—"and these sandhills are very lonely."

They walked back slowly upon the sands, and when opposite theManor, which lay only a hundred yards or so back from the shore,they came upon Lord Hume putting some fishing tackle into a smallred-painted rowing boat that was drawn up just beyond the marginof the waves. The boat had the name 'Hilda Mary' painted upon itand belonged to the Institution.

"And where do you fish, my lord?" asked Larose interestedly,when they had exchanged greetings.

"Oh! I have been going to the same place," replied Lord Hume,"and I always manage to get something. It's about two and a halfmiles along the coast and then about half a mile from the shore.One of the local fishermen told me about it."

"But how do you know when you are on the right spot?" smiledLarose. "It isn't signposted, is it?"

"Hardly," smiled back his lordship, "but I hug the coast untila little way before a certain house—one belonging to anotability, by the way, Professor Ingleby—and then I turnstraight out to sea." He laughed lightly. "I believe the greatman is getting to know me, for he usually turns his telescopeupon me, I notice, when I arrive."

"Humph!" remarked Naughton Jones absentmindedly. "Half a milefrom the shore, you say, and that is just under a thousandyards." His manner became suddenly less detached. "I shouldn'tfish there in that cockboat if I were you, my lord," he said."Some dangerous storms blow up round here, and you might havedifficulty sometime in getting back to land," and, with a warningnod, he turned with the others into the grounds of the Manor.

A moment later he frowned to himself. "Now ought I to havebeen more explicit?" he muttered. "I wonder."

CHAPTER X.
The Messenger of Death.

NEXT morning Mattin, the dweller in the cottageby the castle gates, awoke at his usual hour, five o'clock, androlling out of bed proceeded to make himself a cigarette.

The Syrian was a lithe, athletic-looking man, not unlike thehunter, Texworthy, in build. He carried himself with the sameconfident and self-reliant bearing, and moved quickly, like a manalways ready with his decisions. His features, however, weremild, and from rather dreamy eyes he regarded the world with thecalm, untroubled expression of the fatalist.

He might, indeed, as Professor Ingleby indicated, beabsolutely without scruples, but certainly he was not withouthumour, and there was nothing in his appearance to suggestcruelty or lack of pity.

Mattin went out into his little garden, and for a few momentsstood upon the packing case looking through his binoculars. Buthe saw nothing of interest, apparently, and, turning back, re-entered the cottage. Half an hour later he left for work upon hisbicycle.

Two minutes had scarcely elapsed after the Syrian's departure,when the tall figure of Naughton Jones emerged from the fernsclose by the cottage. The detective made straight for the packingcase and, producing a pair of glasses, focussed them on thecastle.

"Now," he said, "I must get an exact impression in my mind.One, two, three, four—that's the window. There's no signalup at present, or he would have shown more interest and hismovements would not have been so unconcerned." He stared,frowning, through the glasses. "Yes, everything quite ordinary.Open, top and bottom, and blind not drawn. Can see chest ofdrawers on right and bed on left. Clock on mantel-shelf and somebooks on chest of drawers."

He stared for quite an appreciable time and then, pocketinghis glasses, returned thoughtfully to his hiding place among theferns. Here he stretched himself at full length again, and then,it seemed, he went to sleep. Some hours passed and it was almosthigh noon when he heard the clicking of the garden gate. He wasalert in an instant, to see Mattin striding quickly up the path.The dark man went into the cottage, and, coming out again withhis binoculars, mounted the packing case as before. But his staythere was very brief—he jumped down almost immediately and,having returned the glasses to the cottage, rode off quickly uponhis bicycle. This time, however, he chose the opposite directionto that which he had taken in the early morning.

"Good," remarked Naughton Jones cheerfully, "then he's seensomething and is going off to report—and now I'll see ittoo. Ah, exactly," he went on a minute later, "the clock is in adifferent position upon the mantel-shelf. No, nothing elsealtered—everything just the same. Very simple, certainly,but if I'm not very much mistaken there's a meaning to it." Hejumped off the packing case. "And now—a hundred to one thatI meet him coming back from Marsh House."

And, sure enough, some forty minutes later an untidy-lookingtramp ambling along the road leading to the sea, came face toface with the Syrian riding back at a smart pace towards thecottage.

"Quite so," said Naughton Jones, when Mattin had sped by,"then in some arranged way he's warned the professor to be readyand now it only remains for me to see what the great man willdo."

But the detective did not go up to Marsh House; instead, whenstill a mile away, he left the road and, climbing up among thesand dunes, lay down and prepared himself for another longwait.

"Now I've plenty of time," was his comment, "for if ourreasoning is correct the butler has been disturbed by the arrivalof those telegrams to Larose and has stressed the urgency ofmeeting Ingleby. He will not go to Ingleby's house, of course,but they will meet somewhere else—probably among thesesandhills."

He produced a paper bag from his pocket and abstracted a largestick of sweetmeat. "Nothing like barley sugar," he went on,"when you can't get a proper meal. Glucose is an excellentmuscular stimulant and most sustaining. Much better than messychocolate, which encourages the formation of oxylades and isirritating to the kidneys." He frowned. "I must tell Vallon that.He is very conceited."

About two hours later Professor Ingleby appeared from thegarden of his house. He came straight towards the sand dunes,passing within a hundred yards of where Naughton Jones waslying.

"An evil-looking little rat," remarked the latter, watchingthrough his binoculars, "and he's got a worried air. But Idaren't follow him, for among these dunes I should have to stickvery close, and any moment if he turned he would see me. No; nowI'll go back along the road which Fenton will have to take to gethere, and I shall be greatly disappointed if I don't meet himcoming along."

And within five minutes he came upon the butler, walking fastand with a very red face. Fenton gave a careless glance at thetramp as he drew level, but went by without a word.

"Good," said Naughton Jones grimly, "and now we're certain andhave only to bring it home to them." His eyes gleamed. "We knowthe gang and we know their spy, and it will be bad fortune onlyif we do not get them red-handed when they make their nextattempt."

But in the ensuing days it seemed as if no further attemptwere to be made, and complete tranquillity reigned alike at thecastle, Marsh House and Weybourne Manor.

Larose made a thorough search of Fenton's bedroom, but foundnothing there of importance, and his efforts to break down thebutler's reserve ended in failure. To all outward appearancesFenton was nothing but a zealous and efficient servitor of theman who employed him.

"And we are wasting our time now, I am afraid," said Vallon,shaking his head, when upon the sixth day he met Larose andNaughton Jones upon the sands. "We are all just marking time.They know we are watching, and they will do nothing as long as weare here. We must disperse and let them think we have given itup, or at any rate are no longer taking any concerted action.They are just laughing at us and doing nothing."

"On the contrary, Monsieur Vallon," said Jones, coldly, "Ihappen to know that they are doing something, and at any momentthey may make a mistake which we can profit by." He spokecarelessly. "At any rate they are not indifferent to us, for thestone-breaker was here for quite a long time on Tuesday,disguised as a sailor. I recognised him in that excursion partythat came down in that charabane to bathe, and noticed he wasmost interested in our place of residence. I saw him walkinground at the back of the house and even peering into the windows.He has not been here since, however, and I rather think he musthave gone away from the neighbourhood, for he was not at hiscottage either yesterday or the day before." He sighed. "I spentsome monotonous hours there among the ferns on the lookout."

"I went up to Ingleby's yesterday," said Vallon, frowning,"and tried to sell them a broom. I did not manage to see him,however, and I did no business, but he sent me out a glass ofbeer. Everything seemed quite ordinary." He shook his head again."Yes, I believe we are all wasting our time."

"But what's become of the rest of our lot here?" asked Larosesharply. "Are we the only ones on the active list? What are theothers doing?"

Jones looked amused. "Oh! enjoying themselves," he replied,"and apparently just waiting for a call to the castle. Taking arestful as well as a profitable holiday, I should say. ProfessorMariarty is writing his memoirs, and Dr. Crittenden is assistinghim to put in the crimes that he's committed and does notremember. Lord Hume goes fishing every day in the little red boatof the Institution, and Monsieur Croupin has found his ideal ofbeauty, I believe, in a young woman who serves in the villageshop." He looked up and scowled suddenly. "Ah, here comes Croupinnow, and that menacing tip-toe walk of his is indicative of hislight-fingered philandering character. He will kiss or stealwherever opportunity offers."

Raphael Croupin came tripping along. He had been gatheringwild flowers among the sand dunes, and had acquired enough ofthem to make a large bouquet. He smiled engagingly as he came upto the three detectives.

"Voyez, Messieurs," he said, holding out the flowers for theirinspection. "A little labour of love. A tribute of admiration tothe beautiful eyes of a most adorable woman." He addressedhimself to Naughton Jones. "Ah! Meester Jones," he exclaimed; andhe placed his hand over his heart. "Now, is not love the mostglorious of all the flowers in the great garden of life, and doesnot passion mark the hour when that flower arrives at itsperfection?" He shook his head sadly. "But love is madness, too,and passion but an opiate dream in the slumbers of mankind. Wesleep in the courts of heaven, but we wake in the prosaicsurroundings of this cold, dull earth." He made the suspicion ofa wink towards Larose. "Now, is it not so, Meester Jones?"

Naughton Jones regarded him with contempt. "I am no judge ofinsanity, Mr. Croupin," he replied, "and, as for courts, I shouldsay a police court is the only kind that you are ever likely tosleep in." His voice rose in anger. "And please, sir, when younext meet me when I am engaged upon my professional duties, Ishall regard it as a favour if you will not approach me in anyway." His tone was withering. "You know nothing about music orviolins, and you occasioned me annoyance at the castle thatevening."

For a moment Croupin stared open-mouthed, and then he made agesture of astonishment.

"And so it was you, then, Mr. Jones!" he exclaimed,incredulously. "You were that gifted musician who played like agreat master!" He seemed almost overcome with enthusiasm.

"Of course not, Mr. Jones, I assure you," replied Croupin atonce. "And should I have dared to speak to you, Mr. Jones," hewent on quickly, "if I had known it was you."

"Perhaps not," said Jones. His tone was cutting. "At any rate,Monsieur, you are no violinist."

Croupin looked crushed. "But it was a joke, Monsieur," hesaid, "only a little joke," and, with an air of great dejection,he walked slowly away.

"But Monsieur Vallon," said the Australian, after a moment'ssilence, "about changing our quarters as you suggest. Let uswithhold any action until after Monday. I am spending the eveningthen with Ingleby, and am going to meet some more of his friends.It's a bridge party, and I may have an opportunity of studyingother members of the gang. There are to be two tables, Iunderstand, and I am going to dine with them first."

Naughton Jones frowned. "But you are not going alone?" hesaid. "Remember, they must be sure of your identity."

"No, not sure," replied Larose at once. "I met them all at thegolf club yesterday, and they were puzzled. In fact, I think theyare quite doubtful now. Besides, I shall not be alone. Dr. Grainis going, too."

"Humph," remarked Vallon reflectively. "I don't like it,though perhaps it would be premature to expect violence on theirpart."

But the great detective of the Surete of Paris was in error,for that same night the big game hunter, leaving his car atProfessor Ingleby's, secreted a rifle among the sand dunes abouta mile away. He chose a spot almost exactly opposite the fishingground that Lord Hume had exploited so successfully in the redrowing boat of Weybourne Manor.

The next day he was early among the dunes and, throwinghimself down with the rifle at his elbow, lay hour after hour,almost as motionless as the dunes themselves.

The sun rose high in the sky and and a gentle wind stirredamong the tall sand grass about him. In the peace and warmth hemight easily have fallen asleep, but his eyelids never flickeredand his eyes were always steady on the sea before him.

The shore was very lonely and no one passed. A few boats,however, went by out to sea, but one quick glance was all theyreceived from him, and he did not even trouble to use thebinoculars that lay by his side. Just after 3 o'clock, however,his interest quickened suddenly, and in a flash he put up theglasses and focussed them upon a small rowing boat coming slowlyinto view. It was of a bright red colour and contained oneoccupant, who was rowing at a leisurely pace close into theshore.

The big-game hunter stared hard for a few seconds, and thenwith a grim smile put down the glasses and picked up the rifle.He altered his position in the sand, and then, opening his legswide, pulled the rifle to his shoulder and released the safetycatch.

But, although his preparations were undoubtedly of a sinisternature and betokened no good to the unsuspecting occupant of theboat, it was evidently not his intention to fire straight away,for he made no attempt to take aim. Instead, he just watched asif curious to see in which direction the boat would go.

For quite a quarter of a mile the rower pulled slowly along,keeping parallel all the time with the shore; then, as if he hadat last got his bearings from some object on the land, he turnedthe boat suddenly at right angles, and commenced rowing out tosea.

Eight or nine minutes passed. Then the big-game huntersuddenly covered him, his fingers closed on the trigger, and anysecond, it seemed, the messenger of death might speed over thewater. The boat was now more than half a mile from the shore. Allat once the rower ceased pulling and, shipping his oars, stood upto stretch across for the anchor.

Instantly then the crack of a rifle came from the direction ofthe shore, and the little boat dipped violently as its occupantfell across the bow. For the moment it seemed the boat would beswamped, but it righted almost immediately to settle down againquickly upon an even keel. It bobbed gently upon the waves.

Texworthy, among the sand dunes, was breathing hard and therewas triumph in his eyes.

"Over a thousand yards," he muttered. "Conditions couldn'thave been better, and there'll be no trace of him." He frowned."But I wish it had been Vallon or Larose. We should be saferthen."

He lay on in the sand, and watched the boat drift slowly away."It'll pass Weybourne," was his comment, with a sneer, "andthey'll be damned puzzled when they see it."

All that long afternoon he remained among the dunes, and then,when darkness fell, hugging the rifle closely to his side, hemade like a shadow for Marsh House.

"It's all right," he said, in a low tone, as he came uponProfessor Ingleby, sitting in the corner of the verandah. "I gothim, and there's one less."

"Yes," replied the professor, softly. "I saw everythingthrough the telescope, and was quite thrilled." He shook his headreprovingly. "But you let him get so far away that I becameanxious that you hadn't seen him. Then, when you did fire, youaimed too high. You got him in the throat, and I just saw theflash of blood before he fell. They won't find his body anyhow.They never do, as I tell you, upon this coast. There are too manyconger eels about."

"Well, it was a good shot," said Texworthy, complacently, "andI only waited because I wanted to hit him standing up, so that hewould be more likely to topple out of the boat. I risked things abit, perhaps, but, then, I knew any moment he was going toanchor." He laughed sneeringly. "Well, it'll be a puzzle for hispals."

But it was not quite such a puzzle for some of them as thebig-game hunter imagined.

That night, just before ten, a very solemn conclave was heldin a small room in Weybourne Manor. Naughton Jones, Vallon, andDr. Crittenden were there, and the expressions upon their facesbetokened their different natures. Jones's was stern and grim asdeath; Vallon's was black and furious, while Dr. Crittenden hadthe cold and passionless demeanour of the scientist.

The red rowing boat had been towed into Sheringham by somefishermen a couple of hours previously, and a telephone messageto the manor had brought the three into the pretty little town asspeedily as the lumbering manor car could take them. On the wayin Naughton Jones had enlightened Dr. Crittenden of thediscoveries he and the others had made up to date, and the doctorhad been censorious because they had not taken him into theirconfidence before.

"But you would have known, sir," Jones had replied, withdignity, "at any rate very shortly, you and his lordship, too. Itwas no good disclosing anything, however, until we had broughtour investigations to a more definite point."

Then they had inspected the boat, and, fortunately, they wereable to see it exactly as it was found. It had not beeninterfered with in any way, no one had been in it, and nothinghad been taken from it.

And so, under a glaring arc-light upon the promenade, they hadexamined everything minutely.

The oars had been shipped evenly, the anchor was in the bowwith the rope neatly coiled around it, and in the stern was afishing basket and a tin of bait. In effect, it looked just aninnocent boat, with no sinister story to tell, and one to whichthe owner might be returning any moment.

"Look at that!" he exclaimed hoarsely—"it's blood," andhe pointed to a dark splash on the planking in the bow of theboat.

Instantly Dr. Crittenden bent down and touched it. "Yes, it isblood," he said quietly, "and so are those spots on the anchorrope and that splash there on the gunwale;" and then, taking apenknife from his pocket, he scraped off a little of the bloodand, wrapping it carefully in a piece of paper, placed it in hispocket.

For a minute they had stood in silence over the boat withtheir eyes searching everywhere, photographing the position ofits contents upon their minds.

"We'll talk when we get home," the doctor had said, and thedrive back was thereupon conducted in silence. Immediately upontheir arrival at the Manor they went up to Naughton Jones's room,but the doctor, as an after-thought, begged them to excuse himfor five minutes. Ten minutes, however, elapsed before heturned.

"He was shot," hissed Naughton Jones, "by Arnold Texworthyfrom the shore. He had reached that fishing ground of his, and hewas about to pick up the anchor. He was shot in the neck or thehead, or at any rate in an exposed part and then toppled over theboat."

The doctor regarded Jones thoughtfully. "Steady, steady," hesaid. "You are going upon your inside information, course, butstill we must determine accurately where facts end and conjecturebegins." He produced a pencil and piece of paper from his pocket."Now let us put everything in its proper order, please."

For the moment he had assumed the leadership of the three, andhe proceeded judiciously.

"Now Hume left here about a quarter past two this afternoon,and in the ordinary course of events—for he was a verypunctilious man—he should have returned in time for dinnerat half-past 6. But he did not return, and we learnt from theSheringham fishermen that at 6.40 they came upon the empty boatabout five miles due south from here, three miles out to sea. Nowthe first question we must ask ourselves is how did our friendand his boat come to part company? The blood stains indicate somesudden and unexpected development. Was he ashore with the boat orat sea? I think we may presume the latter, for, if he had merelysuffered some seizure with haemorrhage while beached, we shouldsurely have heard by now, while, if he had been attacked closein, either the boat would have been sunk or destroyed by hisassailants or, before it was set adrift, the blood stains wouldhave been removed.

"My estimate is that he must have left the boat at some timeclose to 3 o'clock for at a quarter-past 2 I saw him pulling awaydue north from here, and less than four and a half hours later,from the position when the boat was picked up, it must havedrifted at least seven miles in the opposite direction." Thedoctor paused a moment. "Yes, at least seven miles, and with thetide going out—it was high water at three—and themoderate breeze we had to-day, two miles an hour would be a fairestimate of its rate of drift. Therefore, we may presume the boatwas unoccupied for about three and a half hours before it wasfound, and that would take things back, as I say, to very closeon 3 o'clock. Now——" and there was a solemn note inhis voice—"if we did not know where it was Lord Hume'shabit to fish—where should we expect to find him aboutthree o'clock when pulling against the tide and going duenorth?"

"Beyond where the sand dunes end," scowled Vallon, "where themarshes begin and where that professor has his house."

"I am no sailor," said Naughton Jones, sharply, "but horse-sense tells me that a rower in a boat only ships his oars when heis going to stop rowing, and he only stops rowing when about todo one of two things. He is either going to land or to drop hisanchor."

"He had no rudder," said the doctor thoughtfully, "so if hewere out to sea the moment he shipped his oars he would no longerhave any command of the boat unless he immediately dropped hisanchor. It would drift anyhow, it would——"

"So we can be certain," broke in Vallon impatiently, "that hedid pull in the oars with the intention of anchoring, andthen——"

"Then," said Dr Crittenden, for the Frenchman hesitated, "hewould have risen to his feet and stepped towards the bow to getthe anchor."

"And if a bullet struck him," snapped Jones, "and he fell, hewould fall forward, of course."

The doctor nodded. "Because his body would be inclined thatway," he said. "No one assumes an entirely erect position whenstanding up in a small boat."

"And if the blood were spurting as he fell," went on Jones,"it would make just such marks as we saw to-night."

The doctor nodded again. "Yes," he said, "provided he were hiton an exposed part, as you suggest, and an artery were struck. Weshould not then expect a continuous trail, because the spurtingof the blood would correspond to the beats of the heart, andbetween the spurts would come those big drops."

"And he must have fallen over the bow or thereabouts," saidVallon, "for if he had fallen over the side in a small boat likethat it would either have swamped the boat or at least some waterwould have been shipped, and the boat was quite dry." TheFrenchman frowned suddenly. "But are we going too fast?" heasked. "We are assuming that it was human blood, whereas thosestains may have come from some fish."

"No, no," said the doctor emphatically. "I have just made atest under the microscope. It is not fish blood, for the redcorpuscles in it would then be oval, and instead they are bi-concave discs. It's mammalian blood sure enough, but furthertests will have to be made before we can say definitely that itis human."

"Of course, it's human." scoffed Jones, and then he in turnfrowned. "But could his nose have bled, Dr.Crittenden—could he have become giddy and fallen overboardthat way?"

The doctor was emphatic again. "No," he replied at once, "theshape of those splashes suggests a far greater degree of violencethan the gravity of merely falling blood, as in the case ofbleeding from the nose."

A moment's silence followed, and then Vallon asked: "And wouldthe idea have come to you, Dr. Crittenden, that he had been shotif we"—he spoke very deliberately—"in the firstinstance had not suggested it?"

The doctor shook his head. "No," he replied quite frankly, "atany rate, not at this stage. I should have been very puzzled andonly when I had exhausted all the other possibilities, one byone, would the idea of a bullet wound have come to me. Thatsomething, however, of great if not startling suddenness hadhappened I should have realised instantly, for, as I saw you bothnoticed, that cigarette had fallen on to the boards when it hadbeen only one-third smoked, and it had fallen when alight, asevidenced by the faint charring of the wood underneath." Thedoctor shrugged his shoulders. "That alone had a sinistersignificance for me."

"I have been careless," said Naughton Jones gloomily. "I knewthey were interested in us, because that stone-breaker camespying round the other day. Of course, he saw Hume going out thatafternoon and reported about the red rowing boat to headquarters.Then they watched for it."

"Well," said Vallon gruffly, "we can do nothing until the bodyis recovered, and that may never be."

"In the meantime," commented Jones, "we'll try and makecertain of Texworthy's movements yesterday afternoon, but we mustbe very careful not to let him get wind of what we are doing." Hefrowned. "It will be difficult."

But, as it happened, there was no need to trail the big gamehunter, for Larose came over to the manor the next morning, and,being informed under what suspicious circumstances Lord Hume haddisappeared, exclaimed instantly:—

"Then, without a doubt, he was shot by Texworthy, for I sawTexworthy's car parked outside Marsh House when we passed thereyesterday just before five." His eyes blazed furiously. "Andwe're fools. We ought to have been prepared for something likethis. Those men are not the kind to remain only on the defensive.They're fighters every one of them. Texworthy's a killer byinstinct. Ingleby for years has been drugging himself withhorrors until he sees now only the cleverness of crime, and toMcAlbane all danger is sport and he has the brute courage of acharging beast."

The Australian calmed down all at once and made a grimace."And I'm going to dine with them to-morrow night! Dinner andbridge! I refused the pressing offer of a bed"—a grim smilecame into his face—"because I understand from Miss Smiththat the professor has some private quicksands very near."

"But you'll not go," said Vallon promptly. "It would be veryfoolish. It would not be safe. I don't like it."

"Oh, yes, it'll be quite safe," said Larose. "There are to betwo tables, and Dr. Grain has been asked." He shook his head. "Imust go. I want to see who the other players are; they may bemore of the gang."

But Vallon was still doubtful. "I don't like it," he repeated."My instincts warn me." He frowned heavily. "I smellblood—more blood."

Naughton Jones sniffed. "You're like Mariarty then," heremarked. "He was a butcher once."

CHAPTER XI.
In Danger.

THE following evening just before half past six,a very smiling and debonair Mr. Wenn drove up in Eunice Smith'scar to the house of Professor Ingleby.

He turned a humorous eye upon the sands that stretched alongthe lonely shore. "Tide going down fast," he remarked, "and thosejolly quicksands will soon be uncovered. Good way of dying, too.No bothering doctor's bill to come in afterwards, and funeralexpenses cheap." He sighed. "Really, Gilbert, you are a luckychap."

He ran the car into the yard and then met Professor Ingleby onthe verandah. The great man shook him warmly by the hand and ledhim into the house.

"So glad you've come, Mr. Wenn," he said cordially. "You'rethe first one to arrive but we'll have a little appetiser atonce," and he touched the bell.

Larose glanced at the butler when he came in, but was quicklyreassured. "As harmless as a sparrow," was his immediate comment,"and would not touch one of his master's cigarettes. And that washis wife, of course, whom I saw through the kitchen windowbending over those pots and pans. Elderly and gentle-looking, andquite harmless, too. No, they're both innocent and outside theirmaster's schemes."

He enjoyed the sherry and bitters and had just declined theoffer of a second, when the butler returned into the room.

"Please, sir, could James speak to you for a moment?" he said,addressing his master. "He wants to know about those bulbs youordered last week."

"Excuse me for a moment, Mr. Wenn," said the professor. "Mygardener is always worrying me at inopportune times," and hebustled energetically away.

"Oh! yes, sir," replied the butler, "the grocer brings themout when he comes. That is, of course, sir"—he correctedhimself—"the morning papers. We don't get the evening paperunless we go into Holt specially for it." He looked inquiringlyat the detective. "Did you want one particularly to-night,sir?"

"Because, sir," went on the butler, "if you should happen towant one I could bring it back with me to-night. We're going intoHolt for the pictures after we've served dinner, my wife and me.The master's had some tickets given him."

"Oh! you're going in to the pictures, are you?" asked Larosethoughtfully. "Anything good on?"

"Yes, sir," replied the butler. "'The Scarlet Sin,' featuringMary Trulove as the deceiving wife." He looked very pleased. "Ithink we shall enjoy it."

"Hum!" he remarked, "now that's interesting. Letting his staffgo off when he's got visitors; still"—and his facecleared—"they will be up to no tricks if there are to beeight of us, and I needn't worry therefore about what I eat ordrink."

But the detective soon found that if there were, indeed, to beeight at cards there would certainly not be that number atdinner.

Texworthy and McAlbane arrived in a few minutes and then theprofessor began to fidget, looking frequently at his watch.

"Are you sure our time is right?" he asked of the butler, whowas hovering about with a worried expression upon his face.

"Well, we won't wait any longer," said the professor,pocketing his watch. "Serve dinner at once." He turned to Laroseand whispered smilingly as the butler went out. "His wife's thecook, you see, and it will break her heart if the dinner'sspoilt. I was expecting another guest," he added—"ColonelYoung, but I suppose the old chap's indisposed and can't come.He's very old-fashioned and unfortunately is not on the 'phone."He made a move to the door. "But we can't wait or the others willbe here before we're finished, and I hate to have to eat anddrink in a hurry."

"So I'm going to have these beauties to myself," ran histhoughts, "with the butler and his missus going out and nocertainty that anyone else is arriving. I've seen two card tableslaid out, but that may be only bluff, and although young Graintold me positively that he was coming—they may have 'phonedhim at the last minute to put him off." He frowned. "Lord! butI've taken things too much for granted. It'll be dark before 9,the odds are three to one against me, and they are fighting ontheir own ground."

But he had no opportunity for further ruminations just then,for the professor taking his arm, led him into the diningroom.

"A homely little dinner, Mr. Wenn," he said, smiling. "A man'smeal with no kickshaws, quite plain but the very best. A Doversole, sirloin of beef, and the first grouse of the season, andall prepared by one of the best cooks in England."

They seated themselves at the table and Larose, seeing thatthere was actually a place laid for another diner, took heart andprepared to enjoy his dinner even if it were to be the last onehe would ever eat.

"I shall be quite safe, at any rate," he told himself, "whilethe butler's here, and then after that, if the others don'tappear, I must trust to my own wits to keep the breath in mybody." He smiled grimly to himself. "But be careful, Gilbert, bevery careful what you drink when the butler's gone, for there aremany poisons in this wicked world and"—he sighed—"asI have reminded you already those quicksands are very near."

The dinner was quite a merry one and nothing could have beenmore kindly and hospitable than the professor's manner. A patronof crime the great man might be, but Larose had to admit that hewas an admirable host as well.

McAlbane was most friendly, too, and disclosed ratherrecklessly, Larose thought certain ventures of his of doubtfulmorality upon the turf.

And Texworthy sat smiling, not saying much, but looking ratheramused, as if the whole time he were enjoying some privatejoke.

The famous Barsac was brought round, but both the big-gamehunter and McAlbane declined.

"They're barbarians, Mr. Wenn," laughed the professor, "and asthey are more at home with me than with Ephraim Smith, theyshamelessly express their preference now for spirits over thedivine fruit of the grape." He held up the glass to the light."And isn't this a beautiful wine, sir, perfect in appearance,flavour and bouquet? But I wonder what our friend the Count wouldsay to it if he were here: You know—you know," and hescrewed up his eyes. "I think that aristocratic gentleman got alittle bit tipsy the other night. He was very free with hisopinions all the evening and I saw him myself make a gift of apenny to Fenton when being helped on with his coat. Ah! andtalking about drunken people—now did you hear of that poorchap from the Inebriates' Home being drowned yesterday?" and hefixed Larose with a pair of very steely-looking eyes.

"Oh! from that place the canon spoke about the other night?"the detective replied. He shook his head. "No. I've heard nothingabout it. How did it happen?"

"He went fishing in a small boat all by himself," said theprofessor gravely, "and, it is believed, took intoxicants withhim; became incapable, and fell out of the boat and wasdrowned."

Larose professed little interest. "Well, they should havelooked after him better," he remarked carelessly, "but it's myexperience that if those kind of people want to get drink,they'll get it somehow." He shrugged his shoulders. "A confirmeddrunkard, however, is no good to the community anyhow."

"Ah! there you have it, Mr. Wenn," exclaimed the professorwith enthusiasm, "and it is there that you come to close quarterswith the dreadful catastrophe that is menacing the world." He wasmost impressive. "You know, it is my considered opinion thatcivilisation is actually breaking down, and breaking down becauseof the far-reaching nature of its success. It is like a beautifulmotor car that we have made the product of our greatestmetallurgists and engineers, and"—he threw out hishands—"it is in such demand that we are overloading it andgiving to it a burden too great for it to bear."

"Why, we are putting too many passengers in it," smiled theprofessor. "The maimed, the halt and the blind, the sick and thesorry, the lunatic and the imbecile, the man who is diseased, theidler and the loafer who will not work—in fact all whomNature intended to fall by the wayside." He thumped the table inhis earnestness. "We are altering the balance of Nature and weare preserving those whom she intended should starve anddie."

"Great Scott!" laughed Larose, "but you wouldn't have us loseall pity, would you?"

"Nature has none," said the professor coldly, "and why shouldwe pretend to a greater wisdom than her? We are a sick world, andsick we shall continue to be until we bow to the inevitable andlive in harmony with Nature's laws. No pity and no favours, andno pandering to the cast-offs of God." He smiled at theAustralian. "The race to the swift, Mr. Wenn, and the battle tothe strong."

"Ha! ha!" laughed McAlbane, "and it is clear, my dearprofessor, that you are no follower of the turf and have no ideahow big fights are framed up."

The meal proceeded, and such cheerfulness and harmonyprevailed that Larose was in a way of being completely lulledinto a sense of security, when suddenly all his suspicious werereawakened and he felt furtively for the little automatic in hiship pocket.

All in the space of a few seconds the demeanour of his hostand the other two seemed to undergo a change and their carelesslightheartedness to be replaced by uneasy and self-consciousembarrassment.

Larose noticed it when the dessert stage had been reached andthe butler had placed a decanter of port upon the table. Thebutler looked inquiringly at his master, and, the professorgiving him a curt nod, he left the room, shutting the door forthe first time, the detective noticed, closely behind him.

Then it seemed as if some cold and chilling spirit had enteredamong them, and for the moment conversation lapsed. A feeling oftension was in the air. The professor fidgeted and looked firstout of the window, and then at the clock. Texworthy gulped downthe contents of his tumbler as if it were a duty to be got over,and McAlbane was suddenly most interested in his fingernails.

Then the professor appeared to pull himself together, and,talking with great rapidity and in raised tones, he asked Laroseone question after another, barely giving him time to make anyresponse. McAlbane joined in presently, talking equally asloudly.

The Honourable James was strongly of opinion that the famousAustralian gelding, Phar Lap, was an over-rated animal, and thatthere were many racehorses in England which could comfortablytake him on at even weights. The discussion was at its height,and Larose was finding it difficult to deal with both speakers atthe same time, when he suddenly heard the sounds of a motor carbeing started up outside. There was no doubt of it, and thesounds came from the direction of the garage.

The detective thought swiftly. Of course, it was the butlerand his wife going off to the pictures, and then he (Larose) wasalone now with his enemies. Then what was about to happen? Was itimagination only that made him think they intended harm? Wouldthey attempt to drug him, and then in some way finish him off?But was it possible that they would have the nerve to molest himwhen it was known to everyone that he was a guest at theprofessor's, and when, if he disappeared, they, and they only,would have to explain his disappearance? Ah! but an accidentmight happen, and they could so easily say, for instance, thatthey had been showing him those sinister quicksands, and he hadfoolhardily stepped too near, and slipped in. They could inventsome plausible happening; they could——

He pushed his chair back a little, and, sitting forward,prepared himself at any suspicious movement to spring to hisfeet. He had Texworthy on his right, and the professor on hisleft, and McAlbane was on the other side of the table.

It was Texworthy, he told himself, from whom he would havemost to fear, and he regarded watchfully the lithe and sinuousfigure of the big-game hunter. But Texworthy's attitude was oneof the greatest abandon. He was lolling back in his chair, heblinked his eyes as if he were sleepy, and his whole pose wasthat of a man who had enjoyed a good dinner, and now only wantedpeace and quiet in order to digest it.

The conversation continued for a few minutes, and then theprofessor, getting up, moved over to the sideboard and busiedhimself with a kettle that had just begun to boil over a spiritlamp.

"Now, Mr. Wenn," he said smilingly, "I'm going to give you atreat. I never allow anyone to make the coffee here but myself."His eyes twinkled. "No one can make coffee like me, and you'llwant two or three cups."

"Oh! I'm very sorry Professor Ingleby," exclaimed Larose,"but, really, I never take coffee at all. It upsets me."

The professor looked very hurt. "And this is where I wanted toshow you," he said, disappointedly, "that, with all his riches,Ephraim Smith could not give you what I can." He looked hard atLarose. "Are you sure you won't have any?"

The detective shook his head. "Quite sure," he replied firmly."I'm so sorry, but, as I say, I don't take it."

"And I quite agree with you, Mr. Wenn," said the big-gamehunter, smiling. "I think it dopey stuff." He helped himself tosome almonds and raisins. "These are much better to finish upwith."

The professor brought coffee for himself and McAlbane to thetable. "Well, have some of those raisins, Mr. Wenn," he said."They come from Australia, although I'm sorry to admit thealmonds don't. Oh! by-the-by," he added, "now try those almonds.They're not quite as good as those from Australia perhaps, butthey're Valencias," and he pushed over a little silver dish uponwhich a dozen or more almonds remained.

Larose helped himself and took some raisins as well, but hedid not relax his vigilance and still kept a wary eye on theothers.

He was puzzled and uneasy, for, although everything appearedcommonplace upon the surface, he sensed strongly a feeling ofunnatural restraint in the room. Something was about to happen,he was sure, and it was a secret held by the other three. Theywere different from a few minutes ago.

McAlbane, after being talkative, had suddenly become quiet andwas looking meditatively out of the window into the quicklygathering dusk. Texworthy sat like a graven image, but he nolonger lolled in his chair, and he was frowning as if deep inthought. Only the professor was lively and he rattled onnervously as though he talked merely for the sake of talking. Hehad a word for everyone in turn.

"Have a liqueur Texworthy," he said, "and don't look as if youhad just got your income tax in. Another glass of port, McAlbane,and you, Mr. Wenn, have some of that brandy. It's more than fiftyyears old, and I only bring it out on special occasions. Now, Ithink, I'll light the lamp. We shall be going into the study in afew minutes, directly the others arrive, but we won't go in untilthey do come, so that the room will be quite fresh."

And then suddenly, with the lighting of the lamp, came anotherchange, and all the tension in the room seemed to pass away.Texworthy awoke from his reverie and smiled with a sociable andfriendly smile, McAlbane tossed down a brandy and soda as if hehad well deserved it, and the professor, leaning back in hischair, drew in a deep breath, as if he could now take a rest.

"Have some more almonds, Mr. Wenn," he said after a moment."You've only had two."

"No—three," replied Larose. "They're very nice," headded, "but rather sweet and of quite a different flavour toours."

The professor looked at the clock. "Five and twenty pasteight," he marked slowly, "and we'll wait——"

"Twenty minutes," interrupted Texworthy, flashing a quick lookat the professor. "They ought to be here by then," and turning toLarose he proceeded to relate to him an amusing but rather longstory about one of the players who was expected.

"Have a cigarette, Mr. Wenn," said the professor presently,passing over a box to Larose. He laughed. "You know, they alwaysoffer the condemned man one just before they begin to prepare himfor the scaffold."

A shiver ran down the detective's spine. The words had beenspoken jestingly, but in the suspicious mood that possessed himhe sensed far more than humour behind them. Like all students ofcrime, he understood the vanity of the criminal mind, and if anyevil were intended for him then it was quite on the cards thatthe professor's remark was more a boast than a joke. Ah! and hehad looked so confident, too, as he had spoken, as if he weresure about something.

And then suddenly a wave of recklessness swept through Larose;he felt strangely excited, and an irresistible desire seized himto hit back. He was no weakling. He would show them, and theyshould learn that it was his custom always to return blow forblow.

He laughed as if he were very amused. "Yes, but I'm going toget a reprieve," he replied, taking a cigarette from the box,"and it's on its way here now. Sure," he went on after a moment,when he had lighted up, "but I've always been darned lucky in mylife, and lucky, perhaps, because I've always been prepared. Why,look at this," and in a quick but careless movement his hand wentback to his hip pocket, and, whipping out a small automatic heflashed it before three pairs of astonished eyes.

"But Mr. Wenn, Mr. Wenn," exclaimed the professor, his fatlittle body squirming uncomfortably, "you don't always carry apistol, do you, in a civilised country like this?"

"Always," laughed Larose loudly, "it's a habit of mine." Hepassed his hand over his forehead as if he were suddenly puzzledabout something. "And I can use it, too. At twenty paces I canhit a penny every time." He raised his pistol as if to take aim."Now see that nail over the ventilator there. Well, I could drivethat out of sight with one shot."

Perspiration came out on the professor's forehead in bigbeads, but Texworthy only smiled and looked at the clock. It wasnow twenty-three minutes to nine.

Larose was like a man exhilarated with heady wine. "Isaid—I said," and his voice seemed to come a littlethickly, "that I've been lucky in my life and, so I have. I trodon a death adder once, it fastened into my legging so that wepulled its jaw out as we tore its head away. But the poison neverreached me and I didn't even get a scratch. Then anotherthing—another time—" but he suddenly stopped speakingand sighed heavily.

All in a second, as it were, his animation was spent, and hedropped his pistol slowly back into his pocket.

"Another time?" suggested Texworthy softly. "What happenedanother time, Mr. Wenn?"

"Oh! I was jumping a small creek," he replied slowly, "andthere was a tiger snake coiled up on the other side. I landedright on top of it and killed it. If I hadn't, if Ihadn't——." He shut his eyes and, bending forward,rested his giddy head upon the table, in his hands. "My God, myGod!" ran his quickly failing thoughts, "but they've got me. I'mtrapped," and he groped weakly for the pocket in which his pistollay. But his hand could not find it.

A minute later and the big-game hunter, with a triumphantsmile, rose to his feet.

"He'll do now," he remarked briskly, and he glanced at thedish of almonds. "Yes, he took three, and that means nearlythree-quarters of a grain. It's not enough to kill him, but it'llkeep him still for some hours." He lifted the unconscious form ofLarose on to the sofa and then turned round to the professor. "Isaid twenty minutes, and it was only eighteen, but I knewdirectly he started boasting that it was beginning to act. Theyalways go off in that way."

The face of the professor was white and pasty. "It had to bedone," he said shakily, "but it was unpleasant to watch theprocess. I'll have a brandy, McAlbane. Two fingers, please, andonly just as much water."

McAlbane gave him the spirit and then walked over to the sofa."Are we going to leave him here," he asked carelessly, "until wetake him outside?"

"No," exclaimed the professor, starting up: "he's to go intomy room." He looked up at the clock with a worried expression."It'll be three-quarters of an hour at least before thequicksands are uncovered, and we can't do anything untilthen."

"Well," said Texworthy thoughtfully, "hadn't we better, inthat case, make certain of him at once? You see," he went on, "Idon't know too much about this stuff, but when the natives haveeaten the berries I've heard them cry out sometimes." He turnedto the professor. "Now, a pillow over his face for a couple ofminutes and he'd never come to."

But the professor was horrified. "No, no," he cried out, "aslong as he's in this house there must be no signs of injury abouthim and no evidence of a sudden death." He was angry now in hisvehemence. "Why, man, can't you realise the possible dangers thatmay come to us yet?" He pointed to the unconscious Larose."Didn't, he say just now, when I joked to him about beingcondemned, that he expected a reprieve was on its way, and if anyof the other fellows do come, do you want them to find us with acorpse on our hands? These men nearly always hunt in two andthrees, remember, and it is quite possible that Vallon andNaughton Jones, even now, are hanging about outside. I thought ofthat directly he had eaten the almonds." He shrugged hisshoulders. "As it is, if they do come—well, Larose hassuddenly been taken ill. He is lying on my bed, and we are tryingour best to bring him to. If he could tell everything, he hasnothing against us."

"It was damned silly rot, that joke of yours, anyhow," snappedMcAlbane. "You made him suspicious, and for two pins he'd havelet fly with his gun at us all. He had the whip hand over us thenif he'd only known it."

"Ah!" exclaimed the professor, puckering his face into afrown, "now you make me uneasy. Yes, he was suspicious, and Ibelieve now that he came here suspicious." He stood silent for amoment, and then, with a gesture of disgust, snapped his fingersviciously together. "Ah! but we've been fools." His eyes blazed."What made Larose come here to-night at all except that he wassuspicious? Larose never does anything without a purpose. He isthe incarnation of purpose, and he didn't intend to waste a nighthere at cards for nothing, I'm sure. No, not he. He'd found outsomething about us already, and he came to-night to find outmore." The professor strode over to the sofa. "Take him into myroom—quickly. No, wait a moment. Go through his pocketsfirst."

But the pockets yielded nothing of interest except theautomatic pistol, and McAlbane whistled as he picked it up.

"Damn!" he exclaimed, "but we've had an escape. He's actuallygot the safety catch released, the young devil!"

They carried Larose into the bedroom, the professor leadingthe way with a lamp, for it was now quite dark.

Throwing him upon the bed, Texworthy lifted up one of theeyelids of the unconscious man.

"Look at his pin-point pupils," he said grimly. "They will bedifficult to explain if his friends turn up within the next half-hour."

"Well, we won't meet trouble half-way," said the professorquickly, "and in three-quarters of an hour he'll be in thequicksands and we'll be quite safe. But back into the dining-roomnow, and we'll get everything all cut and dried about our story,to that we'll be word perfect in our parts if anyone does turnup." He rubbed his hands together cheerfully. "And now, if onlyMattin scores a bullseye, too, with the others, then this willindeed be our lucky night." He hesitated a moment and lookedback. "But are you sure, Texworthy, quite sure, he won't come towithin an hour?"

"Quite," replied the big-game hunter scornfully. "Why, nowhe's got no pulse at all. He's as near dead as can be."

One, two three minutes passed, and the room was so still thatit might have been a chamber of death. The limp figure on the bedhad not the pose of sleep, and there was something sinister inthe huddled limbs.

Then, suddenly, there came a faint rustling from beneath thebed. Someone with an effort suppressed a sneeze, and a momentlater a ray from an electric torch shot out across the floor ofthe room.

Then a head and shoulders were raised cautiously over the sideof the bed, and the drugged detective was regarded with startledand wondering eyes.

CHAPTER XII.
The Soul of a Thief.

FOR ten seconds, perhaps, Croupin stared wide-eyed, with his mouth open, and then he drew in a deep breath.

"Mon Dieu!" he gasped incredulously, "but it's Larose, andthey've killed him. The murdering brutes!"

He rose like lightning to his feet, and, darting round thebed, bent over the limp form.

"Ah, no!" he exclaimed, with great relief—"he is notdead. Only drugged, and they are waiting then for the tide to godown to throw him into the quicksands they spoke about." Heglanced furtively at the door. "Oh! but they are bad men here.They are assassins and this is a house of death"—a grincrossed his face—"except for Raphael Croupin, the honestthief." He scowled. "But I'll cheat them. I'll spoil their game,Croupin's not the man to leave a comrade in distress. Besides Ilike this chap. He had a humorous eye the other night when I waslooking at that diamond stud. But now for action and I must bequick."

He dived under the bed and, producing a large flat book,proceeded to tuck it under his tightly buttoned jacket.

"Worth £5,000 are they?" he chuckled. "Well, I'll soonfind out if he's a liar as well as a murderer."

His movements then were as soft and silent as those of a cat.Without a sound he hoisted Larose upon his shoulder and tiptoedto the long French window; like a shadow he slid behind theVenetian blinds and then, in two seconds, he was out in thegarden and gently closing the window behind him.

The moon was showing fitfully behind the clouds and he made abeeline for the garden gate, staggering over the flower beds withhis heavy burden.

"Name of a dog!" he chuckled, "but won't they stare when theyfind he's gone. They didn't reckon on the good old Croupin beingunder the bed."

He went about two hundred yards without a stop, and then laidLarose down and threw himself alongside.

"Method, Croupin, my boy, method," he panted, "and don'texhaust yourself all at once. Little runs and short rests, that'sthe idea, and we'll soon be out of sight of the house. Then we'llput Monsieur Larose somewhere among the dunes and go for help."He stretched out and felt for the detective's pulse."Bien—at any rate he is no worse and the shaking will havehelped to revive him."

Half a dozen times he repeated his runs and then, with hislegs shaking and the sweat pouring from him, he felt his strengthwas giving out.

"No good, mon brave," he exclaimed ruefully. "You can't carryhim any further. You must hide him somewhere," and he beganlooking about for a suitable place.

Then suddenly he heard the sound of a motor in the distanceand to his great joy realised it was coming from the oppositedirection to Marsh House. With feverish strides he raced over theintervening stretch of sand that separated him from the road.

A quarter of a mile or so away he saw the dim lights of a car.It was travelling slowly and following an erratic course, as ifthe driver was uncertain of the road and handicapped by poorlamps.

Croupin stared and then grinned broadly. "The wine of thecountry probably—the good strong ale," was his comment."Well, all the better then, for he'll be sympathetic and not toocurious about anything." He chuckled. "I'll pitch him a tale andhe shall run us into that doctor at Holt."

He waited on the sands until the car was about twenty yardsaway, and, then stepped boldly into the middle of the road and hebegan waving his arms.

The car, slackening pace, swerved right at him; and he had tojump quickly to one side to avoid being run down.

"Diable!" he called out angrily, as the car came to astandstill. "What's your game? Do you want to kill me?"

And then to his amazement he heard a cold, familiar, voice."Ah!" came an exclamation, "and it's Monsieur Croupin, is it?Well, what are you doing here?"

Croupin gasped. It was Naughton Jones at the wheel, and by hisside sat the great Vallon of the Surete of Paris!

"Mon Dieu!" he cried. "Help, quick. I've got Gilbert Larosedown on the sands here. He's been drugged at Marsh House and I'vecarried him away unknown to them. Quick for they may come lookingfor us any moment. They'll shoot, too, if they find us, forthey're killers, all that lot. I heard them say they would puthim into the quicksands directly the tide was down."

With an oath Vallon leapt like a greyhound from the car, andNaughton Jones, with all his calmness, was not two yards behindhim. As fast as they could run, they followed Croupin to whereLarose was lying upon the sands.

"Is he dead?" asked Vallon hoarsely, and he flung himself downupon his knees to answer his own question.

"No," he went on excitedly, "his heart's beating." He flasheda light upon Larose's face and then lifted up one of his eyelids."Yes, doped, and he's had a big dose by the look of him," and hegathered up the unconscious man as if he were a child and startedback for the car. "Quick, to a doctor at once."

"And what, pray, were you doing at Professor Ingleby's?"demanded Naughton Jones jerkily of Croupin as they ran along.

"I was making investigations," answered Croupin loftily,thankful that in the darkness Jones could not see his face. "Iwas suspecting that professor of a great deal."

"Under my coat!" echoed Croupin, as if surprised. "Oh, that'smy notebook. I take a lot of notes when I'm on any work."

They reached the car, and Larose was laid at full length atthe back. Then Naughton Jones made for the driver's seat, butVallon gripped him firmly by the arm.

"One moment, please," he said sharply and he turned toCroupin. "Now, can you drive a Ford car, Monsieur?"

"Well, drive now," said Vallon sharply "and in to Dr. Grain atHolt—like lightning."

"No, Mr. Jones," interrupted Vallon firmly, "you are a greatdetective certainly, but you are one of the worst drivers of amotor car I have ever met. It may be, as you say, that you havenot driven much lately, and that the steering's loose, but I tellyou my heart was in my mouth the whole time you were at thewheel." He nodded to his compatriot. "Get up, Croupin."

Jones was icily calm. "But are you licensed to drive in thiscountry, Monsieur Croupin?" he asked. "For, if not, I tell you Iwill countenance no infringement of the law."

Croupin grinned, but took no other notice, and in half aminute he had turned the car round and they were speeding as hardas they could go.

Vallon's face took on an apprehensive look almost at once,for, in getting rid of Jones he had disposed of one danger, insubstituting Croupin, it seemed he had raised a dozen others.

Croupin drove as if all the police in France were after himand careering over straight stretches and round curves at thesame speed, the old car rattled like a thousand tin cans tiedtogether. The engine roared like a thing possessed and ominousand sinister sounds came from its inward parts. Vallon thought ofhis little ones at home and Jones wondered into how many columnshis obituary notice would run in 'The Times.'

But the journey, if hazardous, was very short, and beforeVallon had wiped the perspiration from his forehead half a dozentimes, Croupin pulled up with a jerk at Dr. Grain's house, whichwas one of the first in the town.

The front of the house was in darkness except for the usualred lamp, but they carried Larose through the gate marked'surgery,' and then Vallon knocked peremptorily upon the door.Dr. Grain appeared almost immediately, frowning however, at thenoise they had made.

The doctor's face cleared instantly. "Bring him in here," hesaid sharply, and Larose was quickly outstretched upon acouch.

The doctor felt Larose's pulse, and, bending down, lookedquickly at his lips and into his mouth. Then he lifted an eyelidand touched lightly on the ball of the eye.

"Well, I'll make him sick anyhow," he said, and, taking ahypodermic syringe out of a case, he began looking among somesmall phials.

"But it should not be necessary," interrupted Croupin quickly."He is as empty as a drum. I was running with him for nearly amile and I have shaken everything out of him."

"Oh!" said the doctor thoughtfully, and he put down thesyringe and again felt Larose's pulse. Then he uttered a sharpexclamation. "But I know this man. He's Mr. Wenn from the castlehere."

"Yes, that is he," said Naughton Jones calmly, "and an attempthas been made upon his life."

"But where—and who made it?" asked the doctor sharply,looking from one to another.

The doctor hesitated with his fingers still upon Larose'swrist. "No," he said curtly, "he's not going to die. Somenarcotic's been given him, but he's not apparently absorbed afatal dose." He looked hard at the detective. "When did he havethe stuff?"

"A little over an hour ago," he replied. "I found him about aquarter to nine and he had only just become unconsciousthen."

"And who are you?" asked the doctor. "Who are you all?" andwhen silence followed his face hardened and he moved over to hisdesk. "Well, we'll soon get to the truth of this," he went ongrimly. "I'm going to telephone the police."

"But why not?" asked the doctor quickly. "Why shouldn't I?Look here," he went on, "I'm not quite a fool, and when threestrangers bring a drugged man into my surgery and refuse toexplain anything"—he shrugged his shoulders—"then I'mnot going to shirk my duty, I'm going to call in the police."

"But, Dr. Grain," exclaimed Vallon quickly, "you will be doinggreat harm to your friends and you will be hindering and nothelping the upholders of the law."

"Monsieur," interrupted Croupin, putting his hand upon hisheart, "I am no stranger to the tender passion and too well Iknow how it would grieve you to occasion pain to the belovedobject of your thoughts." He went on speaking rapidly. "We willbe quite frank with you. We are friends of your friends, and weare"—he coughed slightly—"no breakers of the law. Infact, we are detec—"—he correctedhimself—"investigators, and we are in the employ—inthe service of Mr. Ephraim Smith. You are known to us, and infact"—an impish grin came into his face—"I havealready shaken you by the hand." He inclined his head grandly: "Iwas le Comte de Surenne."

The doctor looked the picture of amazement, and Croupin,enjoying the sensation he was creating, went on—

"Yes, the facts are, that this gentleman, Mr. Wenn as you knowhim, was dining with Professor Ingleby to-night, and the othersthere were that lion tamer and the Scotchman, McAlbane. They gavesomething to Mr. Wenn during the meal and brought him whenunconscious into the professor's bedroom. It was by chance, thatI was carrying on secret investigations there at the time,and"—Croupin hesitated and became slightlyembarrassed—"having taken refuge under the bed, by goodfortune I saw them bring him in. The big Texworthy said that Mr.Wenn was nearly dead, and would be unconscious for at least twohours, and the professor said they would put him in thequicksands very soon. They went out of the room then, and Icarried Mr. Wenn away through the window. About a quarter of anhour later I met my two colleagues"—Naughton Jones scowledand looked at the floor—"and with all haste we brought thepoor Mr. Wenn here." He shrugged his shoulders. "Now you knowall."

"But Professor Ingleby intending to murder Mr. Wenn!" gaspedthe doctor incredulously. "What for? Why?"

Vallon peremptorily waved him aside. "Dr. Grain," he saidsolemnly, "the secret is not ours and we have really no right totake you into our confidence, but as we have told you so much wemust now tell you more," and then he proceeded to touch brieflyupon everything that had led up to their presence in the surgery.He told how Ephraim Smith had been hounded by racketeers, hedescribed the outrages that had been committed, and finallyexplained what steps the millionaire had taken to free himself.He informed the doctor of everything except the complicity of thebutler, being silent on that point because Naughton Jones at thefirst mention of Fenton's name, flashed him a warning glance.

"Now, Dr. Grain," he concluded grimly, "you are one of us,and, instead of your sending for the police, we shall make apoliceman of you yourself." His face broke into an engagingsmile. "And if I, Vallon, of the Surete of Paris, am any judge ofcharacter, you will prove a most valuable ally."

But the doctor did not smile back. "And you say you are Vallonof the Surete of Paris, do you?" he said slowly, and when Vallonhad nodded curtly he suddenly rapped out in perfect French: "Andwho then was Didonnier, Monsieur, if you please?"

Vallon's jaw dropped in astonishment, he flushed in anger, andthen almost in the same second he smiled again.

"Didonnier," he replied, looking very amused, "was a windowcleaner in Passy. He poisoned his wife with hyosine which hestole from a doctor's house when he was attending to the windowsthere. The death would have remained a mystery if I had not foundhis fingerprints upon the cover of a book on 'Vegetable Poisons'in the doctor's library."

"Yes," nodded Dr. Grain, "and I was present at the autopsy atthe St. Lazaire. I was doing a post-graduate course there." Hesmiled at the detective. "Now show me the palm of your left hand,Monsieur," and when Vallon had exhibited it, he nodded again."Good," he remarked, "I am quite satisfied. My friend, Dr. Berneremoved the bullet for you the day when Voisin, the motor bandit,was killed."

"And I am Naughton Jones," said Jones with dignity, "and I toohave met you before. I was the violinist that night at the castlewhen you and Miss Smith went into the garden. I was playing inthe dark, you remember."

Dr. Grain looked slightly embarrassed, but boweddeferentially. "And you, sir," he asked, turning to Croupin, "doyou also bear an honoured name?"

"Raphael Croupin," laughed Croupin, and then his eyes twinkledmaliciously: "A colleague of the renowned detectives, MessieursVallon and Naughton Jones"—he looked round and seeing thescorn on Jones's face, added defiantly—"and the man whosaved Gilbert Larose from the quicksands."

"Ah! so you did," exclaimed Vallon warmly, "and much shall beforgiven you for that, my friend."

"So, so," said the doctor, thoughtfully regarding the figureon the couch "and then this is really the celebrated Larose.Scarcely at his best now, do you think? Still, he bluffed usright enough the other night." He turned to the detectives andasked sharply: "Now what are we going to do? I take it, ofcourse, that you want this hushed up, but your friend here may beunconscious yet for several hours, and he must be kept underobservation the whole time. He really ought to be put into ahospital, you know."

"Oh, no, Doctor," said Vallon quickly, "not if it can possiblybe avoided." He spoke earnestly. "You see, we're in a mostawkward position until we hear what Mr. Larose here has to tellus. We can do nothing, and complete secrecy is vital to us. Thosewretches will be in a terrible state of uncertainty about Laroseand what they will do next no one can say. Can you keep him herefor the night, and then the whole thing will be a secret?"

The doctor nodded. "I suppose I can," he replied slowly."There's only my housekeeper here, and she won't talk." He shookhis head. "But this is staggering news about Ingleby—andyet it squares with other things. I was to have gone there thisevening, but at the last moment he put me off by 'phone because,he said, three other men had failed him, and he couldn't make upthe second table. Yes, it's staggering, as I say."

"But we are sure, Doctor," said Vallon gravely, "perfectlysure. It's a form of madness, of course, but he is a great man,and if we only knew everything about the private lives of greatmen, how many of them should we consider really sane?" He tookout his watch. "Now this is where you can help us. Mr. Smith mustbe warned instantly of what has happened so that he will beprepared if they ring him up; for if they are the first to informhim that Larose is missing, I tremble to think what the old manwill do. We may even be too late now although somehow I thinkthey will be so puzzled that they will fear to make the firstmove."

"You can go to the castle—and we can't," said Vallondecisively. "There are spies there, we are sure, and any strangerwill be suspected at once, where as you——"

"No," replied Vallon, "that butler always answers the 'phoneexcept at certain specially arranged times, and it's too latenow."

"Then if they are," said Croupin at once, "throw some stonesup against Miss Eunice's window and she'll come down. I knowwhich room is hers. It is just over the library, the one withblue curtains. She always pulls up the blind, too, when she hasturned out the lights, and if the night is warm she leans out ofthe window—to smell the flowers, I think. She wears pinkcrepe de chine pyjamas."

The doctor reddened, Jones looked icily contemptuous, andVallon smiled a grim smile.

"La! la! Monsieur Croupin," said the stout detectivereprovingly, "how do you know all this?"

"Oh! I've been watching," replied Croupin, "and I've noticedseveral things. One—I believe that butler has beensignalling to someone. He switches his lights on and off sooften."

The two detectives looked quickly at one another, but Croupinwent on complacently:—

"Yes, and one thing more. If you go off at once you'll catchEunice on that seat behind the bushes in the rose garden. Shegoes there every night and sits looking at the stars." He gave asly grin. "The servants think she must be in love. You see," heexplained, "I've been courting a young woman professionally inthe village shop at Weybourne, and her sister is one of thecastle maids." He rubbed his hands delightedly together."Business and pleasure together for once."

Vallon elevated his eyebrows as if he were most surprised, andtried to catch Jones's eye, but the latter avoided theFrenchman's gaze and addressed himself to the doctor.

"And if you can get speech with Mr. Smith without anyoneseeing you, Dr. Grain," he said, "so much the better, for wedon't trust anyone, not even Fenton."

"But if I go up the drive in my car," said the doctor,frowning, "everyone will hear, and if I leave my car outside andwalk up it will look unusual and suspicious."

"No need to do that, doctor," broke in Croupin, as if he wereprepared for everything. "I'll come in the car with you and takeyou to the place where I am accustomed to get over the wall intothe castle grounds. Then I will wait in the car, and you can gostraight into the rose garden and look for Miss Eunice." Hejumped to his feet. "But we must start at once or she will havegone in."

"And when you get Smith," said Vallon, as the doctor rose upimmediately, "arrange for him to meet us here tomorrow at ten.Let him pretend he is not well and is consulting youprofessionally. We will wait now, of course, until you comeback."

A quarter of an hour later Dr. Grain came upon Eunice in therose garden. She was sitting just where Croupin had said shewould be, and she uttered a startled exclamation as she saw thedoctor approach.

"Good gracious!" she said, "how you startled me." The darknesshid the blushes on her face, but her voice trembled a little."And you've been in the castle, then?" she asked.

"No," replied the doctor quickly, "I climbed over the wall andcame straight here. I am so sorry if I frightened you, but I mustspeak to your father at once about Gilbert Larose, and, above allthings, no one must know that I have come. Can you bring Mr.Smith here at once?"

"Yes—Mr. Wenn," said the doctor, and then he made agesture of annoyance. "Oh! what an ass I am. Didn't youknow?"

The girl shook her head. "But what's happened to him?" sheasked quickly. "He's at the professor's this evening andyou—you were supposed to be there, too."

"Oh! he's quite all right now," replied the doctor evasively,"but he's been in great danger, and it is that I want to speak toyour father about. If you bring him here at once I can speak tohim without anyone knowing."

With an unpleasant feeling of apprehension at her heart thegirl ran quickly into the castle and returned in less than twominutes with her father.

"Now, what's up?" asked the latter sharply. "You've frightenedmy daughter, whatever it is."

"Mr. Smith," began the doctor hesitatingly, "perhaps I'dbetter speak to you alone."

"No," said Eunice at once, "if Mr. Wenn is the detectiveGilbert Larose, then I want to know what it means. Mother needn'tknow, of course, but I won't have father doing all the worryingby himself."

And then, as briefly as he could, Dr. Grain related everythingthat had happened that night, with Eunice sitting motionless inthe shadows, but with the millionaire fidgeting restlessly allthe time.

"Damn," he exploded, when the doctor had finished, "all I seemto have got from bringing these men here is more worry andtrouble. They've done nothing, and they're a pack of fools, I'mbeginning to think."

"No, sir," said the doctor quickly. "They seem most capable tome to-night—men with a grip of the situation, howeverinvolved it may appear to be."

"Be prepared what to say," said the doctor, "if ProfessorIngleby should ring up—and if he doesn't 'phone to-night—you are to do so the first thing tomorrow morning.You are to speak and act just as if you still thought he was yourfriend."

"I'll ring up," said Eunice firmly. "Father can't pretend, andhe'll make a muddle of everything. I won't," she addeddecisively.

And then suddenly they heard someone moving on the terraceabove and in the moonlight they saw the butler coming down thepath.

"Are you there, sir, Mr. Smith?" he called out, and instantlyEunice stood up and pushed the doctor down on to the vacantseat.

Smith coughed to cover his embarrassment. "All right," hereplied. "I'll be there in a minute."

"I'll wait to know what they say," whispered the doctor, andthen he added quickly—"but you'd better not come out again.Miss Smith can come and tell me."

The millionaire frowned. "But this is getting on my nerves,"he said gloomily, "and I feel morally responsible, too, for thedeath of that poor wretch who was missing from the boat the otherday." He shook his head. "These men are too clever for us, andeven now they'll have some plausible explanation to give, I'msure."

And certainly when Eunice came back in a few minutes it was aplausible enough tale she repeated.

Mr. Wenn, the professor said, had been seized with a fit ofgiddiness after dinner, and had asked if he could lie down for afew minutes. They had helped him into the professor's room, and,believing he would soon be well enough to rejoin them, had lefthim there. An hour later, however, he was still absent, and,returning to the room, they were amazed to find that he had leftthrough the window. They were a little bit anxious about it,because they could see from his footmarks over the garden bedsthat he had walked with some difficulty and had gone, moreover,straight towards the sea, where the dangerous quicksands werelying uncovered. They had searched all round the house, andalthough they seemed to be able to trace his footsteps on to thesands, they had soon lost them, and the tide was coming inquickly.

"Not much," replied the girl. "He was quick and sharp and saidhe would send our chauffeur out with the two gardeners at once tosee what they could discover." A catch came into her voice. "But,oh! what a dreadful thing if Professor Ingleby is really at thebottom of all our troubles! It's incredible to me, and I can'trealise it."

"Never mind," said the doctor brightly, "it will all comeright in the end and you will forget all your troubles then."

"And you envied us the other night," she went on tearfully,"because we have these riches—these riches that you see nowcan bring such unhappiness to us." She clenched her handstogether. "Oh! you don't know the agonies of mind we've beenthrough never knowing what was going to happen to us from day today. We've had peace for the last few weeks certainly, but now Isuppose it's all going to commence over again."

"No, it isn't," said the doctor decisively. "These men who arehelping your father are getting the upper hand. Naughton Jonesand Vallon are great masters and, in his own country, they callLarose 'the man who never fails.' They've done wonders alreadyand I have the utmost faith in them after what I heard to-night."He laid his hand upon her arm. "Poor little girl. I'm so sorryfor you."

"So do I," replied the doctor instantly, "for then"—hehesitated and laughed a little nervously—"you would makesuch an excellent doctor's wife."

The girl was silent, as if she had not heard him, and neithermoved as they stood in the shadows.

The love of man and woman held them, but in their hearts therewas no joy, for love unspoken is always sad—because thevery wonder of it is so great, it seems impossible the promise ofsuch happiness can ever be fulfilled.

"Well, I must go back now," she said, "I mustn't leave fatheralone too long." She smiled. "But perhaps we shall see more ofyou now you know our dreadful secret. It will be a bond betweenus and it will comfort father to be able to talk openly tosomeone. It's the repression and secrecy that have been so badfor him. Good night."

She tripped away up the path, leaving Dr. Grain disgusted thathe had made so little of his opportunities, but before he couldanathematise himself for very long, to his amazement she was backagain at his side.

"I didn't shake hands with you," she said softly, "or thankyou for taking so much trouble for us."

He took the hand that she held out and then drew her gently tohim and looked down upon the upturned face.

"No," she replied very softly, "not to-night," but he tookone, two, three and then—they lost count.

"I shall tell father," she said mockingly, but with her eyesas bright as stars, as she finally drew herself away and ranoff.

"No," called out the doctor in an ecstasy of happiness,"that'll be my business. I'll do that," and then with a raptexpression on his face, he watched her on to the terrace. Shelooked round and waved her hand to him before disappearing intothe castle.

He returned to the car, to find Croupin dozing peacefully, butthe Frenchman sprang up directly he heard footsteps.

"Ah!" he exclaimed smilingly, "but it is by your face that Isee you have found her, and soon then we shall all think of thewedding gifts," and then in no way abashed by the doctor'schilling frown he added, under his breath, "Now I wonder if hecollects foreign stamps."

Returning quickly home, the doctor reported to Naughton Jonesand Vallon what had happened.

"So," exclaimed the former dryly, "then, from the look ofthings, when Larose is able to tell us everything we shall nothave much on these men. There will be no story ofviolence—just a simple fact that he suddenly became ill."He pursed up his lips grimly. "They will be difficult to trap,these fellows."

Larose was still unconscious, although he was move restlessnow, and, having helped the doctor to undress him and put himinto bed, the two detectives and Croupin left about midnight, toreturn to Weybourne Manor.

Croupin took the wheel again as a matter of course, and,although he certainly started off in quite a leisurely fashion,he was nevertheless soon accelerating to a pace that broughtuneasy frowns again to the faces of the two detectives seatedbehind him.

"Tien, Monsieur Jones," shouted Vallon into Jones's ear, "butyou are the better driver, after all. This fellow Croupin is asdangerous to us as any of the gang."

Presently, when turning round a particularly narrow bend inthe road, Croupin was putting in some fancy serpentine touches,he all but ran into an oncoming cyclist. The latter was riding ata great pace, and carrying no light, and only by the narrowestmargin did he escape disaster. He shouted a guttural curse as hesped by.

"Steady, Monsieur Croupin," Vallon called out angrily. "If youcan't do better than that, we'll get out and push."

Croupin grinned sheepishly, but slowed down at once, and theyproceeded without further adventure until within about half amile of Weybourne Manor, when suddenly a great glare shot up intothe sky, followed almost immediately by the sound of a fierceexplosion.

"But what's that?" exclaimed Jones sharply. "It's right in thedirection of our place."

With a gasp of excitement Croupin pressed on the acceleratoragain, but, reaching the village, the brakes had to be appliedviolently, for the little street was thronged with men and womenrushing out in their night attire.

The sky was encrimsoned, great tongues of flame were shootingup over the trees, and the acrid reek of smoke came up into theair.

"Mon Dieu!" shrieked Croupin, "and I remember now that thatdamned professor said to-night he hoped someone called Mattin wasgoing to score a bull's-eye with the others. Perhaps this is whathe meant."

CHAPTER XIII.
Fenton Loses His Situation.

THE following morning, a few minutes before 10,the three detectives, Naughton Jones, Vallon, and Larose, alongwith Raphael Croupin, were waiting in Dr. Grain's dining-room forthe coming of Ephraim Smith.

Larose lay back in an armchair, looking weak and haggard, andfor the time being the others, too, appeared to have lostsomething of the zest of life. Neither Jones nor Vallon hadshaved, and Croupin was without that air of brightness andvivacity which was usually so characteristic of him.

"But I tell you," said Jones, breaking a long silence, "wehave raised a devil in these men, and the most hardened criminalscould not have struck with more ferocity than they have done. Ireckon there were nine lives lost last night, and if Mariarty hadnot been too intoxicated to leave the inn, and if MonsieurCroupin had not chosen yesterday evening"—he hesitated amoment—"to obtain, as he tells us, some specimens of theprofessor's handwriting, and if we, Monsieur Vallon and I, hadnot been uneasy about Mr. Larose and driven out upon the marshroad in case help should be required, then——" (heshrugged his shoulders) "every single one of those called in byEphraim Smith would have been wiped out." His voice was mostimpressive. "Yes, all of us who were at the gathering in thecastle that night would have been killed."

"So I did," replied Jones, frowning. He shook his head. "Butsomehow I never have regarded Hidou as working with us. I havethought many times that he came to that meeting as a spy.Mariarty has an idea that it was not Hidou at all, for the fellowhad no scars upon his hands, which Mariarty holds to beimprobable with a man who has shared so many hiding places withthe rats."

The door opened suddenly and Dr. Grain entered. "Well,gentlemen," he said with a grim smile, "you will be pleased tolearn that no one will come worrying you now with questions, forit is believed everywhere that, with the exception of Mariarty,everyone has perished. I have just been talking to the policesergeant here, and they are quite sure you are all dead. They arevery disturbed, however, about Mariarty, for he has bolted, andthey don't know where to. It appears that he left his bedroom athalf-past 6 this morning, sobered himself up with a quart ofbeer, and then, being informed of what had happened at the Manor,became panic-stricken and chartered a car into Norwich. Thedriver of the car has returned and says he dropped his fare atthe outskirts of the city. Of course, as the sergeant says, thepolice would have no hold on him, but they believe this Mr.Muller is the only person who can furnish them with informationas to who were the other patients in residence at the Manor."

"Apparently not," replied the doctor, "at any rate up to nowno one has made any mention of you."

"It was the smoke," said Croupin, "for in two minutes everyonewas of such a blackness that our very loved ones would not haveknown us."

"Well, that's good news," said Larose with a wan smile, "andnow, as we are all officially wiped out we can start all overagain, and next time—" an angry glint came into hiseyes—"they will not get me so easily."

"But Meester Larose," exclaimed Croupin, throwing out hishands, "there should be no regret there. Who would have thoughtof almonds and who would have dreamed they would be dangerous?Bright eyes may always be our undoing, or a glass of wine,perhaps, but almonds—bah! almonds, and the very wisest ofus might fall."

There was a knock upon the door, and the doctor's housekeeperentered with a letter upon a tray.

"From Mr. Smith, sir," she said. "One of the gardeners hasbrought it. There is no answer, he says."

"Dieu!" ejaculated Vallon, when the woman had gone away. "Ihope nothing's happened there."

"Please inform those gentlemen I shall not be with them thismorning. I have heard of the awful occurrence at the Manor andhave gone away. I desire no more bloodshed. I want peace andquiet or I shall go mad. I am taking my family with me and myplace of residence will remain unknown to everyone until I haveconsidered my future plans. I absolutely forbid any attempt tofollow me. It would be contrary to my wishes and, besides, itwould be quite futile. Later I will communicate with you again. Itrust Mr. Larose has now recovered."

Naughton Jones sprang to his feet. "Ring up instantly," heshouted to the doctor, "and find out if he has already started.We must warn him against that butler at whatever risk. We cannotdelay another minute. Quick, please."

Dr. Grain picked up the receiver without a word and was atonce put through to the castle.

"Dr. Grain speaking," he said. "Is that you, Mrs. James? HasMr. Smith gone yet? What! He left before nine—at a quarterof an hour's notice? Who went with him? Yes, of course, Mrs. andMiss Smith, but who else? In two cars, Fenton, Reilly and Mrs.Smith's maid. You have no idea where he was going? All right.Thank you. What? Well, I'll come up and see her at once."

He put down the receiver. "It was the housekeeper speaking.She is just as puzzled as we are. He gave them no notice, andthey know absolutely nothing. He, Mrs. Smith, Fenton and thechauffeur went in one car, and Miss Smith and the maid inanother. The gardener was expressly ordered not to bring the notehere until after ten." He took out his watch. "But the cook isill and I shall be going up to the castle, so I may learnmore."

"Diable!" he exclaimed, "and he's taken a live bomb with himand does not know it. He will be delivered right into the handsof those devils and we cannot save him. Yes, now anything mayhappen."

For a long minute again there was silence, and then NaughtonJones, with a gesture of resignation, drew his chair up to thetable.

"Well, well," he said with a sigh. "I expect we have all of usat some time or other been in worse difficulties and yet havecome out victorious in the end, so we'll just consider where westand."

He looked round at the others. "Now, my advice is that for thetime being we drop out of sight and take no part in theinvestigation into the holocaust last night. We hold no officialpositions, and if we come out into the open it will not benefitanybody and only ruin all chance of getting at the heads of thegang. Undoubtedly, from what Mr. Croupin overheard at ProfessorIngleby's, that man Mattin engineered the explosion last nightand almost certainly it was he who was the cyclist we nearly randown in the dark"—he nodded his head impressively—"ashe was returning from lighting the fuse. Well, we can pick him uplater, for, as I regard it, as long as we do not alarm the gang,they will not take cover or disperse, but will be ready at handdirectly we have clear and convincing evidence against them.Another thing, too—if they think we are all out of the way,they will certainly begin making new demands upon Smith, and thenwill be our opportunity." He shook his head frowningly as if hehad suddenly realised the position. "But we are helpless, quitehelpless, until we find out where Smith has gone."

"And that we shall probably not do," said Vallon dryly, "untilhe appeals to us again for help, and then perhaps it will be toolate."

"But Fenton will certainly communicate with Ingleby," went onNaughton Jones, "and if we could get a glimpse at the postmarksof the letters that come to Marsh House we might know at oncewhere to begin to look."

Croupin laughed scornfully. "And the bag is full everymorning," he said, "when the grocer man brings it up. A big, bigbag, and it has a padlock on it too. I have seen."

Larose roused himself with an effort. "It may not be asdifficult as we think," he said, "for Mrs. Smith's maid and thechauffeur not understanding the imperative need for secrecy maypossibly try to get in touch with their friends. I know the girlhas a sweetheart, for the other evening she went out wearing awhite rose and returned with a large box of chocolates, instead.I happened to meet her as she came in."

"I, too, have seen her," exclaimed Croupin with enthusiasm."She is dark and intriguing, and has the nose that turns up, butMeester Larose,"—he shook his head despondently—"youwill have difficulties there, for she has many lovers. Threetimes have I seen her, and each time there was a different man.One was the seller of meat here, and another——"

"But the chauffeur, Mr. Larose," interrupted Jones brusquely,"do you know anything about him?"

"Not much," replied Larose, "except that he comes from Dublin,and has been with Mr. Smith for two years. He is not mixed up inthis, however, I am sure." He turned to the doctor. "But now,doctor, you are going up to the castle, you say, and so you canask the housekeeper about Reilly. Make an excuse and tell herReilly has been advising you about your car.Say—ah!"—a thought suddenly struck him—"you cantake me with you when you go up, and I'll have a look round inhis room over the garage. That's it—it will be quite easy.You shall drive your car up to the side of the castle, and thenwe'll get out and look at one of the tyres. You'll have forgottenyour pump, and I will go to the garage to borrow one. You shallwait by the car whilst I'm gone. I shan't be away three minutes,and I may find a letter or something that will help us."

The doctor looked doubtful. "But everyone will recognise youat once," he said, "if they meet you."

"No, they won't," replied Larose, "I'll wear that old dust-coat I saw in the cupboard of the room where you put me lastnight, and, with a cap pulled down over my eyes, no one will spotme. Besides, there will be no one about the garage at this time.There never is, except the chauffeur."

Ten minutes later, and with the doctor ruefully inspecting aflat back tyre, Larose slipped into the garage and ran up intothe chauffeur's room. All the weariness and malaise of the earlymorning had now left him, and he was the energetic detective oncemore.

For a few moments he stood perfectly still, taking ineverything with the keen eyes of a trained observer.

It was a small room, sparsely furnished. A bed, a chair, atable, a wardrobe and a small chest of drawers; a shelf with afew books on it, a cabin trunk and that was all. Everything wasscrupulously clean and tidy, and, although the chauffeur had beentaken away at such short notice, there was no evidence of hurryor disorder.

Larose pulled open the door of the wardrobe, and went swiftlythrough the pockets of the clothes that were hanging there. Butthere was nothing of interest to him—no papers or lettersof any kind; and it was the same with the contents of the chestof drawers. He looked at the books upon the shelf, but they werecheap novels, or else dealt with motor subjects, and his scrutinywas very short. Opening the cabin trunk, he saw its entirecontents were a few sporting newspapers and a bundle of racecards, held together with a rubber band that had been cut from aninner tube.

The detective regarded the race cards very thoughtfully. Theywere soiled with oily finger marks, and their pages were wellscored over in pencil.

"Hum!" he remarked. "Great Yarmouth, Newmarket, Windsor,Newbury, and Newmarket again. And when he went to Newmarket, thecards are much cleaner, and apparently he did not have a bet,either time, upon the last race. So he was driving his masterthen in the Rolls, and they left the racecourse early. The othertimes he went by himself, and on his motor bike. Good! Anenthusiastic race-goer, and that's something to know."

He rejoined the doctor by the car. "Any luck?" asked thelatter, as they bent together over the tyre.

The doctor saw his patient, but did not get much out of thehousekeeper afterwards. Theresa, the maid, was a Manchester girl,but, exactly in what part her people lived, the housekeeper didnot know. As for the chauffeur—he came from Ireland, andthat was all.

"Where do you think Mr. Smith has gone?" asked Dr. Grain ofthe detective, as they were driving back to Holt.

"London," replied Larose promptly. "Mrs. Smith hates longmotor journeys, and London is the nearest big place. Besides,Smith would have enough gumption to see that London is the bestplace to hide a party with a butler, a maid, and two Rolls-Roycecars." The detective shook his head. "He must have been veryfrightened to go off as he has, and, not knowing the resources ofhis persecutors, he will certainly run to a hiding place as soonas he can. But he has acted very foolishly, and is hampering usat the most critical moment, when we might have been able toswoop down upon them as they came out into the open again."

"And do you think they'll make any new demands?" asked thedoctor, rather anxiously.

"Sure," said Larose. "They'll strike quickly, and they'llstrike hard. They've got him on the run, and they'll keep himso." He looked sympathetic, and then smiled. "But don't youworry. We've got a lot of kick in us yet."

But in the immediate days that followed it seemed as if thecurtain had been finally rung down upon the drama of EphraimSmith and his tormentors. The lights upon the stage had beenextinguished, the actors had faded out of view, and, to allappearances, the audience had dispersed to their home's.

The play was not yet over, and at one flick of a finger thelights were ready to go up again—the actors were still uponthe stage, and, tense and expectant, the audience were stillsitting on.

The explosion and conflagration at Weybourne Manor hadoccasioned great interest everywhere, but, in the generalopinion, there was less mystery about it than had at firstappeared to be the case.

It was remembered now that during the early months of theGreat War the Manor had been occupied by an Austrian family, whohad later been interned, and it was surmised, therefore, thatthey might have secreted there a quantity of explosives for themunitioning of enemy submarines, and that, in some unaccountableway, these dreadful potentialities of destruction had suddenlybecome active.

No other explanation could be suggested to account for thecalamity that had fallen upon a dozen and more inoffensive andinsignificant men, the majority of whose identities unhappilywere destined never to be disclosed.

Another mystery was what had become of the one man who wasknown definitely to have escaped the dreadful holocaust of thatnight? He was a Mr. Muller, and quite by chance it was said, hehad been obliged to, by sudden indisposition, remain the night atthe village inn. Then, the next morning, his mind apparentlyhaving become unhinged by the dreadful fate that had overtakenhis companions, he had bolted away in panic and no trace of himhad since been found. The authorities had searched high and lowbut to no purpose, and so the one man who could have toldsomething about the other visitors to the Manor could not beproduced.

The whole matter was a nine days' wonder, and then slipped,like so many other mysteries, into the category of unexplaineddisasters.

Up at Marsh House, however, there was no mystery at all.Mattin had done his work and done it well, and it was a matter ofcongratulation that the gang was so well served.

There had been one scene, however, at Professor Ingleby's, andfor a few minutes it had been an angry one. When they hadreturned to the bedroom, and discovered Larose's disappearance,the professor and McAlbane had turned upon the big-game hunterand upbraided him fiercely.

"The stuff was no good," the professor had snarled, "and he'sfooled us and got away."

"How could he fool us," Texworthy had replied acidly, "withhis pin-point pupils and no pulse? He's been carried away, I tellyou. He was nearly dead when we brought him in here."

But the professor had not been convinced, and when next day hediscovered the loss of one of his beloved stamp albums he becamemore sceptical still.

"He's a daredevil, this wild Australian," he exclaimed, "andhe only took it to show his contempt for us."

They had been greatly heartened by the calamity at the manor,and, with the days passing and no news of Larose or of any of theothers coming to hand, they had gradually become confident thatall danger had passed.

Who the sole survivor might be they could not tell, but theywere certain he was not Larose, Vallon or Naughton Jones, becauseof the description broadcast, and the matter had ceased totrouble them.

The sudden departure from the castle of Ephraim Smith hadcaused them no dismay, for with the butler accompanying themillionaire, they were certain to learn quickly where theirvictim had gone.

Ephraim Smith was in London and had taken a furnished house atthe Marylebone end of Harley-street, where he was living underthe name of Thomas Gower. He went out very little, Fenton wrote,and then only at night and in the car, but Mrs. Smith and Eunicewere out every day. The millionaire was very depressed, he had novisitors, and had neither written nor received any letters. Hewas in complete isolation. There was a mews at the back of thehouse, running the whole length of that section of the street,and there, between nine and ten every evening, he, Fenton, wouldbe found. There was a communicating passage between the house andthe mews through an area at the back. The two cars were garagedin the mews, but the chauffeur was nearly always away, onpleasure bent, in the evenings.

Then followed long conferences between Mattin and ProfessorIngleby, with Texworthy and McAlbane always present. Thesemeetings invariably took place at night, and Croupin, squattingamong the sand-grass in the darkness, faithfully recorded theexact times when Mattin came and went.

Croupin always wore a very dejected air during these vigils,for his propinquity to Marsh House continually reminded him of apiece of work half done. To his mortification he had discoveredthat he possessed only half the professor's collection of foreignstamps. The book was labelled 'Volume I.'

In the meantime the detectives were working energetically tofind out where Ephraim Smith had gone.

Larose, Vallon and Naughton Jones had considered for a longtime the advisability of approaching Scotland Yard, to inducethem to inaugurate a thorough search for the millionaire, but hadcome unanimously to the conclusion that it would be quiteimpossible to enlist official services without a fullexplanation, which at the moment they were not prepared togive.

"It would practically mean our retiring altogether from thecase," said Naughton Jones, scowling, "and an admission, too,that we had failed."

Larose and Vallon had agreed, and so the former, after a dayspent in Holt and Sheringham picking up all the information hecould about the chauffeur and the flirtatious Theresa, had takena train for London. For the reason he had given the doctor, hewas certain Ephraim Smith would have made for London, and almostat once he was confirmed in that opinion.

He had had no difficulty in finding out in Holt upon whichbank Smith was in the habit of drawing cheques, and upon hisarrival in London he had called at the head office andinterviewed the manager. Then, explaining frankly who he was, hestressed the urgency of getting in immediate touch with EphraimSmith. The manager stated that he knew nothing at all of hiscustomer's movements, but at once making inquiries, he informedLarose that the millionaire had been transacting business in thebank that very morning.

Pressed as to what was the nature of the business, the managerdeclined to say, and, being asked point blank if Smith hadwithdrawn any large amount of money, he had shown annoyance andwalked to the door to indicate that the interview was at anend.

"One moment, sir," said Larose. "You are doing very illservice to your customer if you make no attempt to find outwhether you ought to give me the information I require." Hisvoice was very quiet. "I am working for Mr. Ephraim Smith, I tellyou, at Mr. Smith's special request, and through a mischance I amout of touch with him for a few days. A matter of great urgencyhas arisen, and I want to speak to him at once. Failing theinformation as to where he is staying—he is not at his ownplace in Park Lane—you can tell me whether he has drawn outany large amount of money this morning, for I want to know if Mr.Smith has apparently any thoughts of leaving for the Continent."The detective reseated himself calmly. "In the interests of Mr.Smith, therefore, please ring up Scotland Yard, ask for the ChiefCommissioner or any of the chief detective-inspectors, andinquire if a man called Adams, who has called upon you, is to betrusted. Adams is the code name we have arranged for an occasionlike this."

The manager hesitated a moment. "You should know perfectlywell, Mr. Larose," he said coldly, "that we never disclose anyparticulars of our customers' accounts, unless upon officialrequest from the police."

"Well," said Larose sharply. "I come from the police. I amattached to Scotland Yard, and I have been passed over to Mr.Smith on special service. Please, ring up."

Hesitating a moment, the manager quitted the room, leaving thedoor wide open, however, with Larose in full view of acommissionaire outside. He returned in a few minutes.

"What is the other name?" he asked, and when Larose hadreplied "David," he said curtly—"Mr. Smith drew out ahundred pounds this morning."

"Thank you," said Larose, "and now with your permission, Iwill leave a short letter to be given to Mr. Smith if he shouldcall in again."

And then, day after day, Larose prosecuted his inquiries inevery possible direction that his lively imagination couldsuggest. He remembered the name of the firm from whom Smith hadsaid he was in the habit of purchasing his cigars, and, usingthem as a stepping stone, found out, in turn, the millionaire'swine merchant, his hatter and his tailor. But his time was allwasted for none of them had seen Smith lately.

Then he telephoned to Dr. Grain for the name of Smith's Londonmedical man, but Dr. Grain did not know it, nor was he able tofind out from anyone in the castle. However, at the detective'ssuggestion, the doctor examined Mrs. Smith's medicine cupboardand there came upon a bottle of eye lotion with the label of aLondon chemist upon it. Armed with the number of theprescription, Larose quickly got in touch with the doctor who hadwritten it. But there again he was balked for the eminentpractitioner had seen nothing of the Smith family for severalmonths.

Next, on the Saturday, he went down to a race meeting atSandown Park, and arriving early at Esher Station, carefullyscrutinised everyone proceeding on to the course. But all to nopurpose, and so with powerful glasses he next scanned through allthe stands. Still with no result.

Then with the meeting in full swing, he began a search throughthe enclosures, and at last, to his delight, came upon Reilly inthe silver ring.

The chauffeur was by himself and, keeping in the background,the detective never for a second let him out of sight. He was aspectator of the man's good and bad luck with the bookmakers, hetrailed him many times to the refreshment bar, and, using a taxi,he followed the gaily flagged motor charabanc which carried himback to the city. He sat beside him on the Bakerloo and finallyshadowed him into the mews behind 144B Harley-street. Then, tomake absolutely certain, he looked through the garage doors andwas at once rewarded with a sight of Eunice's car.

But he was not finished yet and until, through discreetinquiries, he had ascertained that that particular garagebelonged to the house behind it, 144B, and that the housereferred to had recently been let furnished to a party by thename of Gower with two Rolls-Royce cars, he did not leave theneighbourhood.

Then he had a long telephone conversation with Naughton Jonesat Dr. Grain's, returning later to his lodging in Eastcastle-street to make a complete change in his appearance. He wasintending to call upon Ephraim Smith about half-past nine thatnight, hoping that at that time he might be fortunate enough toarrive when Fenton was not on duty.

That evening the Smiths dined almost in silence, Smith himselfhardly contributing a word to the conversation. After dinner theyadjourned to the drawing-room and Eunice played softly upon thepiano. Fenton brought round the coffee and, her father and motherbeing served, the girl happened to look into the mirror, saw thatthe butler was stirring in her cup.

She resumed her playing for a few minutes and then, havingdrunk the coffee, she closed the piano and started to read. Buther book was uninteresting and very soon she put it down.

"Oh, but I'm sleepy," she exclaimed passing her hand over herforehead. "I feel too tired almost to undress," and she lay backin an armchair and closed her eyes.

A quarter of an hour later there was a gentle tap upon thedoor, but no response was made, and in a few seconds the door wasopened very gently and Fenton peered in. The butler stoodhesitating for a moment and then tip-toed into the room.

"Miss Eunice," he whispered, "Miss Eunice," and gliding up, hetouched her on the arm. Then he shook her gently but she was in adeep sleep and did not open her eyes.

A cold smile crossed his face and, turning swiftly, he creptout of the room, closing the door very quietly behind him.

In less than two minutes he returned, accompanied now by thedark Syrian of the cottage near the castle. The latter had hiscap pulled down low over his eyes, and his coat buttoned upclosely. He was erect and straight, and walked with the lithenessof a panther.

"But I can't take her like this," he said protestingly. "Imust have a rug or something to wrap her up in, and it must be ofa dark colour if you can get it."

"Hush, hush," whispered the butler, "there's someone outside,"and he darted over to the wall and switched off the light. Theystood in silence for a minute, and then he switched the light onagain. "It was only the maid," he said, "but we must wait nowuntil she's gone back. She came up for something for themistress. The two new girls they've taken on are out for theevening."

Mattin regarded the sleeping Eunice with admiring eyes. "She'svery beautiful," he whispered, drawing in a deep breath, "andwhat a lovely little figure!"

"I have never noticed it," replied the butler coldly. "I'm notinterested in women, and I've been seeing her almost every daysince she was born."

Mattin looked at him pityingly. "A pretty woman," he saidslowly, "is the most wonderful thing in the world." He lookedback at the girl and frowned. "But you haven't given her toomuch, have you?"

"Exactly what I was told to," replied Fenton surlily. He bentover her and thrusting his arm beneath her dress, felt thebeating of her heart. "She's all right," he went on, and drawingback his hand clumsily, he tore open her dress.

Mattin flushed. "Tiens," he exclaimed sharply, "but you arerough," and when Fenton, in lifting her out of the chair bumpedher head against the wall, a look of anger blazed into theSyrian's face.

"Canaille," he hissed furiously, "you are not fit to touch awoman, you. You may have bruised that beautiful head."

He snatched the girl out of Fenton's arms and laid her gentlyupon the bed. "Get a cloak or something to roll her up in," hesaid, and when the butler had produced a big travelling rug froma cupboard, he wrapped it carefully round her and lifted her up."Quick, now," he whispered, "we haven't all night."

"I'll tie her legs first," said Fenton, producing a piece ofcord from his pocket, and when Mattin stepped back protestinglyhe added sullenly, "Those are my orders. The last oneescaped."

With a scowl, Mattin held Eunice towards him. "No, not herknees, imbecile," he snarled, "her ankles, and not so tight.Peste! you've the soul of a eunuch and a cruel one at that."

Fenton gave him a sour look, and they moved towards the door.They stood listening for a moment, and then Mattin becameimpatient. "Get on," he said, "there's no one there."

"I'll go first," said the butler coldly, and with his handstill upon the door handle, he added, "and tell Professor InglebyI shall be no more use here if she comes back. She saw mestirring the powder in her coffee just now, and remarked aboutit. I put her off with an excuse, but it will be remembered ifshe returns. I shall have to leave here."

"I said I was stirring the sugar," replied the butler. "I'vebeen with the family nearly thirty years," he added, withimportance, "and they accept what I say here. I'm trusted."

Martin's lips curled in scorn. "Thirty years of faithfulservice, Monsieur! You should be proud. Ah!" he went on,thoughtfully, as if an idea had just struck him. "So you will beno more use, eh?" He lowered his eyes to hide the expression inthem. "Yes, I'll tell Professor Ingleby, Monsieur Fenton."

They crept softly down the back stairs into the basement,Fenton leading the way with an electric torch. A deep areaseparated the house from the garage at the back, and the basementwas twenty steps and more below the level of the mews. Climbingup noiselessly, they passed through the garage and reached themews, where a closed car was standing with its engine purringgently and all its blinds drawn. A man was on the driver's seat,and he gave a low "all right," when he saw Fenton peeping out.The car door was opened, and Mattin lifted Eunice on to the backseat.

Fenton stepped back a few paces to receive then a crashingblow upon the jaw. He fell without a sound, and Mattin, snatchinghim up as if he were as light as a feather, ran through thegarage, and, without a second's hesitation, dropped him headforemost down into the basement.

"What he deserved," he panted, breathlessly, as he raced backfor the car. "He'd have been no more use, as he said, and he wasa brute, too, to the girl."

Reaching the car, he jumped in at the back, and they weredriven swiftly away. Turning out of the mews, the car passed aman standing by the kerb, and the driver made a signal with hishand. The car shot down Harley-street into Cavendish Square,swaying with its rapid motion, and the unconscious girl almostrolled off the seat. The Syrian hesitated a moment, and then,with a smile upon his face, pulled her to him and held her in hisarms. He stroked her head gently and kissed her lightly upon thecheek.

And at that very moment a smart and dapper looking man wasringing the front-door bell of No. 144B, Harley-street.

There was some delay in replying to his ring, and he had topush the bell three times before receiving an answer. Then it wasTheresa who opened the door.

"I want to see Mr. Smith at once," said the man. "Tell him Icome from the London and Norwich Bank, and the matter is veryurgent."

The maid hesitated a moment, and then led him into a smallroom off the side of the hall.

A couple of minutes later he was ushered into the study, tosee there Ephraim Smith, who, with a black scowl on his face, wasstanding in the middle of the room.

The man waited until the door had closed behind him, and thenreplied, quietly:—

"I'm Gilbert Larose, Mr. Smith, and you've done a very foolishthing in going away. You've given us a lot of trouble,and——"

"Confound you!" interrupted the millionaire fiercely, "won'tyou even now leave me alone? Am I to have no choice in the matterat all? If I pay the piper, am I not——?"

"Yes," snapped Ephraim Smith angrily, "look at him. It is oneof those detectives here again. They don't leave me alone. It'sthat Mr. Wenn who——" but he suddenly noticed how palehis wife was and, his voice softening instantly, he said, "Whatis it, dear?"

"We can't find Eunice," she faltered, "and Fenton's notanywhere in the house. I'm frightened and——"

But there was a loud rat-tat-tat upon the front door, and forten seconds at least there was pressure upon the bell.

"Oh! what's that?" quavered Mrs. Smith weakly. "There's beenan accident, and they've come to tell us."

Unmindful now of everything else, Smith bounded out of theroom and rushed to the front door. He threw it wide open, to findno one, however, upon the step; neither was there anyone nearupon the pavement when he ran out.

"A run-away knock," he exclaimed in relief as he returned intothe hall. Then his anger came back. "Another piece of foolery,like the detective stunts I've been experiencing."

With his face as black as thunder, Smith did as he was bid,and, thrusting his hand in, brought out a letter. Instantly hiseyes bulged in fear, for it was addressed, as he saw, in themanner he had come so well to know. The sprawling, printed Romancharacters were there, looking for all the world as if they hadbeen done with a pointed piece of stick.

"My God!" he exclaimed brokenly, "they say they've takenEunice away." He grabbed the detective fiercely by the arm. "Comeup with me and see if it's true," and followed by Larose, heraced up the stairs. Before the open door of his daughter'sbedroom, however, he stopped and smiled bitterly. "But, of courseit's true," he groaned. "They've always done what they've said,those devils." He clenched his hands together as if struck by aterrible thought. "But good God! If they've hurt her!"

"Quick," said Larose sternly, "tell me how long it is sinceshe came up here. She's not been in the bed."

"About half an hour," replied Smith huskily. "She said all atonce that she had become very sleepy, and she left usthen——"

"She was drugged, of course," snapped Larose. "What did shehave different from you at dinner?"

"Nothing," replied Smith. "We all had the same and thenafterwards we had coffee in the drawing room. Fenton brought itto us as usual—ah!"—a look of incredulity came intohis face—"and she asked him why he was stirring hers."

Larose pulled him roughly out of the room. "Now which waywould they get out of the house?" he asked. "Look lively, andshow me, quick."

"Down that back staircase," replied Smith, pointing to the endof the passage, "they could get through the basement into thegarage that opens into the mews." His voice broke again. "But ifthey hurt her getting her away——"

"They didn't hurt her," replied Larose, "you can depend uponthat. She was as drugged as I was that night when I had dinner atIngleby's." His hand went back to his hip pocket. "Now, where'sthat precious butler of yours? I'll have a word with him atonce."

But Fenton, as Mrs. Smith had said, was nowhere to be found,and the two returned to the study, where Mrs. Smith was lyingback in an armchair crying softly.

"Don't you worry, Mrs. Smith," said Larose gently. "MissEunice will be quite safe, and it's only money theywant"—his voice hardened grimly—"but we'll soon gether back whether we pay them or not." He turned quickly to Smith."Now that letter, please, and we'll see what they say."

"You have gone back upon your promise, and the poor fools yousent after us have had to suffer for it. Now we are going topunish you. We have taken your daughter and unless you implicitlyobey us you will not see her again; but if you carry out ourinstructions in every minute particular, she will be returned toyou unharmed. We dare you to inform the police, and if youdo—we shall learn of it within an hour. Buy the Bendlediamonds, and await further orders. You cannot escape us."

"Exactly," commented Larose, "and they are certain they havegot the whip hand." He frowned. "Now, what are these diamondsthey write about?"

"The heirlooms of the Bendle family," replied Smith weakly."Lady Bendle died a few months ago, and the diamonds are to besold by auction next week. They are supposed to be one of thefinest collections in the world, and are worth a quarter of amillion pounds."

"Ah!" exclaimed Larose thoughtfully, "and so this is to betheir final——" but he cut short what he was intendingto say, and stood silent in a frowning reverie.

The detective awoke with a start. "Oh! it won't be for long,"he said hopefully. "We know who they are, and a great deal moreabout them than they think." He turned to Mr. Smith. "But we'llgo to the garage now," and as they were passing through the hallhe asked. "What do you think has become of Fenton?"

They descended quickly to the basement and then, when crossingthe area to the steps leading up to the garage, Smith stoppedsuddenly.

Larose flashed an electric torch in the direction indicated,and gave a startled exclamation. "Fenton!" he whispered hoarsely.He darted forward, and after a moment added, "and he's dead."

Smith gave a gasp of horror, and, dropping limply down uponthe area steps, closed his eyes, but the detective was allactivity at once. He rolled the body over and swiftly examinedthe injuries. The cause of death was dreadfully apparent.

"He's only just dead," he muttered. "Fell from the top, orelse——" his face hardened grimly—"he was thrownover. If he told them he'd been seen stirring her coffee thenhe'd become a source of danger to them and"—he shrugged hisshoulders—"well, who knows? They are not squeamish thesemen."

He made a quick search of the dead man's pockets but foundnothing of interest in them. Then, seeing that Smith was stilloblivious to everything that was going on, he ran past him up thesteps and entered the garage. He found both the doors open, theone leading on to the basement steps and the other opening intothe mews. The further door he closed, after a quick glance intothe mews. Then he proceeded to flash his torch in everydirection.

It was a big, roomy garage and even with the two Rolls-Roycecars in, there was plenty of passage-way at the side.

"This is the way she was taken out," he said slowly, "and I amcertain it wasn't Fenton who carried her. He wasn't strong enoughand could never have brought her up those steps. But he came upwith whoever did carry her because he fell from the top hereoutside the garage door. Then, why didn't he shut the door behindhim before he came out to the place from where he fell? Peopleusually shut doors at night, and particularly people like Fenton,who was a methodically-minded man." He thought for a moment. "No,then Fenton was not the last one to pass through the garage, andwhoever did was in a hurry and had nothing to gain by shuttingthe doors."

He switched on the garage lights and instantly gave a lowwhistle and dropped upon his knees.

"A sixpence, two shillings, a penny and a pocket-knife," heexclaimed softly—he brought his face almost to a level withthe garage floor, "and a smear of blood." He looked under thenearest car. "And an electric torch, too."

He picked up the articles he had enumerated and rose to hisfeet. "It's as clear as daylight," he whispered. "He was knockeddown here and these fell out of his pocket. Then he was thrownover into the basement." He thought for a moment and then,snatching a sponge from a bucket standing near, with a couple ofswipes he removed all traces of the blood smear. Then, after onelong look round he tiptoed out of the garage and leaned over thearea rails.

Smith rose to his feet with an effort and, with his headaverted from the corner where the body lay, climbed slowly up thesteps. Larose motioned him into the garage and then closed thedoor.

"Now," he said sharply, "pull yourself together and play theman." His voice was hard and menacing. "If you don't"—heraised his hand warningly—"I'm sorry for Miss Eunice."

"That we are dealing with desperate men," replied thedetective; "and we require every ounce of our courage andresource to beat them now."

"All right," said Smith and he drew in a deep breath, "I'venever been a coward and I won't be one now." His face suffusedwith anger. "My God! but they're devils."

"That's the spirit," said Larose, "and don't you worry, we'llbeat them before long. Now look here. This accident to Fentonalters everything, but don't you have a moment's regret about it,for he has been the traitor in your house all along. Yes, it'squite true," he went on quickly, for the millionaire had recoiledin horror, "and that's what we should have told you, if youhadn't bolted away. Fenton's been crazy for some time, and heturned against you, and has been the tool of Ingleby because ofthe money you've got. It was he who has made it so easy for thatgang to hit you right and left, and it was he, of course, whogave some drug to Miss Eunice to-night so that they could carryher away so easily." He shook his head. "But I can't go into thatnow, for I must get away quickly. There'll be an inquest overFenton now, and I don't want to appear as a witness. The gangthinks I'm dead, and they must continue to think it. So this iswhat you must do. I want five minutes in Fenton's bedroom, andthen I'll quit, and you'll come down here and pretend to find thebody. You understand—you'll find it and ring up for thepolice at once. Then you'll be the only witness at theinquest."

"Nothing," replied Larose sharply, "at any rate, until to-morrow, when Naughton Jones and Vallon will be here. I 'phonedthem a couple of hours ago, and they'll be at my place to-night.The matter's too fateful for me to decide alone."

"Probably Texworthy and McAlbane," replied Larose. "At anyrate, they've not been seen in their usual haunts the last twodays. Croupin's been watching them ever since you left."

He switched off the garage light. "Now we'll go back into thehouse, and for God's sake show some courage, or we'll all be inthe soup."

"I'll not fail you," said Smith grimly. "I've quite got backmy nerve," and he looked as if he had, too.

CHAPTER XIV.
The Bloodhounds.

A LONG consultation took place that nightbetween Larose and the two other detectives, and it would havebeen at once apparent to any onlooker that none of them was in avery decided frame of mind.

Naughton Jones looked anxious and had lost something of hisair of complete self-satisfaction. Vallon was frowning hard andLarose was fidgety and restless, as if he were quite aware thingswere not going too well.

"But I have fear of these men," said Vallon gloomily. "Theystrike and strike and yet never do we find we can strike back. Weknow them to be assassins, almost we hear the death-cries ofthose they kill, and we even come upon their dead, still warm, aswe pass by, yet——" and he threw out hishands—"we do nothing! nothing!! nothing!!"

"Well, what can we do?" asked Jones in some irritation. "Whatevidence have we against them—what evidence. I mean that wecan produce in a court of law? Not a scrap." He went onbrusquely, seeing that the Frenchman was unprepared with anyreply. "We ourselves are certain, but to others it would be onlyconjecture. The utmost we could bring against them would be thatthey contemplated violence upon Mr. Larose, and even then weshould be relying upon the word—the tainted word—ofRaphael Croupin, who broke into Professor Ingleby's undoubtedlyupon some mission of private theft." He shook his head. "No, weare still not ready—we have no evidence."

"But we are at a crisis," insisted Vallon, "and to-night wemust decide whether we should not advise Mr. Smith to go again toyour Scotland Yard."

Naughton Jones stirred uneasily in his chair. "Theconsequences for his daughter may be unpleasant if we do," heremarked, frowning, "for the unfortunate part is—we are notaware of the extent of the resources of these men, and what meansthey may possess of getting information. They say in the letterhere that they will know in an hour if he appeals to the police,and it may be true. Then"—he shrugged hisshoulders—"if they find there is any likelihood of theirbeing driven into a corner, is it improbable that to ensure theirsafety they will do away with the girl and render all our workfutile?"

"And is it likely in any case," asked Vallon sharply, "nomatter what Smith may do, that they will give her up now! Smithsaid that those diamonds do not come up for auction untilWednesday week, and that means she will be held prisoner for afortnight. Well, she cannot be unconscious all that time, and ifshe sees either Texworthy or McAlbane then they dare not give herup." He shook his head. "No, I say whatever happens, the poorcreature will not come back."

"And, why should she see either of them?" asked Jones testily,"for we have the clearest evidence that it is Mattin who hasarranged all the details of her abduction. He is carrying it allout."

"Make that clear to me, please, Mr. Jones," said Larosequickly. "It is most important."

"Listen then," replied Jones, "and you will see how wisely weacted in arranging for you to come up here whilst we othersremained in Norfolk to keep check on the movements of the gang."He regarded the Australian impressively. "On the Tuesday nightthere was the explosion; on the Wednesday Smith bolted into theblue, and until the following Monday neither Ingleby, McAlbane,Texworthy, nor Mattin made the slightest change in their usualhabits. They were all seen by one or other of us on each andevery day. Then Croupin, who almost night and day has kept watchupon Marsh House, reported that on the Monday Mattin had twointerviews with Professor Ingleby; the first, a short one, in themorning, when the two were alone together for about five minutes,and the second, in the evening, lasting almost three hours, whenboth Texworthy and McAlbane were present.

"Then Mattin was absent from his cottage from very early onthe Tuesday morning until late Wednesday night, and that he cameup to London we are sure, because, going through his place on theThursday, I found in a macintosh pocket a paper bag containingsix bananas, and from the inscription on the bag he had boughtthem at the fruit kiosk on Fenchurch-street station. Thatmacintosh was not in the cottage when he was away, for we hadbeen there on both days. Well, last Thursday, the day beforeyesterday, in the morning he interviewed Ingleby again, an hourand a half this time, with Texworthy and McAlbane again there.Then from the night of that day up to this evening when youtelephoned us, at 8.45, we have not set eyes on any of the threeof them again. Mattin, Texworthy, and McAlbane had alldisappeared.

"And only Professor Ingleby then is now at his home,"commented Larose very thoughtfully.

"Yes," replied Naughton Jones, "so we can determine exactlywhat has happened. We can follow every step they made. On Mondaythe gang learnt where Smith had gone, and that evening theyprepared their plans. On Tuesday morning Mattin came up to thecity here to make all arrangements for the kidnapping of theSmith girl, and no doubt also to secure a place where she couldbe hidden away. On Wednesday night he returned with everythingcut and dried, and yesterday, Friday"—he shrugged hisshoulders—"the three of them left Norfolk to carry theabduction out. It is quite clear."

"So, according to your reasoning," said Larose slowly, "thehiding place of Miss Smith—is here in London."

"Quite so," replied Naughton Jones, "and as Mattin undoubtedlyarranged for it, it will be somewhere in the East-End, for as Ilook at things, from the fact that they were able to get hold ofa good quantity of explosive, Mattin is not unknown in anarchistcircles, and these gentlemen of violence are influential rathereast of the city than west."

"But do we really know," asked Larose, "that Mattin hadanything at all to do with the explosion?"

"We know nothing," snapped Jones irritably. "All the waythrough this business we can only surmise. Three days before theexplosion I myself saw Mattin spying round Weybourne Manor, thetwo following nights and days he was away from his cottage, andthree minutes before the explosion took place we met him on theroad racing away from the vicinity of the Manor. Also, don'tforget that when you were drugged Croupin heard Professor Inglebyexpress the hope that Mattin would be scoring a bullseye thatnight." He thumped his fist upon the table. "Yes, again I say itis quite clear."

Larose turned to Vallon. "And could you find nothing from yourpeople about this Mattin?" he asked.

Vallon shook his head. "No, nothing," he replied. "His finger-prints are unrecorded in my own country and the same with ourgood friends here. We know nothing about him."

"And these bananas, Mr. Jones," asked Larose, after a moment,"were they in a small bag or a large one? I mean, from the sizeof the bag, would you say he had bought several, or onlysix?"

Jones frowned as if he did not see the force of the question."Oh! it was a medium-sized bag," he replied carelessly, "and ithad held a small bunch. Probably he bought a dozen from thelength of the stalk that remained."

"Ah!" commented Larose, "and that means that he bought themupon coming back to the city, in the afternoon or evening ofWednesday, on a return journey that brought him to Fenchurch-street station. Not when he was starting from Fenchurch-street togo anywhere, for it is improbable that he would have carried sixbananas about with him all day. It looks therefore as if hebought them coming out of the station, found three or four ofthem were as many as he could eat, and left the other six forwhen he would be hungry again, which was not before he got hometo his cottage that night."

"Well, what does it matter when he bought the bananas?" askedJones coldly. "What does that tell us?"

"It tells us," replied Larose quietly, "that on Wednesday hehad been travelling to a place a number of miles down theFenchurch-street line, for if he had been visiting any of thenearer places served by that railway he would not have travelledback by their trains." The Australian smiled pleasantly. "Yousee, Mr. Jones, coming from Norfolk and intending to visit theEast-End, Mattin would have certainly landed in London atLiverpool-street station, and he would have almost certainlyagain have returned to Liverpool-street station to get the trainfor home. But to reach that station from any of the near Londonplaces served by the Fenchurch-street line, like West Ham, UptonPark, or East Ham, it would have been most convenient for him toreturn by motor 'bus or tram or the district railway, because allthese three ways of returning would have landed him much nearerto Liverpool-street than is Fenchurch-street station itself."

Naughton Jones thought for a moment. "Quite plausible," hesaid, "quite plausible." He smiled. "And your contention is thatMattin returned that day from some distant station served by theLondon, Tilbury and Southend Railway?"

Jones shook his head. "A big order my friend," was hiscomment. "A big order, and we have only ten or eleven days."

"Well," said Vallon, after the moment's silence that followed,"and what is it decided that we must do?"

"Why, go on, of course," replied Larose quickly. "We're notbeaten by a long chalk yet, and it will be bad luck if, after allwe know about them, we can't pick up some sort of trail tofollow." His face grew very solemn. "But I agree that Eunice isin great danger and that unless we find her she may never see herparents again. This is the wretches' last throw, and they arestaking everything upon it. One thing, however, in our favour isthat now, for the first time since we have been dealing withthem, they are on the defensive. We have never had a chance ofattacking before."

They talked on until long after midnight, and then Laroselooked at his watch. "Well, I'll have a few hours' sleep now," hesaid, "and then I'll get back to Norfolk. I'll pick up the trailagain at Mattin's cottage. I've got a few ideas left still."

Naughton Jones rose yawning from his chair. "And I'll have togo to Mariarty," he said. "I don't like it, but he's a greatmaster in the underworld, and it may be he will condescend tohelp us. The annoyance is that he told me he was always out oftown at week-ends."

Soon after 10 on the Monday morning Naughton Jones,accompanied by Vallon alighted from a taxi at the entrance to anarrow street close to Shadwell station in the East End.

"We'll go the rest of the way on foot," he told his companionwhen he had paid off the driver. "We don't want to attractattention in this neighbourhood, and, besides, I am not quitecertain exactly where to find Mariarty. The professor is a shybird, and sleeps on many different perches—as it suitshim."

And then for the next few minutes he proceeded in and outthrough a maze of squalid streets, until at length he reached onerather broader than the others, containing some good-sized housesand shops. An overhead railway crossed one end and, of the scoreor more of huge arches underneath, about half were closed andoccupied. The remainder, unfenced and untenanted, looked like thedark and gloomy entrances to some forbidding underworld.

"You needn't screw up your nose so, Monsieur Vallon," saidJones. "It isn't dead bodies you smell. It's only the canal thatruns behind these houses. Professor Mariarty's abode is somewherehere, and he finds it convenient no doubt, to have the canal sohandy." He smiled dryly. "I am given to understand by my friends,the regular police, that the coroner of this district is alwayskept pretty busy. Suicides and sailor men with cut throats andempty purses have quite a partiality it seems, for the strip ofwater here."

"Ah! This should be it, I think," he remarked, stoppingsuddenly. "Number forty you notice—the same number that thegreat Ali Baba favoured when he picked his little band ofthieves."

They were in front of a ship chandler's store, and in thewindow was a goodly display of all things necessary for those whomove upon deep waters. Coils of rope, hammocks, lanterns of allsizes, compasses and huge tins of paint.

Naughton Jones pushed open the door and walked inside.Immediately a small bearded man came forward.

"I want to see Mr. Mariarty," said Jones curtly, "and at onceplease, for I am in a hurry."

"Mariarty, Mariarty," he repeated, and then shook his head,"you've come to the wrong place, guv'nor. There's no one of thatname here."

"No, of course not," said Jones calmly, seating himself upon acoil of rope. "Well, tell him I'm here, will you? Say Mr.Naughton Jones." A look of surprised amusement came suddenly intothe detective's face and he gave a grim laugh. "Ah! so it's you,Jarvis, is it? I didn't recognise you for the moment, in thatbeard. No, no, you can't have forgotten me. I got you fiveyears."

"But don't worry," went on Naughton Jones and he smiled quiteamiably now, "I'm not looking for anyone this morning. I've justcome on a private friendly visit to Mr. Mariarty, and if you tellhim I am here he'll be very pleased to see me. Off you gonow."

The man hesitated a moment, and then without further parleydisappeared through a door at the back of the shop.

"An old friend of mine, Monsieur Vallon," commented Jones witha smile. "One of the best cat burglars we have. Didn't you noticehow light he was on his feet? He made absolutely no sound as hewalked away." He pursed up his lips. "But finding him here nowwith Mariarty rather makes me fear he is again at the oldgame."

The man was gone quite a long time, and when he did return, hewas grinning nervously. "The boss'll see you, sir," he said, "buthe's not here. You'll find him four houses farther down thestreet to the right. Go into the pawnshop there and inquire forMr. Bone."

Naughton Jones nodded his thanks and the two detectivesimmediately left the shop.

"The professor's quite a rich man," commented Jones as theywalked along, "and I shouldn't be at all surprised if he didn'town all this street, with all the houses communicating in somehidden way at the back." He shook his head. "He's always been atough nut for us to crack."

"But have you never had anything against him?" asked Vallonwonderingly. "Has he never been in gaol?"

"Never," replied Jones smilingly, "for with all his bucolicappearance the professor is a most resourceful man. He organises,he finances and he employs, but for all that we have never beenable to nail him as an accomplice in the many outrages he musthave sponsored in his career?"

They entered the pawnshop, and, asking for Mr. Bone, wereimmediately conducted down a long passage to the back. Then theydescended a steep flight of stone stairs and, passing through athick iron door, were ushered into a long and windowless roomilluminated at one end by a shaded electric light.

Professor Mariarty was sitting behind a big desk and, afterone quick hard glance at Jones and his companion, he closed ahalf-opened drawer at his right and rose briskly to his feet.Over his face spread a pleased and friendly smile.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, as if very surprised, "and so it is reallyyou. I could hardly believe that Jarvis was right. And you too,Mr. Vallon—I was quite sure you had both been killed thatdreadful night."

"No, professor," replied Jones, taking the proffered hand witha wry smile, "we were both away from the manor that night, and Iam sure you will be glad to know that Mr. Larose and Mr. Croupinwere also away."

"Well, well," said the professor heartily, "and that's goodnews." He looked rather shamefaced. "I got the wind up fair andproper and don't mind admitting it, and I cut off quick nextmorning, as of course you heard." He shook his head gloomily."That crowd we were up against were too big for me to tacklealone, and so I thought I'd keep mum and return to a quiet lifewhile I could." He looked very serious, "And I didn't want anyquestioning by the police."

"Of course not, professor," commented Naughton Jones politely."I quite understand."

Mariarty frowned suddenly. "But this visit now, Mr. Jones?" heasked. "It's a friendly one, as you told Jarvis? Youdon't——"

Naughton Jones held up his hand. "Quite all right, professor,quite all right. I've no hard thoughts about you to-day and Iwon't take any advantage of anything I see or hear. For instance,I won't mention the pistol you've got in that drawer you sosuddenly pushed to and for which I should hardly think you'vebeen granted a licence——" the professorfrowned—"and I will not suggest either that you're runningthis pawn shop under a false name." He shook his head and smiledmost agreeably. "No, we've come to ask a favour of you thismorning, for frankly we want your help."

The professor's face cleared. "Very pleased to do anything Ican for you, Mr. Jones," he said cordially. "Just say what youwant, and if I can accommodate you I will. But sit down now andtry one of these cigars." He handed over a flat box to the twodetectives. "You won't find better ones in all London. They werespecially dropped for me by aeroplane last week——"his eyes twinkled—"and when the bill for duty comes in Imay get a shock." He put on a most solemn air. "Now tell meexactly what you want."

And when Naughton Jones proceeded to explain, with as muchdetail as he considered necessary, all that had happened toEphraim Smith the previous night. The professor listened with hismouth open and with his eyes very wide. He nodded his head manytimes and gave vent to many Ahs! and Ohs! and when it came to themention of the Bendle diamonds his excitement was intense.

"Dear me, dear me," he exclaimed fervently when the detectivehad finished, "but what a wonderful firm! The Bendle diamonds!Worth a quarter of a million! Why, if they bring it off it willbe the greatest stroke of our generation! No one has ever pulledoff anything like that, and I don't call to mind any bit ofbusiness a quarter as great." He nodded his head violently. "Yes,I did well to leave Norfolk. They're too big for me to handle,certainly."

"But Monsieur Mariarty," said Vallon, breaking silence for thefirst time, "In the course of your work, which I understand fromMr. Jones here to be of a most varied kind, have you never comeupon any traces of what you call this 'firm?' Have you neverheard of anything being done that might be the work of thesemen?"

Mariarty regarded the French detective very thoughtfully."No," he said slowly, "I've never heard a breath of them before.They're not London folk and they're not regulars, I'm sure.They're a new firm, I think, and probably Yanks."

"But where would they get enough explosives from," askedNaughton Jones, "to blow up Weybourne Manor? They couldn't buy itthrough the ordinary channels—could they?"

"No, no, of course not," agreed the professor at once. "Theyprobably made it themselves."

"But if they were not chemists, Mr. Mariarty," persistedNaughton Jones, "if they had no laboratories or chemicals, wherethen would they be getting it from, at such short notice?"

The professor looked very stupid, and Jones went onpersuasively, "Now, supposing you wanted the explosive, do youknow where it could be got?"

"Oh! I'm not that kind of man," replied Mariarty quickly andwith some warmth. "The police may suspect me of many things butnever, Mr. Jones—never of that!"

Naughton Jones spoke very quietly. "Now, what I want to getat, my dear professor, is this. We know something about thesemen, much more than I am able to explain to you now, and wesuspect the party who obtained that explosive for them to be thesame individual who later arranged for the carrying off of MissSmith. We believe him to have friends who supplied him withexplosives under the lap, and we think he went to these samefriends to provide a hiding place where he could put the girluntil the diamonds have been bought and handed over." Thedetective was all smiles and amiability. "Now you can see what Imean. With your incomparable knowledge of all that is going on inthe underworld of this great city, with your great repulsion as aman who could fill half the prisons of the kingdom if he onlyspoke the word"—his voice was low and solemn—"you canput your finger upon the men who may have provided theseexplosives and, further, you can suggest what hiding places theymay have at their command?"

The expression upon the professors face was an inscrutableone, and he regarded Naughton Jones with large and placid bovineeyes. A long silence followed, and then, stretching up to apigeon-hole in his desk, he pulled out a piece of paper.

"Give me a description of the man you want," he said gruffly,"or if there's more than one of them let's have the lot."

He took down the descriptions that the detective gave him, andthen added slyly, "Of course, I'm not Scotland Yard, youunderstand, but still within a couple of days or so I may be ableto tell you something. I'll send you word when I've got anynews."

"A very remarkable man, Monsieur Vallon," commented Jones, asthey were walking away, "and his secret service is one of thevery best—indeed, so often have we drawn blank when tryingto take him red-handed, that we are for ever conjecturing howhighly placed some of his spies must be. Yes, as I told youbefore, he is a hard nut to crack."

And, within an hour, according to his promise, Mariarty hadloosed his dogs upon the trail. Mongrels of the docksides, of thesqualid streets, and of the slums; furtive-eyed creatures, whospied upon others equally as furtive-eyed; men with hard, evilfaces, who shadowed fellow practitioners of crime; listeners wholistened for chance words from unwary lips; questioners whoquestioned in dark corners, and in places hidden from the lightof day; ghouls of the underworld foraging among the garbage heapsof their own homes, and other ghouls rifling the graves of theirown kith and kin.

In the meantime Gilbert Larose had gone back to Norfolk, andthe morning after his arrival found him making a reconnaissancebehind Mattin's cottage in the woods. For an hour or more he laycrouched among the bracken, and then, certain at length that theplace was unoccupied, he dropped over the garden fence. The goathad gone, he found, but the fowls were still there, and they hadevidently been attended to that morning, for there was freshwater and new green stuff in their run.

"Good," was his comment. "Then someone is looking after them,and I may pick up a line in that direction."

He effected an entrance as before, through the back window,and quickly went over the cottage. Then he sat astride the onekitchen chair, and, leaning his folded arms across the back, fora long time contemplatively regarded every article in the room.Presently, as was usual with him at such times, he began talkingto himself.

"Now, what have I come here for?" he asked, "and what was thegood of my making this long journey back when we so confidentlypresume that Mattin, miles and miles away, is keeping guard overthe unhappy Eunice? Yes, certainly, Mattin has no intention ofreturning for some time, for, apart from having sent his goataway, he has removed every scrap of perishable food. Everythingtidied up, and not a crumb left anywhere, and he has brought hisbicycle into the kitchen, too, for greater safety. But that heintends to return, I am quite sure, for those lettuce andcauliflowers have been watered by someone this morning, and thatmeans care and thought for the future. But why should we thinkthat Mattin, in particular, is guarding Eunice? Because, ofcourse, he is unknown to her, whereas Texworthy andMcAlbane—well, what part will those two beauties be playingnow? Probably coming back here, I expect, while Mattin willremain away then to be the sole channel of communication betweenthe hiding place of Eunice and the gang. At any rate, friendCroupin has got his eyes skinned, and we shall learn at once ifthey return. No, Mattin must be my only concern now, and for thetime I must concentrate on him."

"Now, we are certain of these things about Mattin. Hedisappeared from the cottage very early on Wednesday morning, andhe returned here on Thursday night at a time that would exactlyfit in with his taking the last train from London intoSheringham. He touched London, we are sure, because of thoseFenchurch-street station bananas. Well and good, but did he bringback anything else that can furnish the slightest clue as to theother places he visited. Now, let me see."

Then followed a minute examination of everything in thecottage, but as the search proceeded no expression ofsatisfaction came into the detective's face.

"A methodical man, this Mattin," was his comment, "and he puteverything in order before he went. Except for that cookery bookupon the dresser, there's absolutely nothing out of place. Hisworking clothes all neatly folded, his spare boots cleaned andexactly in line, his bedding covered up, and all his crockery inthe cupboard or on the shelf." He sighed. "Yes, there's nothingto be discovered here. I'll go outside."

But the yard, the garden, and the outhouses, yielded nothinghelpful, although he smiled broadly while examining the rubbishheap.

"Gosh! but he lives well," Larose exclaimed, "this simplebreaker of stones! Tinned asparagus, Penaud's sardines and thebest of potted meats." He stirred over the rubbish with a stickand sniffed hard. "And if I mistake not he's been burningfeathers lately. A poacher without doubt, and he's been havingpheasants out of season, too. That was a pheasant's feather I sawinside on the mantelshelf that he'd been cleaning his cigaretteholder with, and I thought it looked pretty fresh."

He returned into the cottage for a last look round and, idlypicking up the cookery book, saw that the corner of one of theleaves was turned down. He opened the book there, and his eyesfell at once upon the heading, 'Jellied Eels.'

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "and if he was down in the East End theother day, perhaps he tasted them and, finding them so good,wondered how they were prepared. Yes, he is fond of tastythings!" He climbed out of the window. "Well, now into the fernsagain and for a long wait, I expect, until someone comes back toattend to the fowls."

But the wait was not so lengthy as he had anticipated, forearly in the afternoon a wooden-faced youth with a tousle of redhair arrived to feed and water the fowls. His duties over, hehelped himself to a large onion from the garden and departedleisurely munching the pilfered delicacy as he walked along.

Larose was quickly out into the road, and, following the boyat a distance, watched him go into a cottage half a mile away.Then, when puzzled as to what excuse he could make forapproaching its inmates, he noticed a sign in the window, 'FreshEggs for Sale.'

"Certainly, sir," said the woman, "eight-pence a dozen, andthey're quite fresh."

"Black Minorcas," she replied, "and they're a prize strain.Come and look at them, sir."

They went round to the back, where he saw the red-haired boyand a man digging potatoes. He also caught sight of a white goatthrough the open door of a shed.

The man touched his cap. "Yes, sir," he said. "Mattin's awayfor a few days and we're minding it for him."

"No, I didn't know it either," replied the man, "but he boughta spear-head for spearing eels last week, and asked me to fit ahandle to it. But when I told him it would have to be seven oreight feet long, he didn't have it done. He said he'd get onemade in Whitby."

The detective chatted on for a few minutes, and, finding hecould extract no more information, bade them good afternoon andwent off with his eggs.

"Now," he exclaimed delightedly, when he was out in the roadagain, "at last I've got something to start upon. Mattin's gonesomewhere where he expects to spear eels." His heart beat alittle quicker. "Jellied eels—and some place served by theFenchurch-street line! A house near some muddy creek running downinto the Thames. A house—" he gave a rather mirthlesslaugh—"ah! but I have seen that Essex coast line, and Iknow those creeks. Millions of them, and running miles and milesinto the land." His face brightened a little. "Still, it'ssomething, and it may be that Monsieur Mattin's fondness for hisstomach is going to cost him dear. Anyhow, I'll be back in Londonto-morrow."

He spent that evening with Ronald Grain and Croupin and it wasobvious the young doctor was in a very distressed frame of mind.He knew all about the abduction of Eunice because it was to hishouse, as arranged, that Larose had 'phoned for speech withNaughton Jones and Vallon, the previous night, but the moredetailed account supplied by the Australian served to heightenhis anxiety.

The doctor had been to Marsh House that morning, ProfessorIngleby having sent an urgent telephone message that his lumbagowas very bad.

"And I could hardly keep my hands off the little beast," hesaid bitterly, "and for two pins I'd have wrung his neck. He onlysent for me, of course, to find out if I'd heard anything of theSmiths since they left, and, knowing all I do, it was as much asI could do to sit there and be polite."

But Larose rubbed his hands. "It couldn't be better, Doc," hesmiled cheerfully. "Keep in touch with him every day and he maysometime drop a careless word that will give us a clue. At anyrate from his demeanour you will be able to judge how he thinkshis plans are going. One of us will 'phone up here to you everyevening for news."

"And if the worst comes to the worst," went on the doctorsavagely, "Monsieur Croupin and I are going to kidnap him and puthim through the third degree. He's got a yellow streak in him andcan't stand much pain."

"We have arranged a most fine place to take him to," saidCroupin, all smiles, "where it is all quiet and no one could hearhis groans."

"At the lion killer's," replied Croupin. "It is all empty. Ispent two hours there to-day. With great trouble I climbed inthrough a skylight, but next time it will be easy, for there areno screws now in the kitchen window bolt."

"Yes, and she has been for some time, it seems," went onCroupin, "for each chamber in the house that contains anyfurniture is locked up," He shrugged his shoulders. "But thelocks are of old fashion, and with some wire from the fence Ifound they were easy to get open."

Larose nodded to Dr. Grain. "Well, that should ease your mind,doctor, for it looks as if Miss Eunice has a woman with her.Texworthy has certainly taken that housekeeper of his along withhim." He turned back to Croupin. "But what is the house likeinside, Monsieur? Anything suspicious about?"

Croupin shook his head. "Nothing to me," he replied. "But theyboth drink. A hundred of empty bottles, and gin in the cupboardof the woman's room." He held up his hands in horror. "And oh!the shape of her garments! She must be without form and as uglyas a witch."

The Frenchman made a face. "Untidy, untidy," he said."Cartridges, guns and many maps."

"Oh! Motor maps generally. Maps of all England. Maps in bluecovers that fold up. A whole pile of them. All over thedesk."

The detective at once took out his watch. "Look here, doctor,"he said, "it will be dark in an hour, and I'll get you to take usover to Texworthy's place. We ought to learn everything we canabout all these men, and——" He smiled at Croupin. "Itwill be strange if the enterprise of Monsieur, here, does notbring us some little success."

They drove to the house of the big-game hunter in pitchdarkness, and, leaving the doctor and his car about a quarter ofa mile away, Larose and Croupin proceeded across the marsh bywhat the Frenchman called a short cut.

"Now, you keep a grip of my arm, Mr. Larose," he said, "andflash no light. I see well in the dark, and there will be no wetin our feet."

"And how shall we know, then, that he's not coming back?"asked Larose. "Even if we see no light, he may have returned andgone to bed."

"But, I made marks, very secret, before the door," repliedCroupin, "and he cannot cross that I do not know."

"Good!" remarked Larose; and he smiled in the darkness. "Youwould make a great detective, Monsieur Croupin."

Observing nothing suspicious, they climbed in through thewindow, and then Croupin found he had mislaid his piece of wire.He was climbing out again to get another piece, when Larosestopped him.

"Tut, tut!" he exclaimed. "You say the locks are old-fashioned, and I've got a pocket-knife," and in half a minute hehad opened the first door.

"Bien," grinned Croupin, "but you would make a marvellousburglar, Meester Larose."

Proceeding into the big-game hunter's room, the detective sawbooks and all sorts of odds and ends upon the table, while insidethe open desk, as Croupin had said, was a large pile of maps.

There were road maps of all the counties of England and Wales,consisting of a series in blue covers, each on a scale of half aninch to the mile.

The detective counted them quickly, and then referred to theindex on the back of one of the covers.

"Humph!" he remarked. "There are thirty-six here, and thereshould be thirty seven to complete the series." He scanned overthem rapidly, and then his face broke into a smile."Exactly—and the missing one is that of the county ofEssex."

The doctor drove him to the railway station for the earlytrain the next morning, and the last words of the detective were:"Now, don't worry, Doctor. I guess how you feel, and, if it canpossibly be managed, you shall be in at the death and the firstto the rescue. I feel quite hopeful that we shall find her, andevery night between 8 and 9 we shall ring you up to give you anynews."

"Morning, noon, and night you are to keep in touch with theprofessor and report instantly to us if either Texworthy orMcAlbane comes back. Also at night, if possible, lie close to thestudy window. You may be able to hear him then if he is speakingto anyone on the 'phone. Any message from Mattin will certainlycome at night."

"Bien," said Croupin complacently, "and on Tuesday andSaturday I may perhaps do better still. The butler and his madamehave great love for the pictures, and go to the town on thosenights. I have a key to the back door, for I picked his pocket inthe street last week, and they have not changed the lock. Theprofessor is in his study always, and I will be hiding in thehall then." He shrugged his shoulders. "But there is noopportunity for my best work. I have called three times, withpots of ferns, but the madame is old and cold, and I could makeno impression." He sighed. "If we had been lovers I might havelearnt so much!"

CHAPTER XV.
McAlbane Leaves the Gang.

THE following day, upon his arrival in London,Larose had some difficulty in convincing Naughton Jones thatthere was now undoubtedly a distinct trail for them tofollow.

At first the great English detective was inclined to regardthe ideas of the Australian as too imaginary and fantastic to beof real value.

"Pooh! Pooh," he sniffed, "and how possibly do you think youcan link up those bananas and jellied eels in such a way toprovide a halter for half a dozen men? It is notfeasible—now is it?"

But Larose was so insistent and in such deadly earnest that inthe end Naughton Jones allowed himself to be persuaded and wasprepared henceforward to look with favour upon the line ofinquiry indicated.

"And there is one thing, Mr. Larose," he said emphatically,"that should make our task the easier, for if they have taken tothe country we may be sure it will be in an isolated buildingthat we shall find them. No house in any little town or villagewill be their hiding place for common sense will have told themit would be too risky. In small country places everyone iscurious about his neighbour's business and newcomers are alwaysviewed with suspicion—and talked about."

"Good!" commented Larose hopefully, "then we must look for ahouse standing by itself."

They bent over a large ordnance map of Essex, and Jones'sexpression lost a little of its confidence as he passed hisforefinger along the Essex coastline.

"Humph!" he remarked dubiously, "a tall order. Just look atthe hundreds and hundreds of creeks we could explore between,say, Barking and Shoeburyness, without getting within miles oftheir hiding place. Look at that coastline off the Mapplinsands—look at Foulness and the creeks of the RiverRoach."

"But, Mr. Jones," said Larose, "why go so far afield? IfMattin is in hiding as we suppose through the goodwill of hisanarchist friend, surely he will not be far from London. Anyretreat of theirs will certainly be near the city."

"Motor cars have annihilated distances," replied NaughtonJones judiciously. He nodded his head after a moment. "But stillI am inclined to agree with you, for on that stretch of riverbetween Barking and Holehaven many things happen on dark nightsof which the authorities never learn. Many an undesirable alienslips quietly into the country between those points and many abit of contraband, too, reaches the river bank." He smiled drily."I know it, because I worked on a lighter once." He pointed witha pencil to the ordnance map. "Well, we'll start this side ofCanvey Island and work back up the river."

"Then I'll be round with a car before eight to-morrow," saidLarose, "and each day we should cover a lot of ground. I'll havesome cards printed at once, and we'll be house agents after aplace for a client, but remember, every night we must be backhere by nine to ring up friend Vallon at Dr. Grain's."

It was half-past seven exactly the next morning when theAustralian arrived at Naughton Jones's rooms to find, however, tohis annoyance, that the great man had only just got out ofbed.

"I am sorry," apologised Jones, slipping quickly into hisclothes, "but I sat up very late last night and oversleptmyself." He frowned at Larose. "I thought things over verycarefully, and one idea in particular struck me. That fellow willbe some way down the river, I should think, for a dainty feederlike him would not dream of taking eels anywhere near the Londonarea of the Thames."

"But I have made enquiries," said Larose, "and there are goodfat eels to be obtained quite close to the city, even in the mudoff Barking Creek."

"Quite so," replied Jones, "but our friend would surely bemuch too particular to spear for any of them near the sewageoutfall." He stopped in the middle of lathering his face andsmiled. "Now, has it ever struck you, Mr. Larose, with whatcontempt nature views all our attempts to uplift ourselves on ourspiritual side, by so continually appealing to us through theunpleasant things of life?" He plied his brush vigorously. "Takeman's gastronomic tendencies, for example. Now where will youfind any more filthy feeders than the pig, the duck, or theeel?—and yet the flesh of these three creatures possessesthe most delicate and distinctive flavour of all edible things."He smacked his lips appreciatively. "Loin of pork and applesauce, duck and green peas, or a dish of stewed eels—why,what better could the most exacting gourmet desire?"

"Well," said Larose laughing, "I hope you're not going to waitfor anything in that line for breakfast now. We ought to be awayas quickly as possible."

"No, no," replied Jones, laughing back. "My breakfast will bevery quick and simple. I am getting old, and so after an appleand a pint of milk I shall be all ready for the road." His eyestwinkled, and he made his voice, deep and impressive, as if hewere reading a burial service. "On milk man came into the world,and on milk he should go out." He laughed in great good humour."But break it down with a little water, Mr. Larose, and add apinch of salt to it, and then it won't upset your liver or giveyou indigestion."

Ten minutes later Larose was driving down Oxford-street, withJones seated at his side. Jones had brought several morningnewspapers with him and was engrossed in their perusal as theywent along.

"Pardon my not talking to you, Mr. Larose," he said, "but Ialways regard it as a solemn duty to make myself acquainted withthe morning's news, and, this morning, as you saw, I had no timeto do so before we set out."

But Larose was quite content to be left alone, for he was soonmeeting the oncoming traffic, and was obliged to drive verycarefully. From time to time, however, he glanced sideways at hiscompanion, and was interested to see that the latter was makingbrief notes in pencil upon a piece of paper that he had takenfrom his pocket.

"A great man," thought the Australian, admiringly, "and nodoubt, he is going through the criminal reports and makingmemoranda for future reference. Really, I must start doing that,too."

Threading their way through the crowded traffic of the East-End, they at length reached Barking, and then Naughton Jonestouched Larose lightly on the arm. "Please pull up before thepost-office here," he said; "I have remembered an urgent callthat I must put through."

Marvelling at the many strings the great detective pulled inhis daily life, Larose did as he was requested, and then whilstJones went into the post office, for a few minutes, he was leftalone in the car.

He was idly watching the passers-by, when suddenly he caughtsight of a piece of paper fluttering at his feet, and recognisedit at once as one of the memoranda Naughton Jones had been makingas they came along.

"Half a crown each way 'The Ratcatcher'—any tocome—five shillings 'Dawn of Love,' half a crown 'DarkCatcher'—any to come—five shillings 'The Butcher'sBride.' Seven and sixpence altogether invested."

A broad grin illuminated his face. "So, so," he chuckled,"then the great Naughton is having a little flutter on the turf,and that is the urgent call he spoke about putting through."

But his merriment was short lived, for Jones himself camerunning out of the post office, anxiously scanning over thepavement as he ran.

"I have lost an important document," he said as he reached thecar, "and I should not like it to fall into improper hands."

"Here's something that you dropped," replied Laroseinnocently, "and perhaps it's what you're looking for."

"Ah! so, it is!" exclaimed Jones, and then he smiled a ratherembarrassed smile. "A little hobby of mine, Mr. Larose, thepicking of racehorses that I think will win. A hobby, too, thatis not without its pecuniary benefit to me, for thereby I amsuccessful enough to keep myself in newspapers and tobacco allthe year round." He looked down at the paper. "Ah! yes, I see Iphoned them all right, and so we can drive on. We shall soon beout in the country, and then the worst of the traffic will beleft behind."

"You see, Mr. Larose," he continued, as they proceeded swiftlyalong the Southend-road, "the study of racing is a mentalexercise with me, and I regard it as a great help in myinvestigation work. It is not the horses alone, by any means,that I study—it is the human element that interests me." Heraised his voice as if he were a professor addressing a class. "Itry to see into the mind of the owners, the trainers, and thejockeys to determine exactly what their intentions are. Now takethe case of 'The Ratcatcher' here. He is a good horse, and yet hehas run badly, three times. They have been pulling him, I amsure, and I am convinced they are only waiting to win when theodds are long. None connected with him appear to bestraightforward men. A month ago I saw them saddling him up atSandown Park and I didn't like the look of his owner then. Hisfacial angle was bad, his eyes were set too close together, andhe had the fingers of a crook. Also, the jockey was a man with aface of low type. So they have been cheating without doubt, andto-day, probably at twenty to one, I expect the horse to romphome." He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "And I shall be apound or two of tobacco the richer."

"Where are the races to-day, Mr. Jones?" asked Larose, morefor the sake of something to say than having any real interest inthe question.

"At Newmarket," replied Jones, "and also, there is a littlemeeting at Wye." He frowned and picked up one of the newspapers."Now I wonder if I have missed anything there?"

"Great Scott!" he cried. "Stop at once, quick, and look atthis," and he thrust the newspaper under Larose's eyes.

Larose braked sharply, and pulling up at the side of the road,read down the paragraph to which Jones was pointing.

"'The Honourable James McAlbane will pilot 'Crack of Doom' inthe Wye Steeplechase to-day. The 'Judgment' gelding will carry 13stone, but with all his weight he is expected to acquit himselfwell. With the well-known amateur as his jockey, he will probablystart a hot favourite.'"

"In Kent," snapped Jones, "fifty-eight miles from London andthree from Ashford." He pulled his hat down fiercely upon hishead. "Turn round and drive like the very devil. We've betweensixty and seventy miles to go, and we must cross the river byWoolwich ferry." He whistled. "My conscience! What a piece ofluck. We'll trail McAlbane home, and it's an even chance he'lllead us to the others." He appeared now to take notice of theircar for the first time. "But it's a pity you've not got a betterbus. This is not too fast, and we must be there soon after 2o'clock. The race is run at 3."

"I can manage it," replied Larose reassuringly. "This was thebest car I could hire at such short notice, but I can make hergo. Don't take any notice of the speedometer. The man told me itwas out of order."

"All right," said Naughton Jones, a little doubtful, "but wemust clap on all the pace we can. In the meantime, pull up atBarking again. We must get some assistance now, for McAlbaneknows me and I can't shadow him undisguised." He looked worried."However, there's a man in Houndsditch who will do it if I canget hold of him. I've employed him before and he was quitesatisfactory. He's done seven years in prison himself."

"And I think I'd better borrow someone from the Yard," saidLarose thoughtfully. "I believe I can manage it, for I'm inpretty good favour there at present."

"But we don't want the Yard butting in," said Jones sharply."What'll you tell them?"

"Nothing," replied Larose smiling, "except that it is vitalfor the welfare of the community that I should know where theHonourable James McAlbane sleeps to-night." The smile left hisface. "But where shall we tell these men to meet us?"

Naughton Jones thought for a minute. "Under the number frameon the racecourse," he replied. "They must get there as soon aspossible and wait until we come"—he looked at hiswatch—"and with any luck we shall be there by twoo'clock."

But they did not by any means have the good fortune thatNaughton Jones had anticipated.

To begin with, it was a good half hour before they had madetheir telephone calls. Then they were delayed upon the ferry, andtwice before reaching Maidstone, in taking what Jones calledshort cuts, they went considerably out of their way. Finally,they had two punctures, and the second one they had to repair onthe road.

"Another mishap," said Jones grimly, as they were passingthrough Ashford, "and we shall arrive at the racecourse too late.As it is, we have missed the second race, and I should dearlyhave liked to have supported Gentle Kiss in that two and a halfmile hurdle."

But no further misfortune came to them, and a few minutesbefore three they parked their car upon the racecourse.

"Quite a nice little meeting," said Jones cheerfully, as heviewed the animated spectacle before them, "and we are just intime to see the Honourable James in action. He is riding in LordBanter's colours, green and gold." He nodded to Larose. "A greatblackguard, my friend, but, as so often happens in such cases, aman of great courage as well. A most dashing horseman and perhapsthe best amateur we have." He looked at his watch and frowned."But we shan't have time now to pick up our men by the numberframe before the race starts, so I think we'll take our stand bythe water jump and see them come over. We can just get there, ifwe are quick."

But there was such a dense crowd round the water jump that toLarose it seemed hopeless to expect that they would get anywherenear. Naughton Jones, however, was quite equal to theoccasion.

"If you please, if you please," he called out loudly, in anauthoritative tone, elbowing his way into the mass of people,"let me pass, let me pass," and the crowd at once made way forhim, with Larose closely following.

"If you please, if you please," he went on, until finally theyhad forced their way right up to the front. "Now then," he cried,sweeping his arm round, "keep that child inside there and don'tlean over the rail. Put all newspapers away at once. We don'twant horses shying here."

The crowd obeyed meekly and the two found themselves in thebest position possible—a few yards beyond the ditch wherethe horses would alight when they had jumped across.

Larose was amazed at the audacity of his companion, and Jones,looking round and sensing something of the Australian's thoughts,smiled slyly.

"A dog's obeyed in office," he chuckled, "and they think I'mone of racecourse officials."

The horses were lining up on the other side of the course, andthe bookmakers, from the hubbub they were creating, were findingbusiness brisk.

"Six to four the field," shouted a purple-faced individual."Five to one bar one. Six to four Crack of Doom, fives Piggy'sPride, sevens Rattlesnake, eights Lloyd George, tens where youlike."

"There are nine running, but Crack of Doom will win easily,"said Jones, "and he'd be at much longer odds if it weren't forthe 13 stone he's carrying. He's a first-class chaser andwouldn't be running here at all if it didn't happen that hisowner has an estate in the neighbourhood and likes to give thelocals a present."

"But isn't it unwise our being so close up?" frowned Larose,struck with a sudden thought. "McAlbane knows you, remember."

But Larose was not so sure. They were right up against therail, and Jones, with his tall thin form and long white face wasa conspicuous figure anywhere.

"They're off," roared the crowd and necks were craned and alleyes fastened upon the runners.

"It's three miles," said Naughton Jones excitedly, "and theyjump over this twice." He adjusted his glasses. "Crack of Doom'son the outside and he's whipping in the field, but the pace isvery slow. Bravo! bravo! they jumped that splendidly. They allskimmed over it like birds. Something in lavender is leading,Crack of Doom is last and he's pulling hard, but McAlbane won'tlet him go. Here they come to the second fence, and they're wellbunched. They're at it. A-a-ah! something's gone. No, he isn't.The boy made a splendid recovery, and they're all over nowsafely. Crack of Doom is still last and he's losing ground. Thisis the next jump and here they come."

There was the thunder of beating hoofs, a surging wave ofcolour and the horses came charging up.

But McAlbane, heedless of the injunction of the crowd andriding wide out, was pulling the favourite hard. He rode with anamused and almost insolent expression upon his face, as if hewere quite aware of his own prestige as well as that of hismount.

"McAlbane's playing with them," said a man behind Larose. "Hecould pass them as if they were standing still if he wantedto."

The foremost horses reached the water jump, and there wereroars of delight from the crowd when it was seen that they hadall negotiated it successfully. Then came Crack of Doom and,McAlbane, quickening him up and giving him his head, the greatblack gelding hurled himself into the air and almosteffortlessly, it seemed, crossed over, too.

McAlbane was still smiling when, taking a tight hold of thereins, again, he flashed a quick sidelong glance at the crowd. Itwas only for a fraction of a second that his glance lingered butthe smile upon his face died instantly as he shot by.

"Ah! but he recognised you," gasped Larose in Jones's ear."You saw how he looked."

"No, no, he couldn't have," replied Jones sharply, but for allhis assurance there was a note of uneasiness in his tone, and heimmediately began to edge himself backward among the crowd."Well, I won't risk it anyhow when he comes round again," headded; "we'll shift along farther down."

"What's happened to McAlbane?" shouted a man. "He's gone tosleep and is getting much too far behind."

And certainly it did seem as if something had happened to thecrack amateur, for Crack of Doom was dropping farther and fartherback until almost seventy or eighty yards was now separating himfrom the leaders.

"Let him go, let him go," roared the backers of the favourite."You'll never catch them, man."

Then suddenly McAlbane moved. He let the gelding have his headat last and gave him, too, one sharp blow with his whip. Crack ofDoom sprang forward like an arrow loosed from a bow, he gatheredspeed with every stride, and in a few seconds was going fasterthan any horse in the field.

He took the last two fences almost as if they did not exist,and at the third one he was no longer last.

Then accidents began to happen quickly, for Lloyd George, theleading horse, had set too fast a pace and the others weretiring. Rattlesnake fell and brought down Piggy's Pride, and atthe next fence The Man of Kent lost his rider. Crack of Doom wasnow fourth, and with two-thirds of the journey accomplished waspractically on terms with the leaders.

"But he's going too fast," frowned Naughton Jones, "and thatthirteen stone will be finding him out before he's finished.McAlbane's riding a rotten race and pushing him much too hard.He's mad."

But Crack of Doom was still going like the wind, and,approaching the fence but one before the jump again, there wereonly two horses in front of him.

"The chestnut will win," said Jones, putting down his glasses."He's running well within himself, whereas Crack of Doom istiring. That last jump of his wasn't nearly so good as theothers. It's ten to one against him now."

But then, as if to belie his words, the favourite headed theother two, and a storm of cheering surged round the course.

"Come on, McAlbane!" roared the delighted crowd. "Come on. Thefavourite walks home."

But McAlbane had eased him now, apparently content to keepjust ahead of his rivals and to reserve his strength for the lastrun up the straight.

Approaching the water jump, Crack of Doom was about a lengthto the good. McAlbane steadied him a little and, as effortlesslyas before, the gelding took the obstacle.

It was said afterwards and confirmed by many there, that whenthey were actually in mid-air McAlbane was seen to turn his headsharply and look into the crowd thronging the rails. It was onlya lightning glance he gave, but it was sufficient to spelldisaster to his mount, for in turning he pulled unconsciously onone of the reins.

Crack of Doom cleared the water with plenty to spare, but,with his head pulled sideways, his equilibrium was upset and hecrashed heavily upon his shoulder to the ground.

McAlbane was thrown with great violence out of the saddle anddescribed a complete somersault, striking the ground with hishead.

The gelding scrambled to his feet, but McAlbane, after oneconvulsive quiver, lay still, and from the dreadful angle of hishead it was not difficult to guess what had happened.

A shriek of horror came from the crowd, and, the other horsespassing, they poured on to the course and surrounded theprostrate man.

"Quick!" exclaimed Naughton Jones with his breath coming hard,"into the members' enclosure and the dressing-room if we can.He's dead right enough, and we may get a chance of going throughhis clothes."

Running swiftly across the course, they reached the enclosure,where, with a gesture of authority, Jones brushed aside thecustodian at the gate.

"Mr. McAlbane's dead," he panted breathlessly, "and they arebringing him in. We're friends of his, and must prepare hissister, Lady Markham, for the shock."

The man let them pass without demur, and Jones turned toLarose. "A title always impresses the lower classes," hewhispered, "whatever their political opinions may be. LadyMarkham is his sister right enough," he went on, "but I don'tsuppose for a moment she is here, for she's goody-goody and verydifferent from her brother. Now," he said quickly, "you go andoverhaul his car, if you can find it. You'll recognise it at onceif you see it, for it's a single seater Jehu, sports model, blue,and it has the McAlbane crest upon the doors—a battle-axeover two crossbows. There are the members' cars over there," andwithout waiting for any comment he strode quickly away.

"A remarkable man," sighed Larose, "although he's muddledthings properly for us to-day. He killed McAlbane as surely as ifhe'd pistolled him. The man saw Jones at the first jump, and waslooking for him the second time, when he pulled the horse roundand fell."

The Australian at once picked out the McAlbane car, and wasabout to open the dickey seat when he saw an attendant watchinghim, and he thought it best to be on the safe side.

"Hi!" he called out, and beckoned to the man; "I want you fora moment please. The Honourable James McAlbane is dead," he said,when the man came up. "He fell at the water jump and broke hisneck."

The face of the attendant paled. "How dreadful!" he exclaimed."He was such a nice gentleman, and so liked by everyone."

"I was a friend of his,"' went on Larose sharply, "and we wantto find out where he slept last night to break the news to them.You don't know of course?" and when the man shook his head, heasked—"Did he come here alone?"

"No, he took nothing," said the man. "Well, perhaps hisluggage will help us," said the detective. "Open his dickey."

But the dickey contained no luggage, although it was notempty. Various bags and parcels were there which Larose at onceproceeded to go over. About three pounds of apples in a brownpaper bag; a dozen oranges; two syphons of lithia water; a tin ofCerebos salt; a jar of French mustard; two burners for a primusstove, one new and one old; a large tin of Turkish cigarettes anda small box of plasticine. Only the plasticine gave anyindication of its place of purchase, and the detective saw fromthe stamp upon the packet that it had been bought in Ashford.

For a long while he stood contemplatively regarding thevarious articles, and then, the attendant having in the meanwhilebeen called away, he proceeded to look over the rest of thecar.

"The doctors say death was instantaneous," he said, "but Icouldn't get into the dressing room, for there were a lot ofpeople there. And no one knows where he's been staying. They arein a quandary even to know with whom to communicate now, for hisfather is abroad in Italy." He frowned disappointedly at Larose."Found anything here?"

"He was careful and methodical for one thing," said Jones,after a moment, "and although we know his general morality waslax, there was nothing lax in the way he looked after his car.Everything is just so-so, everywhere."

"Exactly," said Larose, pointing to the trip indicator, on thespeedometer, "and so we know that he travelled 66.2 miles to come here this morning."

"Ah!" exclaimed Jones thoughtfully, "and you think he wouldturn it to zero every time he started upon a journey." He noddedhis head. "I think so, too."

"Well" said Larose solemnly, "then we know that exactly 66.2 miles separates us from where we are standing now to whereEunice Smith is being held a prisoner." Naughton Jones made nocomment, and Larose went on, speaking in a sharp, decisivetone—"Yes, for as we are agreed that he was involved withthe others in her kidnapping and that they are keeping her hiddensomewhere in the country, our opinion is now confirmed that theyare living in some sparsely inhabited spot, not near a bigtown—and away from any village, too." He pointed to theopen dickey. "Look at the things there, and draw the onlyconclusion that you can. Syphons of lithia water that you neverget in a small place; a jar of French mustard, and Cerebos salt;Turkish cigarettes and plasticine. Yes, of course, he bought allthose things when upon his journey down here because they wereunobtainable where he came from to-day."

"To-day!" snapped Naughton Jones. "And how do you know that hecame from there to-day? He may certainly have been going to takethese things back with him to-night to the place where they areholding Eunice Smith, but where is the proof that he came fromthat same place this morning? He may have slept in quite adifferent locality last night," and he turned and began torummage among the contents of the dickey.

"Mr. Jones," said Larose quietly, "look at these two primusstove burners here. One quite new and the other all burnt awayand clogged up with fat. Obviously now he brought the old onewith him to make sure that the new one he was buying would be ofexactly the same pattern. Well, does not that look as if he weretaking the new burner back to where the old one had comefrom?"

"Certainly it does," replied Naughton Jones, "but notnecessarily that he was taking it back the same day."

"But those newspapers, Mr. Jones," persisted Larose, "thosethree newspapers in the door pocket, the 'Mail,' the 'Express,'and 'The Times.' All unfolded and unread as yet, and does notthat mean that he bought them this morning, after he had startedfrom home, and therefore that he came from some place where theywere unobtainable on the spot?" The Australian frownedsarcastically. "Did he sleep always in lonely places where hecould not obtain these things, and has he been engaged upon moreabductions than one?"

But Jones was silent and thoughtful, and Larose became at oncemost respectful, as if he were quite aware he was only a pupilbefore the master.

"At least, Mr. Jones," he said gently, "if we take it forgranted that McAlbane was with Mattin and Texworthy this morning,then the 66 2-10 miles he travelled from here would just reach tosome place in Essex, nice and handy to London, where we expectedthem to be. You say we are fifty-eight miles from Londonhere—then about fifty-one will take us to the Woolwichferry, where we crossed over, and——"

"But if they are anywhere in Essex," frowned Jones, "hewouldn't have crossed the river at Woolwich to get here. He wouldhave come by Tilbury and Gravesend. It would be from twenty tothirty miles nearer."

"No, you certainly hadn't," remarked Jones, amused at theAustralian's obvious discomfiture. "Why, if we cross the Thamesat Gravesend, less than forty miles from here will take us intoEssex."

"Oh!" exclaimed Larose a second time, "then I shall have tocalculate all over again."

"Exactly," laughed Jones, and then he nodded his head. "Stillthere may be something in what you say about this trip of sixty-six miles, and if we only strike the right direction it may bringus to where they are." He frowned. "And you mark my words, if wedo find them, they will be close to the river or some railwayline."

"Why?" asked Larose listlessly, still disconcerted by Jones'sdisclosure of a second ferry over the Thames.

"Because," replied Jones emphatically, "I am of opinion thathe bought that plasticine for Texworthy to stuff in his earsagainst the noise of the boat syrens or passing trains at night.I heard Texworthy tell the parson fellow at the castle thatevening that he was a very light sleeper and any noise woke himup." The great detective smiled. "I use plasticine for thatpurpose myself."

He closed the lid of the dickey. "Well, back to the city atonce, after we have communicated with our men. We can do nothinghere now and we don't want it to get about that there has beenanyone unduly inquisitive about McAlbane's movements."

CHAPTER XVI.
The House by the River.

EUNICE SMITH had all her life been accustomed toluxury and her soft white limbs had known nothing of coarseraiment or hard beds, so it was probably the roughness of hernight attire or the board-like nature of her mattress that firstroused in her feelings that something out of the ordinary hadhappened.

But her return to consciousness had been very gradual, andeven twelve hours after her abduction she was not fully inpossession of her senses.

She thought dimly, at one time, that a man and woman werestanding over her, and that she was being forced to drink somehot fluid that tasted like unpleasantly strong coffee. Then shelapsed into unconsciousness again, and it was not until well intothe afternoon that she could arouse herself sufficiently to takeany real notice of her surroundings.

Then, very puzzled, she frowned and rubbed her eyes. She wasdreaming, of course, she thought, for she was undressed in astrange bed, in a strange room. It was daylight, but the room wasin semi-darkness, for there were boards fastened across thewindows and the blind was drawn half-way down.

The room was evidently in an old house, for the paper waspeeling off the walls, and in one corner there was a gaping holein the ceiling.

There was very little furniture—just the bed she wasreclining in, a chair, a common deal table, and an old chest ofdrawers. The floor boards were bare.

Yes, she was dreaming, and it was not a nice dream, so sheshook her head vigorously to end it. But drawing in a deepbreath, she became suddenly aware of a dank and musty smell, and,starting up into a sitting position, realised suddenly that itwas no dream at all.

Immediately then in a wild burst of fear, she sprang from thebed and called out: "Mother, where am I?"

At once there was a sound in an adjoining room of a chairbeing pushed back, and, a moment later, the door opened and atall and hard-faced woman came in.

"Be quiet," she said sternly, "there's nothing the matter.Don't be frightened, you're not going to be hurt."

The woman inclined her head. "Your father brought you here,"she said, "and you're to remain here for a time."

"It isn't true," cried Eunice. "I don't believe a word youtell me," and she made a dart for the door.

"Wait now," she said sharply, "and don't make a scene. Youcan't get out, for all the doors to the passage are locked, butyou can go in there"—she pointed with her hand—"andhave a bath, and afterwards I'll bring your clothes and you shallhave something to eat." Her eyes glinted angrily. "But it's nouse shouting, for one one will hear if you do. We are miles awayfrom anywhere."

"Nothing," replied the woman, "if you are sensible. I tellyou, you'll only be here for a few days and then your father willcome for you." She looked coldly at the girl. "Untilthen—you can sleep, you can eat, and there are books andpapers. What more do you want?"

Eunice calmed herself with a great effort. "But where am I?"she asked falteringly.

"What does that matter?" snapped the woman. "At any rate youare not far from London, so you needn't worry."

"Pooh!" exclaimed the woman callously, "that's nothing. Youwill be quite alright when you've had a bath. It's only thesleeping stuff they gave you."

"Oh! my God!" she exclaimed again, "then it was Fenton who putit in my coffee." Tears choked her now. "It was our butler,wasn't it?"

But the woman was not interested. "I know nothing," shereplied. "I am only here to look after you. Go on," she addedsharply, "and have your bath."

Then followed the strangest days of Eunice Smith's life. Herworld consisted of four rooms and she was always behind lockeddoors. She was locked in her room at night, and always in thedaytime, too, whenever the woman went downstairs.

That there were other people in the house she was soon aware,for she could at times hear the murmur of low voices and thendistinguish, too, that they belonged to men.

The woman apparently looked after the whole house, for she wasdownstairs the greater part of the morning, although never forvery long at a time. Every half hour or so she would comeupstairs, and then, unlocking the door noisily, would regardEunice with a hard stare and then go down again. The woman wasunclean and untidy in her appearance, and had always a sullenlook upon her face. She spoke very little, and refused to answerany questions that were put to her.

She generally smelt strongly of spirits, and at night wasnearly always half-stupid with liquor.

Eunice spent most of the day looking through the chinks of theboards that were screwed over the window.

She saw that she was on the second story of the house,situated in a large garden surrounded by a low wall. The housewas not a hundred yards from a broad river, where big boats werecontinually passing up and down. At night the sirens kept herawake.

There were no other houses anywhere near; nothing but a drearywaste of flat meadows and marsh-land, but in the distance shecould see some huge gasometers and beyond the sky was alwaysblack and smoky, and she guessed that the woman had spoken thetruth when telling her that London was not far away.

The initial shock over, for the first three days Eunice's mindseemed too numbed for the expression of any further emotions, buton the fourth morning she was seized suddenly with a fit ofweeping and, refusing to take food, kept all day long to herbed.

The woman showed no concern at first, just dumping the fooddown on a chair and taking it away when she found it had not beeneaten; but the following morning she became angry and shookEunice roughly.

"Get up, you little fool," she exclaimed, "and don't give meany more trouble. What do you think you'll get by playing up likethis? You'll get no sympathy from me, anyhow. I'll force the fooddown you, if you don't eat."

But it was Eunice's turn now to keep silent and she pushed thewoman away with spirit.

Midday came and, seeing that the girl had still eaten nothing,the woman assumed a threatening attitude and seemed about tostrike her. But after a moment's hesitation she apparentlythought better of it, and banged herself out of the room and downthe stairs.

Then Eunice heard voices raised in argument below, the shrillvoice of the woman and the much deeper one of a man, andpresently there came the sound of footsteps ascending thestairs—but footsteps of more than one person.

One of the far doors was unlocked and then someone knockedgently upon that of her room. She took no notice, however, andquite half a minute passed before the door was pushed open and aman entered, with the woman following close behind him. The manwas tall and very dark, but not unprepossessing, and he carriedhimself erect, with an easy, careless grace. Eunice, in terror,hastily snatched up the bedclothes until they were level with hereyes.

"Pardon me coming in, Mademoiselle," he said in a gentlepleasant voice, and with just a trace of a foreign accent, "but Iam told you are refusing to eat." She made no answer, and he wenton quietly; "It is very foolish of you and will do no good. Youwill soon be going back to your parents and it will grieve themif you return looking ill."

"My name doesn't matter," he replied, smiling. "I am lookingafter you—that is all."

"Looking after me!" she exclaimed sharply. "What for? Why am Ia prisoner at all?"

"You are here for your safety, Mademoiselle," he repliedevasively. "We are taking care of you."

The man cast down his eyes. "I cannot explain, Mademoiselle,"he said. "I am only a servant of others."

The man bowed. "Yes, your father knows." He looked up andsmiled. "You can write to him if you like."

A moment's silence followed, and then, flinging the bedclothesfrom her shoulders, Eunice sat up resolutely.

The man regarded her pityingly. "Don't be afraid,Mademoiselle," he said, holding up his hand, "and don't worrybecause you are here. It will be only such a little while andthen you will be back again among your own people, and everythingwill be explained to you." He lowered his voice and added rapidlyin French—"Don't be afraid, I say. I will see that you cometo no harm."

And instantly Eunice sensed somehow that the man's intentionswere really friendly. He was undoubtedly telling her untruths,but he was doing so unwillingly, and for the first time since shehad come out of her dreadful sleep a ray of hope came to her. Theman meant well by her, she was sure, and he was not a weakling,either. Indeed, he gave her the impression of strength andcourage, and was evidently a man who would be faithful to hisword.

"I am your friend, Mademoiselle," he repeated still in French,"and I say that you shall come to no harm." He shrugged hisshoulders. "But unhappily I cannot explain things to you—asI would like."

The woman behind him was scowling angrily. It was evident thatshe did not understand French and was annoyed at his use ofit.

"Bien, Monsieur," replied Eunice with a half smile at thewoman's discomfiture, and, speaking also in French, "But then Ihave some complaints to make. This woman is insolent and shethreatens me."

"Pooh!" smiled the man, "she can do you no harm. I am alwaysdownstairs and listening to everything."

"But she is drinking all day," said Eunice. "She is unclean inher ways and it sickens me to know that she prepares thefood."

"Very good, Mademoiselle," he replied after a moment'sthought, "then it is I who, in future, will prepare it foryou——" He hesitated again. "And also I will bring itup myself."

With another bow he left the room, and then Eunice heard thewoman's voice raised in angry expostulation.

"Bah!" she heard her sneer at the end of a fierce tirade. "Youmen are all the same, and will do anything for a face of pink andwhite. You are fools, all of you." A menace came into her voice."But I shall tell the master when he comes in."

In brighter spirits, Eunice took a bath and dressed, and shewas sitting in the living room when presently she heard the manascending the stairs. He came alone this time.

"Here you are, Mademoiselle," he said, coming into the room,"your lunch." And he placed upon the table some thinly cut breadand butter and a plate of jellied eels.

She felt embarrassed, but thanked him prettily, and with nofurther speech he withdrew.

And at 6 o'clock he brought up a grilled chop and somepotatoes, beautifully fried. The woman followed him up thestairs.

"Very simple fare, Mademoiselle," he apologised, "but we aredistant from any shops and there is not much variety to offer.This is claret in the tumbler. I am sorry we have no wineglasses."

The woman looked furious, but Eunice took no notice, and, leftto herself, proceeded to enjoy the meal with relish.

Dusk had just fallen and the man was sitting in a large roomdownstairs mending a fishing net. The window was closelycurtained and shuttered and the place was lighted by an oil lampsuspended from the ceiling. The man was smiling and hummingsoftly to himself, as with quick and deft fingers he carried outhis task.

Presently the door opened and a second man appeared. Heentered noisily and, flinging his hat upon a chair, went over toa table and picked up a glass and a bottle of whisky. Hescrutinised the glass carefully to make sure no one had used itand then poured himself out a liberal measure of the spirit,which he drank without water.

The man mending the net took no notice of him and, except thatthe smile had now left his face and he had stopped humming, itmight almost have seemed that he was unaware of the other'spresence. He had not even raised his eyes.

"Anything happened, Mattin?" he asked and the man who wasmending the net shook his head and answered verysoftly:—"No, Mr. Texworthy, nothing."

"Oh!" grunted the big-game hunter, and then he went oncarelessly:—"Well, I find that Mr. McAlbane made nostatement. His neck was broken and he died instantaneously." Asneer crept into his voice. "And when he was the first to seethat black cat in the yard the other day he said he would be theluckiest of us three."

Mattin raised his eyes at last. "A party of four men went byalong the bank this afternoon," he replied. "I watched themthrough the glasses. They all looked up at the house, but theydid not stop. They carried pick and shovels."

Mattin shrugged his shoulders. "Just ordinary," he replied."Working men, and they were not interested."

"I may have been hasty the other night," he said, "and afterall it may have been the truth that fellow told—that he'dlost his way, but still he shouldn't have stared at me as he did.It looked suspicious."

"But you should not have stabbed him," said Mattin coldly,"particularly as you afterwards threw him in the river upon aflowing tide." He shook his head. "It was unwise."

"Yes," replied Mattin quietly, "for now if he is dragged outthere will be that knife-thrust to be accounted for and if he wassent after us, as you think, they will be suspicious that he hadfound us, and others may come as he did." He shook his head."Yes, it was most unwise."

Texworthy smiled contemptuously, and was apparently about tomake some stinging retort when the door opened without ceremonyand the woman burst in.

"Master," exclaimed the woman breathlessly, pointing toMattin, "he's been upstairs and spoken to the girl. He would goup. I told him not to and to wait for you but he took no notice.He's been up twice and taken her things to eat, and now he's gotone of the keys."

Texworthy started up in his chair and rapped out an oath."Curse you," he exclaimed to Mattin. "What was that for?"

Mattin looked quite unperturbed. "I was tired of hearing hercry," he replied, "and Mrs. Stein said she was still refusingfood."

"But she may have recognised you, you fool," stormedTexworthy. "She may have seen you sometime near the castle."

"No," replied Mattin, "it is quite unlikely." He smiled again."I am prepared to risk it."

"But you knew the arrangement we made," cried the big-gamehunter angrily, "and what my orders were."

"I used my own judgment," replied Mattin with no expression onhis face, "and I take no orders from you." He smiled gently. "Shewas crying, I tell you, and her eyes are much too pretty tospoil."

Texworthy motioned to the woman to leave the room and when shehad gone he glared threateningly at Mattin.

"Yes," said the latter carelessly with his eyes again upon hisnet, "it is well to have pity for Miss Smith, for she issuffering, of course. And the food she was getting was not whatshe is accustomed to, and that woman of yours is not clean." Hemade a gesture of disgust. "I would not touch any food that sheprepares and so in future—" his voice was quiet andgentle—"I shall cook for Miss Smith and take up her mealsmyself."

Texworthy was controlling himself with an effort and from thefurious expression on his face it was evident that he was notvery far from physical violence; but for some reason he thoughtbetter of it and instead, settled himself nonchalantly back inhis chair and curled his lips in an evil smile.

"Bah! All of your colour are womanisers," he sneered. "You arejust animals where any woman is concerned—youblacks...."

The light in the room was poor, and he could not see from theexpression on Mattin's face if the insult had gone home; but theSyrian replied in the same calm and even tone that he had beenusing all along.

"Yes, we blacks admire beauty when we see it, and who willdare to say that the love of a woman is not the greatest joy inlife."

Texworthy spat upon the floor in disgust and snatched up abook off the table. Silence reigned once again in the room.

Then, every day—morning, noon and night—regardlessalike of the anger on the big-game hunter's face and the sullenenmity of the woman, Mattin prepared and took upstairs all thatEunice ate.

They were delicate, dainty meals, and the girl thanked himgratefully every time.

She had been rather frightened at first by the undoubtedadmiration that she saw in his eyes, but he was always mostpolite and there was never the slightest trace of boldness orfamiliarity in his attitude towards her. Added to that, the womanwas always present when he appeared and, as if by orders, shefollowed with the eye of a hawk every expression upon their facesas they spoke.

They invariably used French now, and the baffled annoyance onher face added piquancy to their interviews.

"But your accent is sweet, Mademoiselle," said Mattin one day,with a flash of his gleaming white teeth. "It is heavenly afterthe hard, rough speech of the people here."

"No, Mademoiselle," he replied with a grimace, "I am anAsiatic. A black man my enemies call me. I was born inSyria."

And then many times she started to question him as to why shehad been drugged and taken from her parents; but always he waseither evasive or declined to answer. She tried to bribe him, andsaid her father would reward him richly if he arranged for herescape but he only smiled and shook his head.

"But it is unnecessary, Mademoiselle," he insisted, "for verysoon you will be returning now. Three days, four days, a weekperhaps, and then you will go home and forget all this. It willbe but a little unpleasant memory in your life, and yet tome"—a note of sadness came into his voice—"it will bea golden remembrance as long as I live."

And downstairs, he and Texworthy hardly ever spoke a word.There was no friendly understanding between them, and they satand read and acted generally as if each to the other did notexist.

Because of his Asiatic origin, Texworthy regarded Mattin, ashe had sneered openly, as a black, and Mattin hated the big-gamehunter with the resentful hatred of a man who knew he wasdespised unjustly.

Except upon that one occasion when Texworthy had gone up toLondon to learn the details about McAlbane's death, they neitherof them, whilst daylight lasted, stirred out of the house, and toall outward appearance it was uninhabited.

But every night, when darkness had fallen, one or both of themwent out; Texworthy to go by train from Dagenham to the city,where he rang up Professor Ingleby, and Mattin to purchase fromdistant villages whatever was required for the house.

Mattin never patronised any place within half a dozen miles.He bicycled, too, every night in a different direction, nevergoing twice consecutively to the same shop. Also, when upon hisjourneys he always wore a wig and beard and dark glasses, andcarried himself heavily with the bowed shoulders of an oldman.

They had no thought that anyone was on the look-out for them,but still they invariably took all precautions, as if they werequite sure there were spies about.

And in this way a week passed, Eunice hoping that every daywould bring her deliverance; Mattin with an ever-deepeningpassion for his beautiful prisoner; Texworthy sullen and cursinghis enforced inaction; and Mrs. Stein with the irritability of achronic dyspeptic and heavy drinker.

One afternoon Eunice noticed that the woman could not walksteadily. She was incoherent in her speech, too, and towardsevening became as nearly drunk as she could be without beingactually incapable.

When it began to grow dark, she lit the oil lamp withdifficulty, and then rolled heavily upon her bed, the stertorousnature of her snores soon testifying to the oblivion that hadseized her.

At first Eunice's feelings were those only of disgust, but allat once the idea came to her that she might now get hold of thewoman's key, and, unlocking the door, effect an escape.

The very thought made her heart beat so fast that she couldhardly breathe, but she calmed herself with an effort and rapidlyconsidered every possibility.

She knelt down upon the floor and placed her ear to the cracksbetween the boards. There was complete silence below, and after afew moments she was sure that, except for herself and the womanin the adjoining room, there was no one else in the house.

A swift glance through the window and she saw that althoughthere was no moon, it was a starlit night, and that she would beable to find her way without difficulty from the surroundings ofthe house.

Realising that she might have a long walk before her, and thatshe would be cold in her light dress, she snatched a blanket fromher bed, and threw it over her shoulders.

Then, overcoming her repugnance, she approached the snoringwoman and stealthily drew out the key.

She unlocked the door very quietly, and, stepping into thepassage, found herself at the top of a deep flight of stairs,below she saw what was obviously the front door of the house atthe far end of a wide hall.

There was no lamp in the passage nor on the stairs, but acrossthe hall there was a broad path of light from the open door of aroom at the side.

For a long minute she hesitated, holding her breath in fearlest the room should be occupied, but then, hearing no sound, andrealising that every moment lost jeopardised her chances ofescape, she started to creep noiselessly down the stairs.

She reached the hall without mishap, and then, tip-toeing intothe stream of light that fell from the room—came suddenlyface to face with a man who was sitting just inside the door.

He was leaning back in one chair with his feet stretched outupon another, and was meditatively biting upon a cold pipe.

They caught sight of each other at the same instant, but for afew seconds there was no sign of mutual recognition. Just awooden expression upon the face of the man, and startled terrorupon that of the girl.

Suddenly, however, Eunice gave a cry. She darted forward andgasped in a relief that almost choked her—

"Then it wasn't true what they said about you? Oh! Mr.Texworthy, and you've come to rescue me!"

The big-game hunter sprang to his feet, his jaw dropped, andhis pipe fell on to the floor. Then his eyes narrowed, and hisface became as black as thunder.

"Oh!" exclaimed Eunice wildly, and almost bursting into tears."I've been a prisoner upstairs for over a week. I was drugged andbrought here days and days ago."

Texworthy swallowed hard and tried to moisten his dry lipswith his tongue. The anger upon his face had now changed to aperplexity that was almost comical.

"Take me home, quick," cried Eunice, and she lookedshudderingly round the big room. "There are men here and they maycome back at any moment. There is a dreadful woman, too,upstairs, but she's in a drunken sleep now and we must escapebefore she gives any warning."

Texworthy found his speech at last. "Hush! hush!" he whisperedsharply. "I am here to save you, of course, but you cannot goyet. The place is surrounded and you must go back upstairs." Heseized her by the arm. "Quick, quick, I cannot explain now, butyou must go back instantly."

Eunice's face was filled with consternation. "What do youmean?" she gasped. "Go back! Why, I've been a prisoner, I tellyou. I've been guarded night and day with the doors locked andthe windows boarded up."

"Go back, I tell you," exclaimed Texworthy sternly. "Quick, oryou will spoil everything. Quick!"

The girl leant heavily against the wall. There was somethingso brutal and pitiless in the demeanour of the man who, in herconfused state of mind, she had been sure had come to rescue her,that for the moment she was almost on the verge of a swoon.

And then from behind Eunice came a quiet and gentle voice.Mattin had entered the hall almost immediately after she had comedown the stairs, and had been a spectator of all that hadpassed.

"Yes, go up, Mademoiselle," he said softly. "I promise you itwill be all right."

Eunice turned in thankfulness. Anything was better than thescowling face of Texworthy. She felt that she had beenbetrayed.

And then instantly she was lifted up into strong, protectingarms, and once again Mattin felt the beating of her heart againsthis.

"Don't be afraid," he said, speaking with no emotion, "I willcarry you up and you will come to no harm," and, unmindful of thescowling look that Texworthy gave him, he walked unconcernedly upthe stairs.

He carried her into her room and laid her upon the bed. Then,tucking the counterpane round her, he bent down and whisperedsoftly, "To-morrow or the day after, or in three days at most,Mademoiselle, you shall go free." He patted her hand gently, "Ipromise it—on my honour."

Locking the door behind him, he returned downstairs to findTexworthy pacing restlessly to and fro. To his surprise, he sawthat all traces of anger had now left the big-game hunter's face,and instead, the man was looking frightened.

"But this alters everything," he exclaimed shakily, directlyMattin appeared—"we must change all our plans now."

"She can never go back," whispered Texworthy hoarsely. "Shehas seen me and that means the end of everything for her. Sheshall have a dose of that powder and then we'll get rid of hersomehow." A little more strength seemed to come into his voice."She brought it on herself, and it's the only thing we can donow." He swore angrily. "But I don't like dealing that way with awoman I know as I've known her."

"Naturally," said Mattin dryly. "She is young and verybeautiful. You have eaten at her table, and you have danced withher, you have——"

"But what else can we do?" asked Texworthy furiously. "It wasbad enough when she saw you, but now she has seenme——" he spoke much more calmly, "well, I'm not goingto be in hiding for the rest of my life for any woman. I'm notgoing to be an outlaw from civilisation for her." He dropped backinto an armchair. "Bah! it's all her own fault and she will havea big sleeping draught and disappear. She won't suffer, and itwill be soon over."

Mattin looked at him very deliberately. "Mr. Texworthy," hesaid quietly, "let us be quite clear about this at once." Hespoke very slowly. "This girl shall come to no harm from anybody,she shall have no more suffering than we can help, and, whetherwe obtain those diamonds or not, I have promised she shall goback to her parents next week," and he turned to the table andpicked up a newspaper as if the last word had been said.

In the silence that followed, the expression on Texworthy'sface passed gradually from furious amazement to the cold and warylook of the hunter in the jungle confronted suddenly with adanger he did not expect, and when presently he spoke, he hadhimself completely under control.

"Yes, I have promised," he replied calmly, and then he addedcarelessly—"She pleases me, this girl, and she is much toolovely to die." He sighed. "Yes, she is very beautiful, and oneday she will open the gates of paradise for some man."

"And you would like to be he, Monsieur Mattin?" he laughedmockingly. "Now would you not?"

"You are right there," snarled Texworthy instantly, "forwhatever end we design for them, we whites do not give our womenup to—blacks!" He settled himself back comfortably in hischair and made his eyes gloat. "Yes, as you say, she isbeautiful, and you have suggested an idea." He paused as if tolet his words sink in. "And if anyone is to possess thatloveliness before——" he hesitated,"before——" he rapped out his words like a machinegun. "You understand what I mean, monsieur, do you not?"

"Yes," replied Mattin quietly. "You mean—that onlywhites should ravish whites."

"Exactly," said Texworthy, and he added carelessly as he gotup and moved towards the door, "but, situated as we are, it isfoolish to quarrel, and so we'll discuss the matter again,another time."

The Syrian made no comment, but when he was alone he drew adagger from his belt and lightly ran his fingers over the blade.His face was serene and untroubled and almost saint-like in itsrepose.

The next morning, when he took up her meal, he enjoined Euniceon no account to eat or drink anything unless he brought it toher himself, but, as before, he smilingly refused to give anyexplanation.

CHAPTER XVII.
The Hovering of the Eagles.

IN the meantime a search was proceeding alongthe Essex coast and the adjoining waterways that was almost epicin its intensity. Untiring and with every faculty strained to theutmost, the detectives had unleashed themselves upon the trail,and as far east as the river Crouch they were exploring everylittle creek that found its muddy way into the land.

Not only Larose and Naughton Jones, but also Vallon andRaphael Croupin, were there. The great detective of the Surete ofParis had chafed at being left in Norfolk, and finally, a dayafter receiving the news of McAlbane's death, he had insistedupon participating with the others in their search.

"I am useless here," he had urged angrily over the telephone,"and I tell you I am afraid for that girl. That she is indesperate need I am sure, and, diamonds or no diamonds, I amconvinced she will never be allowed to return to her parents. Itwill be too dangerous in any case now for them to let her go, andit grieves me beyond speech that I am idle here. I know these menand their type, and she will be for ever in some lonely grave ifwe do not rescue her in time. That manTexworthy——"

"All right, all right," Jones had replied testily, "come up ifyou're at a dead end there. That Croupin can stay and watch."

"But Croupin cannot do any good either," said Vallon, "forIngleby has bought a big Alsatian hound, and we can no longer getanywhere near the house. The animal is furious when anyoneapproaches. Twice Croupin has had narrow escapes."

So Vallon and Croupin had joined the others, and the searchwas conducted in a most thorough manner, every little village andhamlet even in the marked area being in turn gone over.

For five days they worked at fever rate from early morninguntil darkness, covering each day a large area of ground, butnowhere did they see any likely house or hear of any new arrivalswho resembled the kidnappers.

Then on the fifth evening, Jones, telephoning as usual to hisrooms in Dover street, from the little village of Battlebridge,received important news. A messenger had called that afternoonwith word that Mariarty wanted to see him immediately, and thatthe matter was very urgent.

"You all remain here," Jones said to the others, when he hadtold them the news, "and I'll go up straightaway and return bythe early newspaper train tomorrow morning. I am of opinion thatwe are about to find them close near here, and what Mariarty sayswill probably confirm that idea. At any rate, if it's anythingdifferent I'll phone at once."

So Naughton Jones went off by the evening train, and soonafter 10 o'clock that night was ushered into Mariarty's cellar-like apartment under the pawnshop in Shadwell.

The professor did not appear to be too pleased to see him. Hehad a strained resentful look upon his usually impassive face,and without rising from his chair he greeted the detective with afrown.

"I've got in touch with the men you want," he said at once."One of my most valued assistants found them and he's come back.I saw him this morning. He's in the mortuary by Wapping Stairs,and he's got a knife wound over his heart. He came up with therising tide and was picked out of the river at daybreak." Thestout man rapped out an oath. "And there's another of my menmissing, too—one I have employed for over twenty years.He's not reported for two days. I warned you those fellows weretoo strong for us."

And he would vouchsafe nothing more, meeting all thedetective's questions with resolute denials that he had anyknowledge of the way in which his men had gone about theirwork.

"I give my instructions," he scowled, "and my servants carrythem out in their own ways. They are none of them spoon-fed, forI don't use men of that kind"—he glared angrily at NaughtonJones—"and my advice to you is to drop the whole businessat once. That organisation is too dangerous for any of us tointerfere with."

Returning thoughtfully to his rooms, the detective saw Dr.Grain's car parked outside, and found the doctor himself waitingfor him within.

Naughton Jones shook his head. "No," he replied, "not as yet."He looked sharply at the doctor. "Anything at your end?"

"Nothing at all," was the reply, "except that Ingleby nowseems bordering on the mental to me. He was quite callous aboutMcAlbane and absolutely gloated over all the violent deaths thathave occurred recently. One by one he brought them up to me andhe was full of the newspaper accounts of the inquest on Fenton.His opinion is that there was no accident, and that someone threwthe man over."

Dr. Grain frowned. "I've come up to help," he replied quickly,"and I'm not going back until"—his voice was hoarse andstrained—"something has been done."

"Ah!" exclaimed Jones, and then he added with a smile, "Well,we'll enlist you at once. You shall drive me down toBattlebridge, a charming little village in Essex, to-night. It'sabout thirty-five miles out, and we'll start straight away."

The next morning a long and earnest consultation took place inthe back room of the village inn.

"We are in a quandary now," said Jones, frowning, "for we haveno means of determining with what significance to regard themurder of that man of Mariarty's. If he just met his death in oneof those ordinary quarrels that are for ever occurring in theunderworld, then there is no reason why we should not continueour search in exactly the same manner as we are now doing, but ifthe fellow really did get in touch with the parties we are after,then that, of course, means their hiding place is quite nearLondon. A dead body is not going to drift up as high as WappingStairs from anywhere in the river below Tilbury, if indeed fromany place half as far down as that."

"Quite so, Mr. Jones," said Larose earnestly, "and to my mindwe have been taking the wrong line all along. That 66 2-10 mileson the trip indicator was a heaven-sent clue for us, but we triedto be too clever and let it go by. I thought it all over lastnight and see now how blind we have been." He looked hard atJones. "You remember the brown paper bag that contained thoseapples in the dickey? There was no printing on them, was there,no name and address of the shop from which they had come? Well,what can it mean except that the apples in the dickey werepurchased from a barrow? All shops advertise themselves upontheir bags, but the barrow people do not. So they were bought offa street barrow, I say, and that implies some place goingcitywards, such as Barking or Woolwich; the very places throughwhich McAlbane would have passed if he went down to Wye in thesame way as we did, over Woolwich Ferry. I saw dozens of fruitbarrows as we passed."

"But why not at Gravesend?" asked Naughton Jones coldly."Mightn't there be barrows there as well?"

"But there are not," replied Larose promptly. "I've beentalking this morning to the grocer in the village. He comes fromGravesend, and the only barrow vendors there, he says, are shrimpmen. There are too many orchards just round Gravesend to make anybarrows selling worth while."

"And there's another reason," added Larose, "why McAlbanedidn't cross by the ferry from Tilbury. He was a speed maniac,and the garage man here tells me that for eight or nine mileseach side of Tilbury the road at the present moment is in a verybad condition. The surface is so broken he says that any motoristwould go twenty miles out of his way to avoid it."

Jones made no comment and Larose went on quickly. "So that 662-10 miles represents a journey McAlbane made by way of WoolwichFerry and"—he looked at his watch—"within ten minutesDr. Grain and I are starting for Wye. We are going on to theracecourse, we shall set the indicator at zero, and we shrillreturn by way of Woolwich Ferry, taking on this side the oldSouthend road through Barking. Then when the indicator showsexactly sixty-five miles, we shall stop, and, marking ourposition upon the ordnance map, draw a circle round it." His facewas all smiles. "Then, within eight and forty hours, we shalllearn something of the life story of every human being livingwithin three miles. Now—any suggestions, please?"

"Bien!" exclaimed Croupin gleefully "and I shall be of greatclue to you, for it is I alone who am unknown to these rascals.You shall point out to me the burrow in which you think they arehiding, and I will be the ferret to go in and see if they are athome."

"Very good, Mr. Croupin," said Naughton Jones dryly, "and youmay find that you are meeting old friends." He turned to Larosewith the air of one thinker conceding a point to another. "Iagree, Mr. Larose," he said. "Your alternative theory is in thecircumstances quite acceptable. Do as you say, then, and in themeantime Monsieur Vallon and I will be making inquiries at thevillages within ten miles of Barking, for that is undoubtedlywhere they will be if we are right. So let us all work on our ownto-day and meet to compare notes in Romford at eight to-night.Romford is only about seven miles from the Thames, and, as it isquite a fair-sized little town, a party of five will not attractattention there, as they would in a village. Also, the Bell Inncan put on quite a good feed and so whoever arrives first cangive the order."

Dr. Grain possessed a speedy car, and it was barely two hoursafter leaving Battlebridge that he and Larose were on Wyeracecourse, and setting back the trip indicator to nought.

"There's the water jump," said Larose, "and if ghosts walk atnight then the Honourable James McAlbane's begins hisconstitutional always at that spot. Jones caused his death assurely as if he had put a bullet in him. A peculiar man Jones,doctor. A clear thinker and one with an alert mind but verystubborn sometimes, very."

They drove back quicker even than they had come, and once overWoolwich Ferry the heart of the detective beat the faster withevery mile they covered.

"Steady now," he said, when they had passed through Barking,"but I think we'll go the whole 66 2-10 miles—say 67 toallow for any differences in the speedometer, and then we shallknow for certain that we've got the wretches behind us."

They passed through Rainham, taking the lower road, and the67th mile brought them within a few hundred yards of the villageof Wennington.

"Good," said Larose, in a voice that was slightly husky, "andnow we stop and look at the map."

Then Larose smiled. "Look," he said. "Rainham Marsh,Wennington Marsh, Aveley Marsh, Ingrebourne River and all thosecreeks running down into the Thames—why we couldn't be nearmore likely places." His face became thoughtful. "But one thing,doctor, I'd like to know. Now tell me, would it be safe to eateels taken from the creeks about here?"

"The fouler—the better so far as their fatness isconcerned," laughed the doctor, "and the more tasty also they'dbe."

"Not if they were properly cooked," replied the doctor. "It'sonly uncooked fish that is dangerous. The cooking would destroyany germs."

"Thank you, doctor," said the detective—"that's all Iwanted to know." He looked up the road. "Now that should be aninn there, and we'll go and have a snack and begin our inquiriesas well."

They went into the village inn and over the consumption ofbread and cheese and ale Larose proceeded to make discreetinquiries about everyone who lived in the neighbourhood. He gotlittle for his pains, however. The publican knew everyone withinmany miles, and apparently all about their private affairs; butthere were no suspicious characters anywhere, no newcomers hadarrived lately in the district, there were no empty houses, andas far as he was aware there were no houses to be let. Also hehad seen no strangers about; nothing much ever happened in thevillage and his custom depended almost entirely upon the peoplewhom he knew well and who had been coming in for years. He hadtaken no particular notice of any light blue car recently aboutthe district.

"Well, are there any good places where you can get eels abouthere?" asked Larose.

The man smiled. "Plenty," he replied. "In all the creeks andup the Ingrebourne River almost as far as Upminster, betweenthree and four miles away."

They pursued their inquiries vainly at the two village shops,and then, a little disappointed, retraced their way to Rainham,where the same process was gone through. But it was again to nopurpose, and then, leaving the car in the local garage, theyproceeded across the fields to look about on foot.

"If there's any truth in the sixty-six miles business," saidLarose, with a long face, "then it must be somewhere abouthere."

They walked inland for about a mile, and then, upon slightlyhigher ground, Larose took out a pair of powerful glasses andraked the country round in every direction. There were quite anumber of large houses about, many lying in their owngrounds.

"And they may be in any of them," he sighed, "howeverrespectable their occupants may appear to be to the villagefolks—but we daren't go up and make an direct inquiries. Itis vital we should not excite any suspicions, for if they get toknow we are tracking them, then off they go in some otherdirection, and we shall not have a hope in the world of findingthem in time."

They sat down and surveyed the country before them. Below inthe distance lay the winding course of the Thames, visible insections where the view was clear and unobscured.

"Yes," remarked the detective gloomily, "we've taken onsomething, and it seems hopeless to me now."

He focussed his glasses suddenly upon a building, or rather acollection of buildings, about a couple of miles away, where theriver bent out very sharply, and took a long and intentstare.

"Now, that would be a likely place," he saidslowly—"that two-storied house there except that it'sacross the river, and if we once begin considering anything onthe other side, then bang go all the theories we've built up onMattin's journey by the Fenchurch-street line, and McAlbane'ssixty-six mile trip to Wye."

A farm hand came by presently in a cart with a load of straw,and the detective, after a preliminary hail, plied him withquestions of the same nature that he had asked in thevillage.

The man was in no hurry, and by no means averse to a chat, butLarose got nothing out of him, and soon the conversationlapsed.

"Well, good day, gents," said the man. "I'd better be gettingalong, I think," and then, as a parting question, the detectivepointed to the collection of buildings he had been looking at,and asked what they were.

"An old tannery," replied the man, looking back, "but there'sbeen nothing done there for some years now. The party what had itwent bust, and it's been empty ever since—and a good thing,too, for it stunk the place out." He made a salutation with hiswhip, and the cart creaked slowly away.

They picked up their car and, tired and dispirited, proceededto keep their rendezvous with the others at Romford. They arrivedthere a good hour and a half before the time arranged, and,rather to their surprise, saw Jones and the others standingbefore the front of the hotel. Jones strode up to them at once,almost before they had brought their car to a standstill.

"Any news," he asked quickly, and when Larose shook his headgloomily a triumphant glint came into Jones's eyes. "Well, Ihave," he announced grimly, "come inside quickly."

Larose's heart gave a great bound. So after all their lines ofreasoning had been correct and there was still hope.

"Yes," said Naughton Jones when they were all gathered in theback parlour of the hotel, "We've heard something and, althoughit isn't much, it's significant at all events." He spread a mapout upon the table and went on impressively. "We've found tracesof a strange man in five villages—Aveley, Stifford, Orsett,West Thurrock, and North Ockenden. He comes through at night on abicycle, always at night, and buys newspapers, butter, milk andeggs, and at Orsett he asked if they sold garlic. He's an oldman, well wrapped up, dark, and wears glasses, and he speaks in athick voice. He's appeared at all these places on differentnights, and as far as we can make out has arrived at each villageat different times. At Orsett he came about 8.30 last Monday, atAveley soon after 8 one night last week, at Stifford about 8.30on Saturday, and at North Ockenden, at about a quarter to9—they don't remember the day. No one has seen him morethan once, and no one knows anything about him"—thedetective tapped significantly upon the table with hisfinger—"but two things stand out perfectly clear. Thefirst—he has shopped at different villages because he hasreasons for not wanting to become known, and the second—themore distant he was from London, the later the hour he made hispurchases; therefore he comes not far from Barking."

"Splendid!" exclaimed Larose with enthusiasm, "and it would bejust like Mattin to want garlic. Yes," he added, after a moment'sthought, "I think we can say for certain therefore that he isliving on the London side of the nearest village he hasvisited—Aveley."

"Exactly," said Naughton Jones, "and where he has been seen hedoes not live." He frowned. "Now where did that 66 2-10 milesland you?"

"Well, then," said Jones sharply, "they are in hiding betweenWennington and Barking, and it should be quite simple to findthem now."

Larose frowned. "No, not so simple," he replied. "We've beenover some of the ground this afternoon, and there are houses andfarms and halls scattered all about there. We can't push ourinquiries closely without running the risk of exciting thesuspicion that would ruin all our plans." He spoke briskly. "Butnow we'll look out for that man to-night. We daren't follow him,though, but if we watch near as many by-roads as possible thatjoin the main road on the London side of Wennington, we may seehim come out and so get an idea in which direction they arehidden."

And a few minutes before darkness set in they were allsecreted at different points of vantage, waiting expectantly forthe appearance of an old man bicycling upon the main road, withthe arrangement that at 10 o'clock they should reassemble nearthe railway station at Dagenham. Naughton Jones was lying hiddenin the entrance to a by-road close to Wennington whilst Larosehad selected a lane much nearer Barking.

The Australian was undoubtedly not too happy and, as hestretched himself down at full length behind a hedge, he regardedhis surroundings with a somewhat anxious air. There was a fitfulmoon showing and in the distance he could just see the silveredwater of the Thames. There were fields behind him, and in frontran the Southend road.

"But things are not going too well," his thoughts ran, "and infour days old Smith will be handing over those diamonds. We haveaccomplished absolutely nothing so far, and now to-night we areeither on a hot trail or else"—he shrugged his shouldersand sighed—"we are as far from any discoveries as ever."His face brightened a little. "Still that old man on a bicyclemeans something—surely. Here are we in what we imagine tobe the enemy's country, and we come upon happenings that aresecretive and mysterious and highly suggestive of wrong-doing.This man's actions suggest exactly what we might expect in eitherMattin or Texworthy—a supreme desire that no one shouldknow where he comes from."

For half an hour and more he watched the cars roaring by, butthere was no appearance of the man they were looking for.

Rising to his feet presently to move a little farther down thelane, he heard suddenly a low growl behind him and immediately adog sprang at him and gripped him by the trousers. He turned in aflash and seized the animal by the throat. It was only a smalldog, and he easily wrenched it from him and pinned it choking tothe ground.

"Don't hurt him, mate," came an anxious voice from the hedge."He's only a little 'un and he don't mean any harm. He wasfrightened by finding you there."

Larose freed one hand and flashed a torch upon the speaker. Itwas a young man who stood before him, roughly dressed and of thelabouring class, but with a pleasant open face.

"He's torn my trousers," scowled Larose. He kept his light onthe man's face. "But what are you doing, sneaking abouthere?"

The man looked round apprehensively. "Douse that light, mate,"he said quickly. "I'm only looking about for a rabbit, and it'squite all right, but the confounded police may be about and theyknow me."

Larose hesitated a moment and then, reassured by the generalappearance of the speaker, switched off his light.

Larose's thoughts coursed like lightning through his brain."Know the neighbourhood?" he asked.

"Look here," said Larose, and he moved out of the shadow ofthe hedge into the moonlight so that the man could see himplainly. "I'm very different to what you think I am and if youdon't answer me at once I shall blow my whistle and you'llfind——"

"Rabbits," was the reply, "only rabbits. Forty bob or tendays," and he added, feelingly—"the farmers here aredevils, every one of them."

Larose laughed good-humoredly. "Then I sympathise with you, myfriend," he said, "for where I come from it is the rabbits thatare the devils, and a young chap like you would be paid, and paidwell, for killing them and taking them away." He became serious."But listen, you can help me perhaps and earn a few bob as well."He eyed the man narrowly. "Now, do you know theneighbourhood?"

"Ought to," growled the man. "I've lived not four miles fromhere all my life, and I work on the roads."

"Well, then," said Larose briskly, "you're the very man Iwant." His voice was silky in its friendliness. "I'm on the lookout for certain parties, and I'm sure they're hiding abouthere—an old woman, very dark, a stout man with red hair,and a boy about twelve. Now, have you seen any of them about?They've only come here lately, within the last ten days. The boyrides a bicycle, and they'll probably do their shopping atnights. They used to have a blue two-seater car."

"Never seen anyone, old or young, riding on a bicycle andslinking about at night as if they didn't want to be noticed?"asked Larose.

"Well," went on Larose quickly, and in no wise disheartened,"if you were in this neighbourhood and in their position wherewould you hide? Do you know any shady people with whom they couldput up, anyone who would hide them if they were well paid,anywhere where the could go? And they have a motor car,remember."

The young man laughed. "That's a puzzler you've got, guv'nor,"he replied. "No, there's no bad stuff round here. Just littlechaps who keep cows and pigs and grow veggies and farm a bit.Then there are the big houses where the rich gents live and thelittle cottages for us poor 'uns and the shops and pubs andthat's all." He shook his head. "No, I don't know anyone who'dtake them in."

"And you're certain," persisted Larose, "that there's no placeanywhere where they could hide?"

"Oh!" exclaimed the man, as if struck with a sudden thought,and he pointed across the marshes, "there's that old tannerythere on Rainham Bank. They might have rented that. It's beenempty for years."

"No, it isn't," replied the man. "It looks like it from theroad, but that's only because the old river bends out very sharpand the front of the boss's house in the tannery faces this way,with the tannery wharf behind."

Larose held his breath. It was as if a window had been openedsuddenly admitting a great flood of light where before there hadbeen complete darkness. He was silent for a moment, and thenspoke quite carelessly.

But it was the young man who was now silent, and he appearedto be thinking hard.

"Crumbs!" he ejaculated suddenly, "but there might be, for Ihad a bad scare a couple of nights back in the tannery lane, andI'm sure now someone passed me in the dark."

"No—too foggy," replied the man; "but the dog suddenlystarted to growl there, and he never growls at rabbits. I'd gothim on a bit of rope, and I nipped him up quick. I waited a longtime, but nothing happened, so I cut off. I thought I'd made abloomer until I got to the end of the lane, and then, if I eversmelt anything, I smelt burnt oil, just as if a lamp had beenblown out. Yes, someone was there all right, and it was probablya bike lamp he'd got."

"Good," said Larose, with decision; "and now you'll take meright off to that tannery, and I'll give you ten bob if we getthere without anyone seeing we're about." His voice hardenedsternly. "But, look here, if anyone's there, and they see us, thewhole thing'll be spoilt."

The man hitched up his trousers. "Come on, guv'nor," he said."I'll get that ten bob." He grinned cheerfully. "But it'll bemuddy, for we'll have to walk most of the way right under theriver bank." He pointed up to the sky. "With that old moon there,that's the only way we can go to-night, and it'll be a long wayround, too."

Half an hour later, with the tannery buildings now looming upblack before them, they were creeping along on the side of theriver bed. The river was at half-flood, and a broad stretch ofmud lay between the water and the high bank. It was heavy going,and their boots squelched with every step.

"Keep close, guv'nor," whispered the man, "or you'll be in itup to your neck. I told you it'd be crook, but it's the only waywe could come; and even if they were on the lookout, they'd neverspot us here."

"Not he," whispered the man, "as long as I've got him under myarm. Steady, steady," he went on after a minute. "Here's thewharf in front of the tannery. We'll creep under those piles andget our nobs up over the bank on the other side. It'll be alldark behind us then." He chuckled. "In my line, guv'nor, a man'sgot to be a blooming artist not to get pinched."

They climbed breathlessly up the bank, and, then, for a longtime, with a quickly beating heart, Larose stared at the clusterof buildings before him.

"That's the house where the boss lived," whispered the man,pointing to a gaunt two-storey building. "There are two doors toit, but you can't see either of them from here. The front door'sright the other side, and the back door opens into that yard nearwhere you see the big rain-water tank."

But the detective made no comment. He had got his binocularsout now, and in every direction was raking the house andbuildings for any sign of life.

But there were no movements anywhere, no cracks of lightshowing by the windows, and no signs in any direction to suggestthat human beings were in hiding there.

The light of the moon remained fitful, and every now and thensmall clouds drifted across its face and plunged the whole placeinto semi-darkness.

"Can't we get to the other side of the house," whisperedLarose presently, "where the front door is?"

"Dangerous," replied the man, shaking his head—"you'dhave to crawl on your belly through all that marsh."

There was silence again, and then Larose asked suddenly. "Doyou ever get wild duck here?"

"My father saw one," muttered the man, "about twenty yearsback." He shook his head. "But now old London's come too near andwe never see 'em here."

"Well, you keep your ears open and your eyes skinned andexpect something in about five minutes," said the detective, "I'mgoing across that marsh and you're to wait for me here. Watchthat back yard and listen most carefully for anyone moving about.Understand? Don't move an inch until I come back."

Larose slid over the bank upon his stomach, and for a coupleof minutes or so the poacher could mark his progress round theedge of the marsh. Then the detective faded altogether fromview.

Five minutes, ten minutes passed, and the man began to frown.He was remembering the promise of ten shillings, and an uneasythought struck him that the prospective donor had gone off. Thensuddenly he was galvanised into astonishment, for from across themarsh came the clear and unmistakable call of a wild duck.

"Zak-zak-zak-zak," he heard, the plaintive melancholy cry of abird calling to its mates.

"Gosh!" he ejaculated after a moment, "but it's him"—hegrinned—"and it was darned good, too."

"Zak-zak-zak-zak," and this time it was even more melancholyand plaintive still.

The man strained his eyes to make out where the cry had comefrom, but the marsh stretched dark and solitary before him, andthere was no sign of his companion anywhere.

Then suddenly a sound came from the direction of the house, asoft scraping sound as of a door being opened very gently, and,turning his head round warily, he saw a figure detach itself fromthe side of the house and glide stealthily towards the low gardenwall. It was that of a tall man and he was carrying something inhis hand. Reaching the wall, he leant forward upon his elbows,and from his attitude it was apparent that he was peering throughbinoculars.

For a long time he stood motionless. Then he shifted hisposition again and for some moments remained perfectly still. Henext roved his glasses round in every direction, and, finally, heturned sharply and glided back to the house. Then there was thesame sound as before, like that of a door opening, and again allwas still.

"But that was clever, guv'nor," whispered the poacherpresently to Larose, as they squelched their way back in the mud."What made you think of doing it?"

"Oh!" replied the detective evasively, "most people areinterested in wild ducks, and some people especially."

Long after eleven that night, and in the presence of theothers, Naughton Jones with stern eyes and long forefingerupraised was giving solemn instructions to Raphael Croupin.

"And remember, sir, please," he said with emphasis, "that weare putting great trust in you now. We are giving you an honestman's part to play, and it is our hope that you will employ suchtalents as you possess on the side of law and order for once. Youwill be a friend and not an enemy of the community to-morrow."

"Bien," replied Croupin smilingly, "but I am of a characterreformed now and if to-morrow Monsieur Mattin opens me with hisknife, or if the lion-killer gives me of his dope, then on mygravestone shall it not be cut: 'He is in Heaven now, for heworked once for Meester Jones.'"

"And understand, please," went on Jones coldly, "that we haveparticularly picked upon you to ascertain if it be truly thosemen who are living there because of all of us, you are the onlyone absolutely unknown to them; also"—and there was amarked disdain in his voice—"if your arrival there shouldarouse any suspicions, you could assuredly convince them that youare of the underworld yourself, and at a pinch you should be ableto refer them to mutual acquaintances."

"Certainly, certainly," agreed Croupin readily, "and I couldassure them also that my society has on many occasions beensorely missed by the police—and sometimes even by greatdetectives, too."

"And so by eight o'clock to-morrow morning," went on Joneswith no change in his voice, "you shall start off with a pedlar'spack of mine that I keep for special work like this. You shallcarry my own pedlar's licence"—he coughed—"made out,however, in the name of Herbert Walker, and you shall be at thetannery by 9 o'clock." He eyed the Frenchman very sternly. "Nowyou quite understand the part you have to play?"

"But yes," replied Croupin, shrugging his shoulders. "I am toget speech with that man whom Monsieur Larose attracted from thehouse by coughing like a duck. I am to see if he is MeesterTexworthy, and if he does not kill me I am to come back here withthe news."

"The question of your returning is not material to the issue,Mr. Croupin," said Jones dryly, "for if you fail to come back weshall deduce accordingly that, like Professor Mariarty'semployees, you have located our men."

"But you will be all right," nodded Larose reassuringly, "haveno fear at all. Dr. Grain will be in the marshes not 300 hundredyards from the house, and he will be covering anyone promising tobe dangerous to you with his rifle. Like Texworthy, he is a deadshot. So that if you keep by the front door and do not go insideyou will be under protection the whole time. Also none of us willbe very far away." His face grew very solemn. "Butremember—no signalling of any kind if you find Texworthy orMattin are there. The absence of signalling will mean that youhave found them."

"Take off your hat and rub your head," replied Larose. "Thenwe shall he waiting for you later in the lane."

"You understand?" broke in Jones impatiently. "If you getsight of Texworthy or Mattin then your work is done and whatfollows is a matter solely concerning yourself."

"But, Monsieur Croupin," smiled Vallon, "you are cleverenough, we are sure, to deal with any happening that may occurand to come out of it with a whole skin."

CHAPTER XVIII.
Detective Raphael Croupin.

THE following morning just after nine Texworthyand Mattin were in the backyard of their house effecting somerepairs to a large water-tank close to the wall. The big-gamehunter's housekeeper had reported that the tank had sprung aleak, and, a poor mechanic himself, Texworthy had with reluctancebeen obliged to enlist the help of Mattin.

The two had accomplished their work without the exchange of anunnecessary word and were just about to re-enter the house whenthe sound of footsteps made them turn suddenly.

Passing along on the other side of the low wall was a shabbilydressed man with a big and heavy-looking pack upon his shoulders.He had apparently sprung from nowhere, for a moment or twoearlier the mile and more of river bank visible from the yard hadbeen deserted.

They jumped instantly to attention, and Texworthy darted alightning glance round in every direction. There was no one elsein sight, however, and the man was undoubtedly quite alone.

He had apparently not caught sight of them, for he was goinground to the front of the house and was actually turning thecorner before a loud shout from Texworthy brought him to astandstill.

"Mon dieu," Croupin exclaimed, under his breath, "but it isthey and it is good old Croupin who has found them."

"Hi! What do you want?" shouted the big-game hunter roughly."Come over here," and he added hoarsely to Mattin—"He sawus right enough. He's another spy."

The man retraced his steps at once, and, arriving opposite towhere they stood, called out briskly, but in very brokenEnglish—

"Goot morning, shentlemen; any knives, scissors, pins,needles, cotton, and lots of ozzer sings. I have gootselection."

He was a youngish looking man, of poor physique, but he had aneager intelligent face, and his eyes were bright and shining likea bird's.

Neither Texworthy nor Mattin had moved from their positionsnear the water tank, and now the former called outimperatively—"Come in here if you've got anything to sell.There's the gate, in the corner."

The man hesitated for just a fraction of a second, and then hepushed open the gate, and with lagging steps entered theyard.

"Dangerous—to come inside old boy," he muttered, "butthere's nothing else that you can do. If you boltednow—phew! everything would be ruined."

"But how did you get here?" asked Texworthy with an angryscowl, the moment the man was inside the yard. "You've comesneaking along so that you shouldn't be seen. You are on thelook-out to steal something. You are a thief."

"Oh! no," he protested instantly, "I am pedlar only. I amhonest man. I come to sell leetle things."

"Then which way did you come?" snarled Texworthy, and Mattinimmediately moved up and stood close to the pedlar as if he wereinterested in the pack.

"On ze mud, under ze bank," replied the man promptly. "I seeoranges there that fall from ze ships," and thrusting his handinto his pocket he produced two very muddy-looking oranges insupport of his statement.

"Oh!" grunted Texworthy, "that it, is it?" He stared veryhard. "And you're a pedlar, you say?"

"Where's your licence then?" demanded Texworthy sternly, andimmediately the man shrank back and looked uneasy.

"I haf one," he said, and with a hesitating movement he placedhis hand over his breast pocket.

"Show it me," said Texworthy and he held out his hand. "Iunderstand these things."

The pedlar's jaw dropped and reluctantly he unfastened hisjacket and produced a shining pocket book. Abstracting a paper hehanded it over.

"Herbert Walker," exclaimed Texworthy, with a face as black asthunder. "That's not your name. You are a foreigner."

"Yes, from France," admitted the man uneasily. "No-o, it isnot mine. A friend haf lent it to me."

"And why haven't you got one of your own?" asked Texworthythreateningly. "You must know it's a crime to use another man'slicence in this country."

The man was the very picture of embarrassment. His eyes rovedround, he opened and shut his mouth, and he swallowed hard.

"Monsieur," he burst out, suddenly, "I will tell you all. Ihaf been but few months here, and I haf not dared for licence toapply, because in Paris, where I am from, I haf had leetletrouble with ze police." He shrugged his shoulders. "Oh! nozzingmuch. Only, I was poor, and had no home, and ze police in Parishave pity never for we poor." He spread out his hands. "Here I amquite honest man, and I have forgot all my sins, and am good foralways now."

"I shall report you to the police," he said coldly. "I don'tbelieve a word you say. You are a thief."

Instantly then the pedlar became a different man. He threw hisservility and meekness to the winds, and literally danced in hisrage.

"Pig of an unmentionable mother!" he shrieked loudly inFrench. "Rat of a garbage heap, filth of all——"

Texworthy grinned evilly. "My man," he interrupted, speakingalso in French, "I know your language, and what you are nowsaying will only add to your punishment when you are handed overto the police."

The pedlar almost dropped in his surprise, and his eyes wereterrified as he cringed now before the big-game hunter.

"Oh! Monsieur, I am so sorry," he exclaimed quickly in his owntongue, "but you do not understand what you are doing. I have notharmed you," he pleaded, "and you will be bringing punishmentupon me that I do not deserve. I shall be imprisoned here, andthen sent back to France, where, where——"—tearschoked his voice—"I have enemies who will bear falsetestimony against me, and I shall be imprisoned again."

"Then you have been in trouble already," snapped Texworthy,"in your own country, in France?"—and as the man hesitated,he went on sternly, "The truth now, or I shall detain you andhand you over to the police. You are a dangerous character,without doubt."

"Oh! no, Monsieur," insisted the man. "I have never doneanything very wrong, and it is by evil chance only that I am onthe records. I lost my work in Paris, and fell amongst bad men.Then——" he shrugged his shoulderseloquently—"they brought a charge against me, and I waswrongly convicted and suffered for six months." He sighedheavily. "Then there were suspicions against me again, and I cameto this country to make a new start."

The man shrugged his shoulders again. "They said I was apickpocket, Monsieur," he began. "They said——"

"And so you were," interrupted Texworthy, and he smiled acold, grim smile. "You look like one." There was a moment'ssilence, and then he went on more graciously, as if his angerwere abating:—

"Well, bring your pack into the shed here, and we'll see ifyou've got anything worth buying," and he flashed a quick look atMattin, which did not, however, escape the pedlar.

"But my licence," exclaimed the man, anxiously. "You'll giveit me back, won't you?"

"Take it," replied Texworthy, sharply, tossing it over, "butmy advice is—get one of your own, and don't run any risks."He opened the door of the shed. "Now come in and show us whatyou've got to sell, and then be off quick."

The pedlar glanced round covertly, and it might almost havebeen thought that he was considering the possibility of retreat,but Mattin was just behind him, and the hunter looked as lithe asa panther and as swift as a greyhound.

"No chance," whispered the pedlar softly to himself, "nochance," and he felt his teeth chatter. "They'd catch me in fiveyards with this cursed pack on my back." A smile crossed into hisface. "Verily, poor old Croupin will have to trust to his witsnow."

He followed briskly after Texworthy into the shed, and then,divesting himself of his pack and placing it upon a big bench, hesuddenly threw back his head and broke into a low and mirthlesslaugh.

"It is no good," he exclaimed, shaking his head. "I am alwayssuspected wherever I go. I am always found out." His facehardened bitterly. "That is the curse of the prison system inFrance. The instant it touches you it stays with you for all yourlife, and everyone knows you have done wrong," and with a wealthof invective then, he proceeded to heap curses upon everythingconnected with the French police.

Texworthy regarded him frowningly, but Mattin was obviouslyinterested, and when presently the pedlar paused to take breath,he said softly:—

"I too, speak your language, Monsieur, and have lived most ofmy life in France. Tell, me, where does the Service de Suretehave its headquarters in Paris now?"

"Quai des Orefevres," replied the pedlar instantly, and hesneered. "The flies are like a nest of wasps there."

"Oui," replied the pedlar, "for a little time." He lookeddubiously at Texworthy. "But I tell you I have given it up now,and am an honest man."

"Ah! yes," exclaimed the pedlar, "but I was never violent." Helooked again at Texworthy. "I never harmed anyone."

He spread out his pack, and with much extolling of theirqualities proceeded to exhibit the things he had for sale, allthe time, however, keeping a watchful eye upon the movements ofboth the prospective purchasers.

"But force would be no good," he sighed ruefully to himself,"for either of them could make mincemeat of me, and there isalways one of them, I notice, between me and the door. Theysuspect me, of course, but"—and he grinnedinwardly—"they're not sure and that's my only hope." A waveof confidence swept through him. "Yes, old Croupin against theworld again and it's up to him to let them taste of his quality,"and he beamed on the big-game hunter as if they were now on thebest of terms.

Texworthy bought a penknife and some scissors, paying threeshillings. Then he said suddenly:—

"And how can you pick anyone's pocket without them feelingyou?" He nodded his head grimly. "Pick mine."

The pulse of the pedlar quickened. It was a challenge, and hisvery life might depend on what would follow. He laughedmerrily.

"Bien," he said, "then stand still. Monsieur, and close youreyes. Leave undone the top button of your jacket and if I touchyou in the back it will only be as if someone had jostled you inthe crowd. Now, keep still as if with your eyes open you werelooking at something intently, a fire-engine passing, someclothes in a shop or a fine lady going by. So, like that."

A few moments of silence followed and he went onsoftly:—"No, I will not take that little pistol in yourhip-pocket, for it is wrapped in a silk handkerchief and would bedifficult to draw out, nor your cigarette case, nor your bunch ofkeys—oh! and you have two pocket-knives now! No, I do notwant your watch, and the chain is not heavy enough. Very carelessof me." He jumped back suddenly and called outshrilly:—"Now, without opening your eyes, Monsieur, tell mewhat I have taken from you."

The pedlar withdrew the hand he had been holding behind himand with the glee of a child and the grace of a great lady heldout the pocket-book of the big game hunter.

"Very easy," he exclaimed, all smiles, "and particularly so,because Monsieur wears his clothes so very loose."

"Bravo!" exclaimed Mattin admiringly, "it was most neatlydone." He looked with friendly eyes upon the pedlar. "And now Iwill give you a glass of wine, monsieur, because it is good, too,to hear my language once again." He smiled. "I am from Parisalso."

Texworthy at once made a movement towards the door. "I willget it," he said quickly, and it seemed that he was forcinggeniality into his voice.

"No, no," said Mattin, thrusting himself in the way, "I knowwhat the gentleman would prefer," and with a glance at the big-game hunter that was evidently intended to convey some meaning,he left the shed.

Texworthy started to follow him but then suddenly he stoppedand, blocking the door, eyed the pedlar with a hard and stonystare.

"Ah! but I was a fool to mention that pistol," his thoughtsran, "for, if he is no longer suspicious of me, he is thinking Iam now suspicious of him, and he won't be willing to let me go."He sighed. "Now the question is—are they going to dope melike they did Larose?" He shook his head. "No, no, not this chapMattin, I think, for he looked quite friendly just now and hasevidently no love for the Surete himself, and if I judge rightlyhe's not too fond either or this lion-killer here."

With Texworthy watching every movement, he proceeded to foldup his pack, and then in a minute or so Mattin returned into theshed with a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, and three tumblers.

"A good St. Emilion," he said, holding up the label for thepedlar's inspection, and the latter was relieved to see that thebottle was a fresh one and still bore the capsule. "You have nottasted wine like this over here, I am sure."

"No? monsieur," replied the pedlar, smacking his lips as if ingreat expectation, "when one has no money this is a poor countryfor those who love the wine of la belle France."

The bottle was opened, and, Texworthy declining curtly, Mattinfilled two tumblers and handed one to the pedlar.

"To the Surete Generale of Paris," he said, lifting his glass,"and may they never get all they want."

"To the great Vallon," responded Croupin, grinning, "and may Inever make his acquaintance."

Texworthy started and Mattin looked down his nose with an odd,inscrutable smile.

Then it seemed that the generous wine of his country loosenedthe tongue of the poor exiled pedlar, and he began to recall inhappy vein many of the experiences of his life. He spokeconfidently of many of the great characters of the Paris'underworld, as if he were acquainted with them all. He told ofone named Hidou, who made the dark sewers there his home; ofPlanchet, who was the very prince of forgers and the terror ofall the banks; of Ravahol, who was said to be of noble birth andyet whose organisation of crime was the hourly nightmare of theParisian police; of Raphael Croupin, whose misdemeanours were thejoke of all France—and of many others also whosewrongdoings had placed them for ever upon pedestals in the mindsof those whose lives were run in unsocial and unlawful ways.

And all the time Mattin regarded him with kindly interest,nodding his head every now and then as a man might nod whenhearing statements that he could corroborate with his ownknowledge.

But Texworthy did nothing but frown in anger and annoyance, asif he were of opinion that time was being wasted. He fidgetedabout and tried vainly to catch Mattin's eye.

The bottle of wine was finished at last, and then the pedlarpicked up his pack and sighed.

"Thank you, Monsieur," he said, with a bow to Mattin, "youhave given me a great treat."

"And you shall have another," broke in Texworthy quickly, andwith an extraordinary change all at once in his expression. Hesmiled most genially. "You may be an untruthful person, but youare certainly an interesting one, and so you shall have a liqueurbrandy to settle that claret. Wait a minute—I'll get youone," and he strode out of the shed.

Mattin was all smiles as the big-game hunter spoke, but theinstant Texworthy had gone outside he scowled at the pedlar.

"Now, you get out," he said sharply, "you've had enough drinkalready and if you stop here any longer, my friend may get angryagain and take back that licence. He's quick-tempered and a verychangeable man. So get away quickly." He helped the pedlar onwith his pack and almost thrust him through the door. "Go on, cutoff," and he added in a lower tone of voice, "and if you want anymore oranges, keep under the bank as you did beforeuntil"—he nodded his head impressively—"you've goneat least a mile. You may find plenty."

The pedlar, as if very disturbed at the prospect of moretrouble about the licence, uttered a grateful word of thanks andmade off with all possible speed. Mattin, with a grim smile,watched him climb over the bank and disappear.

Two, perhaps three, minutes passed, and then Texworthy cameout of the house, walking slowly and with a small tumbler ofbrandy in his hand.

He looked round quickly on seeing Mattin alone in the yard,and then asked with a gasp:—

Texworthy looked thunderstruck. "How dared you?" he almostshrieked, and he advanced menacingly towards the Syrian, spillingthe brandy as he moved. Not a muscle of Mattin's face altered buthis eyes were hard as steel.

"Be careful, Monsieur," he said quickly. "I have been verypatient"—he spoke ever so quietly—"but I will killyou if you touch me with your hand."

Texworthy recoiled a couple of steps, and for a moment therewas silence between the two. Then the big-game hunter tipped theremainder of the brandy out of the tumbler and sneered:

"You fool! You're a child in judging men. He was no pedlar,that fellow. Why, he didn't even know how to fold up his packproperly, and those scissors he sold for a shilling are worththree times the money. He didn't know the correct price ofanything he'd got." He strode back towards the house. "I'll shoothim anyhow."

"I don't think so, Monsieur," said Mattin calmly, "he's goneoff under the bank and besides—" he pointed with hishand—"there's a big steamer just coming round thebend."

CHAPTER XIX.
The Prey of the Eagles.

FOLLOWING upon the abrupt departure of thepedlar and the explosive outburst from Texworthy, the usual dailycalm descended upon the tannery buildings and, to all outwardappearance, the big house was untenanted and as devoid of life asever.

Texworthy had marched furiously into the living-room, and,throwing himself into an armchair, had sat scowling and staringinto space, whilst Mattin had remained in the yard, and, rollinghimself innumerable cigarettes, had thoughtfully regarded thewreaths of smoke that he threw up.

The morning passed without event and then, soon after midday,the Syrian took up Eunice's meal.

The girl, contrary to her usual habit, made no remark and hesaw instantly that she was in a state of great dejection.

Her eyes were swollen, her cheeks were tear-stained, and therewas an air of hopelessness about her that she made no attempt tohide.

"But why are you grieving, mademoiselle?" he asked quickly. "Itell you your troubles will so soon be over. In three days now,at the latest, you will be going back to your friends." His voicewas confident. "I promise you that."

"But how can I believe you?" she answered tearfully. "I mean,"she went on quickly, noticing the pained expression on his face,"even if you feel so kindly towards me, how can I know that youwill be able to carry out that promise? You are only acting underthe orders of the others, you say."

Mattin hesitated a moment, and then flashed his beautifulwhite teeth in a grim smile.

"But the man may become the master, may he not?" he repliedenigmatically. "And then he can do as he chooses." He spokesadly. "It is not in my nature ever to regret anything,mademoiselle, but——"—and he shrugged hisshoulders—"I shall grieve all my life now that I had anypart in bringing this sorrow upon you."

"But it is torture to me to go on like this," exclaimed thegirl, "and never to know what the days or nights may bring." Sheshuddered. "Oh! How I fear the nights."

"You need not fear them," he said quietly, "I am responsiblefor your safety, and I am always near you."

"But you, Monsieur, are a stranger to me," she repliedsharply, "and you are part of the nightmare, too. Why should itbe necessary for you to protect me and what have I done that Ishould have all this horror coming into my life?"

Mattin made no reply, and she clenched her hands tightly. "Ishall go mad if this lasts much longer." Tears choked her voiceagain. "I heard a wild duck calling in the marsh last night andit reminded me of home."

"It was an omen, perhaps," smiled Mattin. "It was a friend whohad come to tell you he was near."

"But what is going to happen to me?" asked the girl miserably."I am sure that there is some harm coming, for that woman herelooked so strangely at me just now and she snatched my watch fromme, too, saying she must borrow it to know the time." She loweredher voice quickly. "Who was she whispering to for so long alittle while ago—out on the landing? I know it wasn't you,for it wasn't your step."

"Yes," replied Eunice, "and it was a man, for I smelt a cigar.He came up the stairs ever so quietly and scraped on the door.Then she went outside and they whispered for a long timetogether. Then he went downstairs and she came in here and staredat me as if for some reason I had suddenly become interesting. Itwas a horrible kind of interest, too, as if she knew somethingterrible was going to happen to me—perhaps as if I weregoing to die."

"She is a woman of no account, Mademoiselle," he answered,"and you are not going to die. Be sure of that." He nodded sadly."You are going to have many happy years and some man will blessfor ever the day when you were born."

"But I know something is going to happen," persisted Eunice,"for that woman has dressed herself and done up her hair as ifsome change were coming to her here."

"Well, whatever happens, it can only be," smiled Mattin, as heturned to the door, "that you are going home almost within a fewhours," and still smiling he left the room.

But the smile dropped from his face immediately he wasoutside, and he was frowning hard as he went down the stairs.Coming, however, to the open door of the living-room, he saw thebig-game hunter inside, and, composing his face to placidity, heentered and sat down. He picked up a newspaper off the table andcommenced to read.

"I shall be going up to the city to-night and shall not returnuntil to-morrow evening. I shall have a talk with ProfessorIngleby and find out for certain if the diamonds are coming upfor auction on Thursday. We must know exactly how we stand."

Instinct told Mattin that the big-game hunter was lying, buthe replied equally as carelessly:

"And I shall return in my car," went on Texworthy. "It'sunwise to be without a car here. We never know what may happen,and I am still suspicious about that pedlar. I am convinced thathe was an impostor because, for one thing, he was not familiarwith the contents of his pack."

"Perhaps not," replied Mattin, dryly. "He had probably stolenit and the licence as well." He spoke as if without interest. "Atany rate he was a pickpocket right enough, for I missed the watchI was wearing after he had gone."

Texworthy gave a hoarse laugh. "You reassure me," heexclaimed. "Why didn't you tell me that before?"

Mattin shrugged his shoulders. "It was of no consequence," hereplied. "It was one of yours that I had borrowed from McAlbane'sroom.".

Texworthy's amused expression changed instantly to a scowl. "Ivalued it," he snarled. "It was dust-proof and kept good time inthe hottest climates. Curse you, for your impudence."

Silence followed again, and then the big-game hunter, risingfrom his chair, strode leisurely into the hall and passed intohis bedroom. Mattin heard the door shut, and a moment later thecreak of springs as he threw himself upon the bed.

"A pig and a liar," was his muttered comment, "and he and thatwoman are plotting something."

The Syrian sat on, and it was evident from the expression onhis face that he was in deep thought. Many times he frowned andsometimes he sighed.

Presently, in the deep silence, his attention was attracted bya stealthy sound that came from upstairs—the sound of adoor being unlocked very gently. Then he heard someone comingdown the stairs, slowly and cautiously, and with the evidentintention of making as little noise as possible.

"The woman," he frowned, "and she doesn't want anyone to hearher. What's she going to do?"

He heard her reach the hall—then equally as quietlyshuffle towards the kitchen. A short minute's silence and thenshe returned, but now, it seemed, she considered there was nolonger need for secrecy, for she walked briskly and there was notthe same gentleness when, gaining the upper storey again, sheunlocked and relocked the door.

Instantly then the Syrian took off his shoes and, carryingthem in his hand, tiptoed along the hall and into the kitchen. Hegently pushed the door to and then for a minute and longer stoodstaring round. Then he moved over to the sink and looked to seeif the tap had been turned on recently. The sink, however, wasquite dry, and he counted the glasses and the cups, but as far ashe could remember there were none of them missing.

"Nothing has then been mixed for her to take," he said grimly,"so what was it the woman came down for?"

He walked softly into the pantry and then, almost instantly,he smiled. Behind the door was a bulging suitcase; packed andstrapped, and, as an extra precaution because the strap was old,tied round with a stout piece of cord. Near it and wrapped in apiece of newspaper were a woman's cloak and hat.

"Ah!" was his comment, "then she's going away to-night and Iam not to know it. She has brought down her suitcase, and her hatin readiness and directly it is dark she will leave by the backdoor."

He stood thinking for a long time, and then, still without hisshoes, he went into the back yard and manipulated the latch ofthe gate there. He bent it so badly that the gate when he hadforcibly closed it, could be no longer opened hastily or withoutconsiderable noise. Then he looked for and found an old spade andhid it at the foot of the wall.

Then he went back into the living-room, and, in the same chairthat Texworthy had sat, and even as the big-game hunter had done,stared stonily into space.

He sat motionless for quite a long time, and then suddenly,with a grim smile, he shrugged his shoulders and rose abruptly tohis feet. He rolled himself a cigarette, and with no attempt nowto prevent his movements being heard, walked noisily into hisbedroom and closed the door.

The same evening darkness had just fallen and Texworthy in theliving-room was reading in his accustomed place. At any rate, itseemed that he was reading, although minute after minute went byand he did not turn a page.

He was evidently in a restless mood, for he was frowning andhis eyes were continually wandering from the book. Every now andthen, too, he lifted his head up sharply as if he were listeningfor something that he was expecting to hear.

Suddenly his attitude became alert and he leant forward withslightly parted lips.

A door had been opened softly on the floor above, and thesound of footsteps followed—on the stairs. Then in a fewmoments a white face appeared round the door, and his housekeeperwas staring at him with widely opened eyes. She looked scared andanxious, and the perspiration stood out upon her forehead in bigbeads.

"It's all right," he said quietly. "He's in his room," andwithout a word the woman disappeared.

Perhaps five minutes passed and then noises came from thevicinity of Mattin's room. The Syrian came out, humming loudly,and went into the kitchen. Then came the sound of the primusstove being started and presently the pleasant aroma of coffeewas wafted through the house.

"A night-cap for his lady-love," sneered Texworthy—"butshe won't need it," he added with a cruel smile.

Mattin carried a cup of coffee upstairs, and, knocking firstat the door, unlocked it.

He put the cup upon the table and then, walking up close toEunice, whispered quickly:

"She's gone, Mademoiselle, and now you're going, too. Listen,"and his face was pale under its tan, and his eyes were like coalsof fire. "I'm going to lock the door, but it won't be closed whenI lock it. Here's your watch; she left it behind on the kitchendresser. Well, in exactly three minutes from the moment I leavethis room you will hear me talking loudly. Slip downstairsimmediately and go through the hall into the kitchen and outthrough the back door. You will find all the doors open but inthe back yard, don't go near the gate because it is fastened.Scramble over the wall and go round by the front of the house.Don't be afraid. No one will see you and you will still hear metalking loudly. Go up the lane and when you reach the main roadturn to the left, and in less than a quarter of a mile you willreach Dagenham Station. Here is a pound note and in exactly fiveand twenty minutes a train starts for London."

"No, you won't," replied Mattin with a grim smile. "She's gonealready on a much longer journey." His whole demeanour alteredsuddenly, and his voice shook a little. "And now good-bye,Mademoiselle, for you will not see me again. I have done somethings I regret but all heaven could not tempt me to let any harmcome to you."

She held out her hand without speaking, and he lifted itreverently to his lips. "Oh! one thing more," he said, as heturned towards the door, "Tell Mr. Smith that Professor Inglebyis at the bottom of all this." He shrugged his shoulders. "Noneof the others matter now," and a moment later he was descendingthe stairs.

He made a quick adjustment to his belt as he went down, andthen, with a calm impassive face, entered the room whereTexworthy was apparently still engrossed with his book.

He pulled a chair up to the table and sat down, then he bentforward towards the big-game hunter and rapped out sharply:

"I have thought it over and my opinion is that it would beunwise for you to bring your car down to-morrow. The ground issoft after the rain of last night, and you would leave theimpression of wheel marks in the lane. It would not be safe. Iwas always uneasy when Mr. McAlbane had his big car here." Hefrowned scoffingly. "Besides, what good would a car be to usuntil the actual day when we are going away?"

"Thank you. Mr. Mattin," he said carelessly, "and when I wantyour opinion, I'll ask for it. Until then"—and he blew awreath of smoke into the air—"you can go to hell."

"You have the mind of an animal," replied Mattininsolently—"one of those beasts that you kill." He raisedhis voice loudly. "And I won't have the car brought here I tellyou. My safety is as much at stake as yours, and I have no wishto see the inside of an English prison for what we havedone."

The face of the big-game hunter betrayed its surprise. He hadnever known the Syrian show temper before and the man now lookedflushed and angry and almost as if he had been drinking.

"Yes," Mattin went on, and he thumped the table violently,"and at the last moment I'm not going to let anything ruin allthat we have taken these months and months to prepare."

"We'll talk it over, then," said Texworthy quietly, "for itdoesn't mean prison only for you, my friend, if we are brought tobook. It means hanging for the business you did at WeybourneManor," and he shifted the cushion at the back of his chair as ifhe were uncomfortable.

"And the more reason," shouted Mattin, "that I should beanxious nothing should go wrong."

"But don't talk so loud, man," said Texworthy quickly, and heleant forward in his chair. "We don't want everyone to hear.Hush! hush!" he went on, and a startled expression crossed intohis face as he pointed suddenly to the window behind Mattin."There's someone tapping on the window there."

Mattin looked instantly in the direction indicated, and then,like a flash of lightning, Texworthy sprang up and, with a nakeddagger in his hand, flung himself upon the Syrian.

Too late the latter saw his danger, and, turning, struck awild blow with his fist at the big-game hunter's descending hand.Texworthy winced with the pain of a half dislocated finger, butthe impetus behind the blow was too great for it to be deflected,and his dagger bit deeply into Mattin's side.

With a groan Mattin crashed on to the floor, and, rolling overon to his back, with dreadful eyes out of a livid face, stared uphorribly at his murderer.

Texworthy bent over him in triumph, and then his eyes narrowedas he snatched at a long knife protruding from the inside of thejacket of the fallen man. He gritted his teeth together.

"So, so," he sneered, throwing the knife upon the table, "andyou were up to the same game, eh?" He chuckled good-humoredly."But I happened to get in first."

"You fool," he went on contemptuously. "I've been waiting forthis all day. I made up my mind to kill you this morning." Hewiped his hands callously upon Mattin's clothes. "You've got itin the liver, my friend, and you're bleeding internally. Quite assure a death as a jab over the heart, except that you'll takelonger to die." He regarded his own damaged finger ruefully. "Andto imagine that you thought yourself a match for ArnoldTexworthy—you miserable black!"

"Well, I'll tell you what I'm going to do now, MonsieurMattin. My housekeeper has gone for good, and we're alone in thehouse; you, I, and that white-faced girl upstairs. She is goingto follow you presently, after a little draught that I shall begiving her, and then you'll both lie together behind one of thosebig vats in the sheds." He leered. "Quite romantic, and just asyou'd like it to be—undivided in death, eh? And then I'llclear off, and it may be twenty years before anything isdiscovered in this forgotten place."

He took out his watch and smiled. "And I'll go up to hernow—the young woman with the beautiful eyes. She's going tohave a glass of wine, and then——" He stroked his chinmeditatively. "But first I may make love to her for a littlewhile, for she certainly is, as you say, very pretty."

He rose up from his chair. "Listen and you'll hear," helaughed, and, taking a key out of his pocket, with a last mockingglance, he walked, from the room.

The face of the Syrian was bathed in sweat and grey in thehues of coming death, but its expression was not an unhappy one,and, indeed, it might have seemed that he was smiling.

Texworthy mounted the stairs quite leisurely, then there was amoment of silence, then a noise of quickly rushing feet and thebang of doors being hurled back, and finally he came tearing downtwo and more steps at a time.

He pulled at the front door, but found that it was locked andbolted, and immediately he ran back down the hall.

"You devil! that's why you shouted then," he called outfuriously, as he passed the door of the living-room. "But I'llpay you for it in a minute if you are still alive."

Reaching the kitchen he saw all the doors were open and withan oath he ran into the yard. It was moonlight and the place wasquite deserted, so vaulting over the low wall he started to runround to the front of the house and the entrance to the lane.

And then came one of the shocks of his life, for a loudwhistle was sounded somewhere, shadowy figures rose up in frontof him and someone tried to grab him by the arm—also ahoarse voice shouted: "It's Texworthy. Rush him."

The big-game hunter had lived his life among dangers and inextreme moments of crisis his brain functioned very quickly. Sohe was not unnerved now, he was hardly excited even, and his furywas of the cold and passionless kind that steels and does notenervate.

He struck fiercely at the man who had touched him and then,melting back into the shadows, he was as the beast of the jungle,who, disturbed from one lair, would slink unperceived intoanother.

He doubled himself almost in two and, darting back, rolledrather than climbed over the wall, trusting that under itsshelter he would escape the lights of any torches that might beflashed.

Then almost immediately he stumbled over the legs of arecumbent figure huddled close up against the wall and, sure thatit could be only one of his pursuers who had doubled back and waslying in ambush for him, like a stroke of lightning his handstravelled up the body and he seized it fiercely by thethroat.

But there was no resistance, no quiver even in the warm fleshinto which he had sunk his nails, and it did not take him long torealise that he was holding to someone who was unconscious, ifnot dead. There was a sticky substance now all over his hands andhe knew it was blood.

With a curse he sprang to his feet, but on the instant heheard the pantings of someone running to the other side of thewall and he bobbed down again until the runner had passed by. Hishands came in contact again with the clothes of the recumbentfigure and disgustedly he wiped them down upon the sleeve. A fewseconds later he was making a bee-line for the river bank.

He heard shouts behind him and many torchlights shot out, butin front of him there was only darkness and the gurgling of thewater between the piles.

He climbed the bank and with the easy movements of a naturalathlete set off at a rapid run towards Barking. For the moment hehad shaken off his pursuers, who were now surrounding the house,thinking he had again taken refuge inside.

It was Larose who saw him first, a few seconds only after hehad passed beyond the shadows of the tannery buildings, and thedetective roared out:

"There's one of them. After him some of you, along the bank.It's Texworthy, I think."

But if Larose had been the first to see him. Dr. Grain was thequickest on to the bank, and with the fury of the outraged loverhe flew after the fugitive.

Texworthy was hard and in good condition, but the doctor wasten years younger, and in the first hundred yards, even, he beganto gain rapidly.

"Be careful," shouted Larose. "He's sure to be armed, andremember he won't miss you if he fires. He's a dead shot."

But Dr. Grain had no thoughts of any danger and no fear of anysudden death, his only obsession for the moment being to get hishands upon the fleeing man.

The clayey surface of the bank was slippery, making the goingtreacherous, and presently Texworthy, beginning to tire a little,glanced back and became aware for the first time how closely hewas pursued.

The doctor was barely forty yards behind and a little furtherback were Larose and two other men.

The big-game hunter smiled an evil smile, and slipping hishand back to his hip pocket, drew out an automatic. He waited afew moments and then, slackening up ever so little, half-turnedand took two quick running shots.

But his breathing was laboured now and with the handicap ofhis injured finger, both bullets went wide.

"Drop down," shrieked Larose to the doctor, "and I'll winghim. You're in my way and I can't run much further. I'm nearlydone."

But apparently Dr. Grain did not hear, and unmindful ofeverything except his rage, charged on.

Then once more Texworthy slewed half round, and, taking moredeliberate aim, twice sent a bullet unpleasantly close to thedoctor, the second one actually passing through the sleeve of hiscoat.

But the doctor was still deaf, and then all at once two newactors appeared upon the scene.

The poacher whom Larose had encountered the previous night wastaking another airing with his dog and, inquisitive about thetannery buildings, had been approaching them as before, below theriver bank. Then suddenly he had seen men running, and crouchinglow under the bank, had heard the barking of the big-gamehunter's automatic just above him. Then he heard Larose shoutingto the doctor, and recognising the detective and the donor of theten-shilling note had thought there might be yet still morerewards to be gained and so had hurled the dog in the directionof the fugitive.

"Sool him, Joe. Sool him," he cried, and off the littleterrier had darted to snap excitedly at Texworthy's legs.

Texworthy cursed in a fury at this new enemy and, aiming avicious blow at him with his foot, slipped on the greasy surfaceand instantly was sprawling over the bank, with the pistol jerkedfrom his hand, many feet away. Then the end came veryquickly.

He had half struggled to his feet when Dr. Grain leapt on tohim from the bank and forced him back into the mud. Then Laroseappeared like a black mass falling from the sky, and finally twoother men ran up and, as far as escape was concerned, all wasover.

Texworthy was jerked to his feet, his hands were handcuffedbehind him, and with hardly a word spoken, he was half pushed andhalf carried back to the tannery.

"Miss Smith is all right," he shouted. "She had seen us andwas hiding in a shed because she didn't know who we were but hehas killed his housekeeper with a spade, by the gate, and he hasstabbed Mattin, who is dying. There is no one else in theplace."

The detectives had found Mattin at once, and, although the endwas obviously very near, the Syrian asked instantly forEunice.

"She is quite safe," said Jones. "We have found her," and headded quickly: "Of course it was Texworthy who stabbed you?"

Mattin nodded. "His—finger—printson—the—knife," he whispered, "hang—him."

"But a doctor will be here in a minute," said Jones kindly,"and we'll do everything we can for you."

A detective from Scotland Yard took out his note-book. "I'lltake down what you can tell us," he said gently, but immediatelyVallon thrust himself forward and knelt by the dying man.

"I will speak to you," he began quickly, "I am Vallon of theSurete of Paris——"

The Syrian opened his eyes with great weariness and gave adeep sigh. "And—I——"—he smiledfaintly—"Iam—Mattin—of—the—next—world."

Larose eyed the big-game hunter sternly as the latter waslying hand-cuffed upon the couch in a small room off the hall,and, as an additional precaution, with his ankles tied tightlytogether with a towel. The prisoner was trying to appearunconcerned, but the rage of the world was in his white face andsullen eyes. He was muddied from head to foot.

Larose shook his head. "I don't think so," he replied. "Noneof us struck him. We got him when he was sprawling in themud."

"His housekeeper's or the Frenchman's," said Larose. "They'repretty messy, the two. They lost a lot of blood before theydied."

The prostrate man started as if he had received a blow and alook of amazement came into his face. "I never killed myhousekeeper," he shouted fiercely, "it must have been Mattin,then, who did it. I didn't even know she was dead." He glaredround at some police officers who had hastened into the room uponhearing his voice. "I killed Mattin, I admit, but I had to do itin self-defence. He attacked me and——"

An inspector held up his hand. "I have to warn you," he said,"that anything you may say may be used in evidence againstyou."

"I don't care," cried Texworthy, "I'm only speaking the truth.I'll——" but suddenly he composed his features tocalmness and looked contemptuously round. "Gentlemen," he addedsneeringly, "I reserve my defence."

Naughton Jones, who had come up behind the others, touchedLarose upon the shoulder. "That's it. I had thought of that," hewhispered, and he looked worried. "He may not yet hang."

The following evening just before seven, Dr. Grain was usheredinto the big drawing-room of the Ephraim Smith mansion in Parklane. Eunice Smith was waiting there and immediately the door hadclosed behind him, he took her in his arms.

"The happy ending, darling," he whispered, and his lips cameclose to hers. A long silence followed but they were disturbedpresently by the sound of someone moving by the door. The doorwas opened, then pulled to again, and finally opened a secondtime with much rattling of the handle. Then Ephraim Smith enteredthe room and, striding quickly to the doctor, shook him warmly bythe hand.

"I'm very grateful to you, Dr. Grain," he said, "for Iunderstand that, but for you, that devil Texworthy might have gotaway." He turned smilingly to his daughter. "We are very beholdento Dr. Grain, Eunice, and I hope you are being as nice to him aspossible."

Eunice blushed and the old man went on:—"But now youmust come and thank the others, too. They are all waiting in thelibrary, and I said I'd come and fetch you." He linked his arminto that of Dr. Grain, "And you come, too, my boy, andafterwards you'll stop to dinner, of course."

In the library were Naughton Jones, Vallon, Gilbert Larose andCroupin. The last-named was in immaculate evening-dress andlooked exactly as if he had come out of a band-box. He wassporting a large diamond stud in his shirt front.

With tears in her eyes, Eunice thanked them all, then herfather broke in, in brusque and businesslike tones.

"And now about the small remuneration that I promised. Youhave all done excellently and anything you receive will be quiteinadequate to the services you have rendered me."

"But it was a most interesting case, Mr. Smith," said NaughtonJones grandly, "and I would not have missed it for anything. Inmy memoirs, when I inscribe them, it will make one of the bestchapters. It was lucky," he added, and he looked roundcomplacently, "that from my intimate acquaintance with thecriminal classes of this country I was able to pick up the headsof the gang so speedily."

"Yes, yes," supplemented Croupin with enthusiasm, "and I knewit too, at once when as the Count of Surenne at that dinnerparty, I heard Texworthy and McAlbane say that Mr. Larose must bethrown in the quicksands." His face was all smiles. "My bull's-eye was on the target next to that of Mr. Jones."

Naughton Jones jerked his head as if a mosquito had bitten himand Vallon smiled.

"Well," went on Ephraim Smith, "to Messrs. Jones and Croupin Iam giving cheques for £20,000, and to Mr. Mariarty one for£5,000. Messrs. Vallon and Larose state that they are notin a position to receive anything, but I shall interview MadameVallon shortly and trust I shall be able to induce her to accepta little present for the children. As for Mr. Larose, I havestill to consider the difficulty in his case. I shall also dealas far as possible with the dependents of all who have unhappilymet their deaths at the hands of these miscreants." He thoughtfor a moment. "Now, I think I have mentioned everyone, andso——"

"One moment, please, Mr. Smith," interrupted Larose. "You haveforgotten one who, if he did not work with us all the time,nevertheless gave most impressive service in the end. I mean, ofcourse, Dr. Grain, for if he had not been there, Texworthy wouldundoubtedly have escaped last night, and possibly, with theunknown resources of the gang behind him, might have got clearaway." He looked round at the others. "Yes, I have never seenanything finer than the way in which the doctor tackled that man.He knew Texworthy's reputation with firearms, and yet he riskedit. Four times he was shot at, and in the end almost at point-blank range. He has not told you, I believe, but the fourthbullet actually passed through his jacket and drew blood from hisarm."

Eunice gave a gasp of horror and looked apprehensively at thedoctor, but the latter shook his head smilingly.

"But he risked almost certain death," persisted Larose, "andit was the bravest thing I have seen." He smiled at themillionaire. "He deserves some thanks."

"Tut! tut!" exclaimed Ephraim Smith airily. "As for that, he'sbeen rewarded already." He paused a moment. "He was kissing mydaughter just now."

Eunice flushed hotly and a moment's embarrassed silencefollowed. Then Smith went on quietly:—"And I have no doubtmore rewards of a like nature will follow, besides——"and he smiled grimly—"anything between me and the doctorwill now be of a private nature. What a father chooses to givehis son-in-law can only——"

"Bravo! bravo!" shouted Croupin excitedly, "but it is the onewhite flower in this garden of dreadful weeds." He turnedreproachfully to the millionaire. "But, Meester Smith, the doctorhas got the big reward of us all." He threw out his hands. "Wewill exchange. Meester Jones and I."

They all warmly congratulated Eunice and the doctor, and for afew minutes the utmost cheerfulness prevailed. The Ephraim Smithbrought them back abruptly to business.

"But one thing more, gentlemen," he said sternly. "How doesProfessor Ingleby come out of this? Can we bring him to book, doyou think?"

"No," replied Naughton Jones promptly, "we have not theslightest evidence against him, and unless Texworthy makes aclean breast of everything he will go scot free." He scowledangrily. "And he is the most dangerous of them all."

"But I will cut his claws," said Larose quietly. "I'll have atalk with him before long."

CHAPTER XX.
The Lights That Failed.

TWO days later, about 5 o'clock in the evening,Professor Ingleby was writing in his study when his butlerbrought in a card.

"Gilbert Larose!" gasped the professor, with a sharp intake ofbreath, as he picked it off the salver, and then he stared at itfor so long in silence that at length the butler remarked:

The professor moistened his lips with his tongue. "Is healone, Benger?" he asked, and when the butler had replied in theaffirmative he went on, "Has he been here before?"

The butler hesitated. "I seem to think so, sir," he replied."There's something familiar to me about his face."

"Oh! there is, is there?" he said, and then lapsed again intosilence, with his eyes intent upon the card.

"See him?" exclaimed the professor, and, as if waking from adream, "yes yes, of course." He looked quickly round the room."Oh! bring that table in front of my desk first, please, and puta chair over on the other side. Yes, like that—and when hecomes in don't leave the room until he has sat down. Understand?Oh! and just wait a moment," and, selecting a key from off alarge bunch in his pocket, he unlocked a drawer and took outsomething which he carefully kept out of sight.

"Now, I'm ready," he said, and with a calm, smiling face hestood behind his desk, with the table also between him and thechair.

A few moments later and Larose entered the room. His face wasequally as calm as that of the professor, but there was no smilethere.

Professor Ingleby was very quiet. "Take a seat, if you will,Mr. Larose," he said, and he stood pointing rigidly so that therecould be no mistake as to where he intended the detective tosit.

Larose noted the altered position of the table before the deskand the butler standing to attention, and, suppressing a smile,with no ado he at once sat down.

"You needn't wait, Benger," went on the professor. "I'll ringfor you if I want you," and he continued standing with his fingersignificantly resting near the bell upon his desk.

"Now, Mr. Larose," he asked, with the greatest politeness,"what can I do for you?" His voice hardened ever so little. "ButI warn you, I have an automatic in my hand, the safety catch isreleased, and upon the slightest movement on your part I shallfire instantly." He lifted his eyebrows to an amused smile. "Youunderstand?"

"I make no plea at all," returned the professor quickly, "onlyI know you and am prepared."

"Professor Ingleby," said the detective sternly. "I come towarn you that although your arrest has not yet been determinedupon—every movement of yours is being watched, every letteryou may send will be scrutinised, every telephone messagelistened in to, and every caller here followed." His eyes werehard as steel. "So that any further conspiring against Mr.Ephraim Smith or any member of his family will be followed byinstant action. We know all about you—everything."

The professor shook his head impatiently. "No, no, Mr.Larose," he said. "You know nothing about me—nothing atall." He smiled in a most friendly manner. "Come now, be honestand straightforward and don't put up any bluff. You have nothingwhatever against me or——" he shrugged hisshoulders—"you would not come to have such a conversationas this." He leant forward and tapped upon the desk. "It would behandcuffs and 'No nonsense, sir'—and I should sleep inNorwich to-night."

"In six weeks," said the detective calmly, "Arnold Texworthywill be under sentence of death——" he paused amoment—"and the experience of my life is that people inthat position weaken in many resolutions they may have previouslymade."

"But not Arnold Texworthy," replied the professor firmly. "Heis not of that breed. He comes of a long line of Englishgentlemen who with all their breakings of the so-called moralcode would regard with abhorrence any legal treachery towards acomrade. Fight and kill their own friends they may,but—hand them over to the law to destroy—no, never!"He chuckled again. "You'll get nothing out of Arnold, certainly.He'll die game—as a gentleman should."

"And why shouldn't I be?" laughed the professor. "We are quitealone and there are no witnesses to bear testimony to anything Imay say. Listen, sir," he went on, and he suddenly becameserious. "I give you great credit for the discoveries you havemade and I do not pretend to know how you have made them all,but—I tell you, you will never bring home anything to me.We have been far too careful for that and each footprint has beenobliterated directly after being made." He laughed slyly. "And Iunderstand now exactly why you have come to see me."

"You can sustain no charge against me," smiled the professor,"but because of my association with the others you suspect a gooddeal. You think, too, I am mad and you imagine that as long as Iam free more trouble will be engineered against Ephraim Smith. Soyou come now to frighten me and hold over me impossible threats."He chuckled for the third time. "Now is not that exactly theposition, Mr. Larose?"

"You live in a fool's paradise, Professor Ingleby," he saidcoldly, "and we have much more evidence against you than yoususpect." His eyes glinted. "You rather gave yourself away toRavahol, now didn't you?"

The face of the professor was almost pathetic in its dismay,and for the moment he looked like a child caught out in anuntruth. His skin assumed a sickly colour, his jaw dropped, andhe shrank back in his chair.

"Ravahol!" he gasped, and then his voice steadied and hiscolour began to come back. He shook his head. "I know nothing ofhim."

"No, of course not," replied Larose sarcastically, "and youdidn't write to him about Ephraim Smith and the mutual interestsyou both had in that gentleman?"

He drove home the blow relentlessly. "And you didn't make theoffer of a glass of Barsac either?"

The professor made no more attempts at denial. "Bah!" heexclaimed sneeringly, and he sat up, erect once more, in hischair, "and what of that? A type-script letter——" hegrinned—"and the typewriter disposed of for ever." Helifted one hand mockingly. "Hark, how the sea moans and rememberhow depthless those quicksands are!"

"But Ravahol is dead. I have made inquiries. I have agents inFrance. He disappeared suddenly weeks and weeks ago, and hismistress in Passy is still weeping out her eyes for him. Ah!" andhe half rose from his chair, his face became distorted in hisanger and his arm shot out: "I see it. I see it. You killed him,Gilbert Larose." His voice rose in fury. "I understand it allnow. You were his murderer that night after he had been to thecastle and you rifled his body to get that letter."

He was almost frenzied in his excitement. "Yes, yes, I am nolonger puzzled and everything is quite clear. He aroused yoursuspicions because he would not unmask and you struck him downprobably in the very grounds of the castle. You buried him, too,perhaps under the rhododendrons in front of the very room whereyou had all just been drinking champagne."

He laughed scoffingly. "That would be just likeyou—Gilbert Larose, the wild man from the Antipodes." Herose suddenly to his feet again and flourished a small automaticpistol. "Really, really," he exclaimed, "I should be more thanjustified in shooting you——" he hesitated and glanceddown at some manuscript upon his desk, "and I would do it, too,if my life's work happened to be finished and I had not so muchmore to accomplish." He glared menacingly at the detective. "Andso you killed Fenton and Texworthy's housekeeper, too. Mind you,"and he stuttered in his rage, "I've read all about their deathsin the newspapers."

Larose recoiled in horror. "You are an evil man, Ingleby," heexclaimed, "and a muddy thinker, too, besides being a danger tomankind. You are mad and the asylum is where you should benow."

"Yes, perhaps, you are right," he said, nodding his headslowly, "and after all it would only be natural if I were." Hesighed. "Such mental gifts as I possess must of necessity invitecontempt for the ordinary conventionalities of life, and amongthe world visions that I see, I am blind to the gesticulations ofthe law-abiding pigmies about me." He glanced down again upon thepapers on his desk and scowled. "But leave me now if you will,please. Your presence distracts me, and I desire to resume mywork."

Larose rose slowly from his chair. "And remember, Professor,"he said sternly, "the slightest move on your part in thedirection I have indicated and you will be arrested at once."

"I shall do exactly as I please," snapped the professor, "andI certainly make no promise to leave Smith alone. On thecontrary, I tell you frankly, I have by no means finished withhim. A great principle is involved and I am not going to let alittle setback like this deter me from my obvious duty to myfellowmen. Smith must be made to disgorge his ill-gottenwealth——"—he smiled tauntingly—"and hewill be the more easily brought to heel now, because there aretwo establishments to be protected. The bride—Mrs. RonaldGrain——"

"Not at all, Mr. Larose," reproved the professor warmly, "mymotives are quite honourable, for I am only endeavouring to carryto a practical conclusion the doctrines in which I believe. I amone of those who at all costs am prepared to bear the light ofprogress into the darkness of life." He beamed at the detective."And really, I am over courteous in giving you warning of myintentions. I am thereby taking risks."

He ran his fingers down a calendar upon his desk. "Now let mesee. September—October—November; well,in——"—he pulled himself up—"no, I willnot give you the exact date, but in a few weeks from now acertain gentleman will be leaving one of His Majesty's prisonsand I have great hopes that he will prove a most usefulcollaborator with me in the future. He will have served quite asmart sentence, he is very embittered in consequence, and I amsure that at my instigation and with my assistance, he will be aworthy successor to the late Monsieur Mattin and the late-to-beArnold Texworthy. At any rate, it is my intention to try himout."

He rose abruptly to his feet. "But I must beg you to excuse menow. I can spare no more time." He held open the door for thedetective to pass out and then suddenly he lifted up his hand."Oh! but one thing more, Mr. Larose," he said frowningly. "Underthe circumstances, I see no objection to your retaining Mr.Texworthy's diamond stud—he has no near relations that Iknow of—but I think——"—and he eyed thedetective very coldly—"it would be an act of grace on yourpart to return my book of foreign stamps." He inclined his headgravely. "Kindly consider it. I shall probably be seeing youagain at the trial!"

Sixweeks later the trial of Arnold Texworthy, gentleman, of SandsHall, Moreton, in the county of Norfolk, for the murders ofIsabel Stein and Henri Mattin, commenced at the Old Bailey.

The case had occasioned tremendous interest in all English-speaking countries, not only because of the world-wide reputationof the accused as an explorer and hunter of big game, but alsobecause of the sinister light into which—guilty or notguilty on the murder counts—other actions of his had thrownhim. Weeks before the day of the trial it was common knowledgeeverywhere that the big-game hunter was one—if not thechief one—of a gang of criminals who for many months hadbeen obtaining large sums of money by violence and threats fromEphraim Smith, the millionaire owner of Bodham Castle, and, addedto that, he had, along with certain other criminals, beenactually detaining the extremely pretty daughter of Mr. Smith ina mysterious, lonely house at the very time of the allegedmurders.

Excitement had been further heightened by the prematuredisclosure in a Sunday newspaper that so many star detectives ofinternational reputation had been working on the case.

Bampton Byles, perhaps the most eminent King's Counselpractising in the criminal courts, was appearing for the defence,and it was freely rumoured that the enormous sum demanded for theretaining of his services had been obtained from an unknownsource.

Every inch of space in the court was occupied the morning whenthe trial commenced, and the faces of many persons prominent inpublic life were recognised among the privileged spectators. Thecelebrated sociologist, Professor Ingleby, as usual, wasoccupying a front seat, and it was noted he looked very grave andsolemn. A fact that was not to be wondered at, as it was wellknown that in days gone by he and the accused had been firmfriends.

The preliminaries of the trial over, Peter Shearer, also aK.C., who was prosecuting for the Crown, rose briskly to hisfeet, and in his first sentences, even, proceeded to put forwarda strong case.

In quiet and even tones he told how Miss Eunice Smith, themillionaire's daughter, in a drugged and unconscious state, hadbeen abducted from her parents' home and held in custody for manydays in a lonely house upon the Rainham marshes by a number ofpersons of whom the prisoner at the bar and the murdered man andwoman were undoubtedly three.

He described the privations the girl had suffered, the terrorsshe had been through, and how then, in the course of days, themurdered man had come to befriend her, and how at last he had sether free.

"And after that, my Lord and gentlemen of the jury," he said,"all that happened in that lonely tannery upon the riverside onlythe eye of God—and the prisoner—saw, for within thespace of a few minutes following upon the departure of MissSmith, the prisoner was the only one of the three alive, and he,my lord and gentlemen of the jury"—he spoke almost in awhisper now—"had blood under the nails and between thefingers of both hands."

A shiver ran through the court, and then, after a few momentsof appropriate silence, he went on to relate how, unbeknown tothe gang of criminals, they had been tracked down, and how, atthe very moment when the girl was set free, the house was beingsurrounded.

Then he described how voices, coming from one of the frontrooms of the house, had been heard by the police officers anddetectives crawling through the marshes; how, suddenly, silencehad supervened; and then how the prisoner had come rushing out;how he had been turned back; how he had been pursued, and,finally, how he had been captured after firing no less than fourtimes from an automatic at his pursuers and the officers of thelaw.

He then went on to tell of the discoveries that had been madeimmediately upon entry into the house—the dying Syrian, whowith his last breath had named the prisoner as his murderer; andthe prisoner's knife, still bloody, upon the floor, with theprisoner's fingerprints upon the hilt.

He paused here to take a drink of water, and of all there inthe court only the reporters, who were busy with their pencils,had not got their eyes intently fixed upon his face.

"But the murder of the Syrian was not the only charge againstthe prisoner, for when he was driving his knife deep intoMattin's side, his hands were already bloody with the slaying ofthe woman Isabel Stein. Her body was discovered at the foot of alow wall, circling the yard at the back of the house, and herform of death had indeed been a dreadful one.

"She had been first struck a terrific blow upon the head witha spade and then the life had been choked out of her by a fearfulgrip upon the throat. The postmortem had revealed that, althoughunconscious, she had been still alive when the cartilages of herthroat had been broken and—she had been choked todeath."

A deep sigh came upon up from the spectators, but PeterShearer gave them no respite from horrors this time.

"And who her murderer was there could be no doubt, for notonly did the marks upon her throat correspond most exactly to thewidth of the thumbs and fingers of the prisoner's hands, but, byan act of God, his bloody finger prints had been left upon one ofthe old-fashioned linen cuffs which the poor woman wore."

Peter Shearer had marshalled all his facts most carefully andat the luncheon adjournment it was considered by the habitualfrequenters of trials that counsel for the defence had littleshort of a hopeless task before him.

Then, in the afternoon and during the following day a streamof witnesses trouped into the witness box and, apart from thesubdued and delicate beauty of Eunice Smith, the spectators werethrilled with the close-up scrutinies of several whose names hadbecome as household words in criminal story.

Naughton Jones and Vallon were at once acknowledged aspossessing most interesting personalities, and Gilbert Larose, ifa little disappointing, because he looked so innocent andharmless, was voted as not at all bad, but it was for RaphaelCroupin that the admiration was open and unabashed. The genialmalefactor of France looked so aristocratic, his bearing wasaltogether so superior, and he bowed with such grave diffidencetowards the Court that everyone was charmed, and a great sigh ofregret went up—so deep that it could almost have beenheard—when he had not any more questions to answer and,with evident reluctance upon his part, left the witness box.

Bampton Byles opened the defence upon the third day, and,fixing the jury with calm, hypnotic eyes, he struck a strong noteat once.

This was a charge of murder, he said bluntly, and they werenot trying the prisoner for anything else. No matter what otherthings he had done, no matter how heinous his offences in otherways, these were of no concern to anyone there that day, and asmen of honour and loyal to the traditions of their race, he wassure that in their considering of the verdict they would have togive, they would remember that.

If weak-minded, it would be easy for them to be led away bytheir sympathies, and he admitted frankly that they could have nosympathy for the prisoner.

On the other hand there was a charming girl who had beenvilely treated, a father and mother who had had days and weeks oftorture in not knowing what had befallen their child, and somewonderfully astute and resourceful detectives whose search afterthe missing girl would remain for ever as an epic in the annalsof black crime.

The prisoner was charged with two killings, and he admittedone. He had killed Henri Mattin in pure self-defence after theSyrian had drawn his own knife and attacked him. That, at theworst, was manslaughter and if, as he should ask the jury tobelieve, the prisoner had done it to safeguard his ownlife—then it was justifiable homicide.

As to the other death, the death of the woman, Isabel Stein,the prisoner had had nothing to do with it, and indeed did notknow it had happened until he heard the detectives talking aboutit. In this medley of unlawful deeds it was undoubtedly theSyrian who had killed her for, unlike the prisoner, he was not onfriendly terms with her, and there was bad feeling betweenthem.

It was stark tragedy that no finger prints upon the spadecould be produced in evidence for the defence, but the spade hadbeen discarded hastily in a muddy spot, and, in consequence, itshandle could tell no tale. As for the marks upon the woman'sthroat, they could equally as easily have been made by thefingers of Henri Mattin, for the two men were of strikinglysimilar physique and their hands, from the prints that had beentaken, were much the same.

Well, he was going to put the prisoner into the box at onceand the plain, unvarnished story that he would tell wouldspeedily bring home to everyone the weakness of the case for theCrown.

Arnold Texworthy stepped into the witness box, and straightaway, and indeed, all through his examination, his demeanortowards the Court was an ideal one. He was undoubtedly a shamedman, but he did not whine, and he faced with courage the dreadfuladmissions he was obliged to make.

For twelve days up to the day of his arrest, he told thecourt, he had been living in the tannery buildings upon theRainham marshes, and along with the two deceased had been holdingEunice Smith captive in an upper room for the purpose of ransom.Her father's butler had been a party to the abduction, but,except for him and they three, no one else was involved inanything that had happened. The deceased Mattin had arranged andcarried out all details of the abduction, and he, Texworthy, hadsupplied the money.

He had known the Syrian some years ago in Marseilles as anactive worker in anarchist circles, and had come upon him bychance again a few months back, in Norfolk, where, as he hadlearnt afterwards, Mattin had domiciled himself for the obtainingof money by threats from Ephraim Smith.

Previous to the abduction of Miss Smith he, the prisoner, hadhad nothing to do with the harassing of her father, and fromconversation with Mattin he had learnt that everything in thatconnection had been carried out by anarchist sympathisers.

Coming to events of the day of his arrest, he stated that,because of suspicious characters having been seen in the vicinityof the tannery, it had been arranged secretly to transfer EuniceSmith upon the morrow into Norfolk to his own house upon thecoast, and they had arranged with his housekeeper, the deceasedwoman, that she should travel down there that night and get theplace ready.

He had actually seen her leave the tannery with her luggage bythe back door about 10 minutes to seven. Then he had returned tothe living room, and a few minutes later had been joined there bythe deceased Mattin.

He saw at once that the man had been drinking because heimmediately started to pick a quarrel and became abusive anddemanded money. Then suddenly, without a moment's warning, hesprang up and made a fierce attack with a large knife that he hadbeen hiding unsheathed inside his sleeve. He, Texworthy, however,had got his own knife handy, and in the struggle that then ensuedhe had been obliged to strike fatally in order to save his ownlife.

Then—as to what happened afterwards he was not quiteclear. A sudden brainstorm must have unhinged him, for his soleobsession seemed to have been to get away from the house. Hedistinctly remembered, however, running along by the wall andfalling over someone lying there and, from what he had learntafterwards, that must account for his finger prints having beenfound upon the cuff of the dead woman's sleeve.

Then, when he found that he was being followed, he was surethat his pursuers were some of Mattin's anarchist friends, and henaturally tried to defend himself.

The Crown Prosecutor at once opened his cross-examination withsledge-hammer blows.

So he, Arnold Texworthy, had worked under the Syrian, had he?He the great and virile hunter of big game had been content toplay second fiddle to a man whose occupation was the breaking ofstones? Oh! that wasn't his real occupation, wasn't it?Still—was the prisoner seriously expecting an intelligentand alert jury to believe that a man of his undoubted capacityand strength of character had been led astray into crime by anindividual much younger, and who must have been in every way hisinferior in class, education, and knowledge of life? It wasunnatural, wasn't it?

Well, to come to the night of the murder—so Mattin hadattacked him first? But wasn't it strange, if the Syrian hadsprung up as the prisoner had just told the Court—without amoment's warning—that he, the prisoner, should havehappened to be so ready with his own weapon? Now, didn't it seemstrange, too, that, with all the advantage of a surprise attack,and with an unsheathed dagger up his sleeve, a lithe and activeman like Mattin was known to be, should not have succeeded ininflicting some injury, however slight? Oh! the man was inliquor, was he? Yes, and he was actually seen helping himself tofully a third of a tumbler of brandy when he came into the room?Well that would explain something certainly, but—if theSyrian had been so drunk, why—why had not the prisonerknocked him down instead of having resource to the knife? Oh, hehad followed his first impulse, had he, but surely a dagger hadnot been called for?

And then another thing: how was it there was so much bloodupon the prisoner by the stabbing only of this drunkard? Was theprisoner aware that the officers of the law had found no bloodanywhere in the room except the pool under the side of the dyingman? Did he know that there was no blood anywhere on the table orchairs, and none upon the handle or panels of the door? Then howwas it that the prisoner himself was showing so much blood uponhis person when the detectives arrested him? He had not bledhimself, and yet there was blood all down the front of hisclothes, blood between the fingers of both his hands, and bloodunderneath the mud that was filling up his finger nails. It wasstrange, wasn't it—and he still swore he didn't kill thewoman?

And it was strange, too, that a man of the type of theprisoner should have been so overcome by fear? Oh! it wasn'tstrange, wasn't it, and his only thought had been to get awayfrom the house? Well, how did it come about that when theprisoner was first seen by the police he was running round to thefront of the house and not—away from it?

So he hadn't found out that Eunice Smith had been set free,and, after killing Mattin for doing it, he was seeking her in theonly direction she was likely to have gone—namely, in thedirection of the lights of other houses, and not by the dark andlonely path upon the riverside?

And so the cross-examination went on, lasting three hours, andleaving the prisoner with an ashen face and looking almost on thepoint of collapse.

The defence called no other witnesses, and the addresses ofcounsel were concluded by the luncheon adjournment next day. Thejudge's summing up was very brief, but it was conceded by bothsides that he was most impartial, and then, in the waning lightof the afternoon, the jury were marched out to pronounce upon theinnocence or guilt of the prisoner.

It was expected that their deliberations would be long andprotracted, but, to everyone's surprise, they were back in thecourt before 6 o'clock.

"Justifiable homicide in the killing of Henri Mattin," wastheir verdict, "but guilty of the murder of Isabel Stein."

Two months later, after an unsuccessful plea to the Court ofCriminal Appeal, Arnold Texworthy, gentleman, of Moreton, in theCounty of Norfolk, was hanged by the neck until he was dead.

During the afternoon of the cold and dreary day in mid-December upon which he died, the great Professor Ingleby playedtwo rubbers of bridge at his club, leaving, as was his wont, at 6o'clock, to return home by the short cut across the marshes.

Rain had begun to fall heavily, and he was seen to pass on tothe fairway, picking his steps as usual with a wary eye upon thetwo directing lights.

Presently, however, when as it was presumed afterwards uponthe matter being considered, he would have been about halfwayacross—the beacon light above the clubhouse suddenly wentout.

It was found later that a wire had become unaccountably frayedaway, but the failure of the light was not noticed for someminutes by those in the building. Then, in view of the darknessand the rain, it was not held to be of sufficient importance toattempt any repairs until the morning.

At half-past 7, however, Professor Ingleby's butler rang upstating that his master had not arrived home, and asking if hewere still at the club.

Immediately then it was realised that some accident might havehappened, and a search party was at once organised and, withlanterns, made an attempt to follow across the marshes.

But by this time the rain had assumed torrential proportionsand, with the fairway itself now under water, the search wasspeedily abandoned.

The day after the news of the tragic happening had beenbroadcast in the newspapers, the Chief Commissioner of Police ofScotland Yard, inquiring for Gilbert Larose, was informed thatthe Australian was off duty and in bed with a bad cold.

It appeared that the detective had been out somewhere in theCountry and had got very wet.

Movatterモバイル変換

Gentlemen of Crime

by

Arthur Gask

Published by
Herbert Jenkins Ltd., London, 1932
Macaulay Company, New York, 1932

Serialised in
The Advertiser, Adelaide, Australia, 13 Aug 1932-ff
The Western Mail, Perth, Australia, 3 Nov 1932-ff

Reprinted by Domino Mysteries, Duchess, 1945

This e-book edition: Project Gutenberg Australia, 2020

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER I.
The Gathering of the Eagles.

CHAPTER II.
The Problem of Ephraim Smith.

CHAPTER III.
The Secret of the Mask.

CHAPTER IV.
The House in the Wood.

CHAPTER V.
Gentlemen of Crime.

CHAPTER VI.
The Masters of Ephraim Smith.

CHAPTER VII.
The Beginning of the Trail.

CHAPTER VIII.
Guests at Bodham Castle.

CHAPTER IX.
The Threads of Fate.

CHAPTER X.
The Messenger of Death.

CHAPTER XI.
In Danger.

CHAPTER XII.
The Soul of a Thief.

CHAPTER XIII.
Fenton Loses His Situation.

CHAPTER XIV.
The Bloodhounds.

CHAPTER XV.
McAlbane Leaves the Gang.

CHAPTER XVI.
The House by the River.

CHAPTER XVII.
The Hovering of the Eagles.

CHAPTER XVIII.
Detective Raphael Croupin.

CHAPTER XIX.
The Prey of the Eagles.

CHAPTER XX.
The Lights That Failed.

THE END

Movatterモバイル変換

Gentlemen of Crime

by

Arthur Gask

Published byHerbert Jenkins Ltd., London, 1932Macaulay Company, New York, 1932Serialised inThe Advertiser, Adelaide, Australia, 13 Aug 1932-ffThe Western Mail, Perth, Australia, 3 Nov 1932-ffReprinted by Domino Mysteries, Duchess, 1945This e-book edition: Project Gutenberg Australia, 2020

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER I.The Gathering of the Eagles.

CHAPTER II.The Problem of Ephraim Smith.

CHAPTER III.The Secret of the Mask.

CHAPTER IV.The House in the Wood.

CHAPTER V.Gentlemen of Crime.

CHAPTER VI.The Masters of Ephraim Smith.

CHAPTER VII.The Beginning of the Trail.

CHAPTER VIII.Guests at Bodham Castle.

CHAPTER IX.The Threads of Fate.

CHAPTER X.The Messenger of Death.

CHAPTER XI.In Danger.

CHAPTER XII.The Soul of a Thief.

CHAPTER XIII.Fenton Loses His Situation.

CHAPTER XIV.The Bloodhounds.

CHAPTER XV.McAlbane Leaves the Gang.

CHAPTER XVI.The House by the River.

CHAPTER XVII.The Hovering of the Eagles.

CHAPTER XVIII.Detective Raphael Croupin.

CHAPTER XIX.The Prey of the Eagles.

CHAPTER XX.The Lights That Failed.

THE END

Published by
Herbert Jenkins Ltd., London, 1932
Macaulay Company, New York, 1932

Serialised in
The Advertiser, Adelaide, Australia, 13 Aug 1932-ff
The Western Mail, Perth, Australia, 3 Nov 1932-ff

Reprinted by Domino Mysteries, Duchess, 1945

This e-book edition: Project Gutenberg Australia, 2020

CHAPTER I.
The Gathering of the Eagles.

CHAPTER II.
The Problem of Ephraim Smith.

CHAPTER III.
The Secret of the Mask.

CHAPTER IV.
The House in the Wood.

CHAPTER V.
Gentlemen of Crime.

CHAPTER VI.
The Masters of Ephraim Smith.

CHAPTER VII.
The Beginning of the Trail.

CHAPTER VIII.
Guests at Bodham Castle.

CHAPTER IX.
The Threads of Fate.

CHAPTER X.
The Messenger of Death.

CHAPTER XI.
In Danger.

CHAPTER XII.
The Soul of a Thief.

CHAPTER XIII.
Fenton Loses His Situation.

CHAPTER XIV.
The Bloodhounds.

CHAPTER XV.
McAlbane Leaves the Gang.

CHAPTER XVI.
The House by the River.

CHAPTER XVII.
The Hovering of the Eagles.

CHAPTER XVIII.
Detective Raphael Croupin.

CHAPTER XIX.
The Prey of the Eagles.

CHAPTER XX.
The Lights That Failed.