KNOCK-OUT US TITLE: BULLDOG DRUMMOND STRIKES BACK (2024)

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SAPPER
[HERMAN CYRIL MCNEILE]

BOOK 8 IN THE BULLDOG DRUMMOND SERIES

First published by Hodder & Stoughton, London, 1933

This e-book edition: Roy Glashan's Library, 2020
Version Date: 2020-02-26
Produced by Roy Glashan

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

IT is difficult to say what it was that firstcaused Ronald Standish to adopt his particular profession.Indeed, it is doubtful whether it should be called a professionin view of the fact that he worked at it for love and only whenthe spirit moved him. Case after case he would turn down becausethey failed to interest him: then, apparently quite capriciously,he would take one up, vanish for a space, and then return asunobtrusively as he had departed to his ordinary life ofsport.

That these sudden disappearances proved a little embarrassingto his friends is not to be wondered at. Captains of touringcricket elevens, secretaries of golf clubs, were wont to raiseprotesting hands to heaven when sometimes, at the last moment,Standish backed out of a match. But having played for his countyat cricket, as well as being a genuine scratch man at golf, theyforgave him and continued to include him in their teams.

Had he chosen to take up the art of detection seriously thereis no doubt that he would have attained a world-wide reputation.He had an uncanny knack of sorting out the relevant from a massof irrelevant facts, and refusing to be diverted by even the mostingenious red herring. But as he worked for fun and not becausehe had to, his ability was known to a comparatively small coterieonly.

It was on a certain evening in March that, in stage parlance,the curtain rose and discovered him in his rooms in ClargesStreet. A cheerful fire was burning in the grate: a whiskytantalus adorned the table. Outside the wind was howling fitfullydown the street, drowning the distant roar of traffic inPiccadilly, and an occasional scurry of rain lashed against thewindow.

The owner of the rooms was standing with his back to the fire,an intent look of concentration on his face. Balanced on onefinger was a driver, and it was evident that judgment was aboutto be pronounced. It came at last.

"Too heavy in the head, Bill: undoubtedly too heavy in thehead. You'll slice to glory with that club."

His audience uncoiled himself from an armchair. He was a lankyindividual whose appearance was in striking contrast to thespeaker. For Standish was, if anything, a little on the shortside, and his lack of inches was accentuated by the abnormaldepth of his chest. He was immensely powerful, but in a roughhouse suffered somewhat from lack of reach.

"Can anything be done, Ronald?" demanded Bill Leyton. "I'veonly just bought the blamed thing."

"You might try having a bit of lead scooped out at the back,old boy, but I'm afraid the balance will still be all wrong."

He put the club back in its bag, that profound look of awedmystery, without which no golfer can discuss an implement of thegame, still present in his expression.

"Too heavy in the head," he repeated solemnly. "And you tendto slice at the best of times, Bill. Damn! Who's that? Answer it,old boy, will you, and if it's Teddy wanting me to play tomorrowtell him I've gone to Paris for a month and have given upgolf."

The lanky being crossed the room in a couple of enormousstrides and lifted the telephone receiver.

"Hullo!" he remarked. "Yes—these are Mr Standish'srooms. Who is speaking?"

He listened for a moment, and then covering the mouthpiecewith his hand, turned round.

"Bloke by the name of Sanderson," he muttered. "Wants to speakto you urgently."

Standish nodded, and took the receiver from the other'shand.

"Hullo! Sanderson," he said. "Yes—Standish speaking.What now? My dear fellow—on a night like this... Hullo!Hullo! Hullo!"

His voice rose in a crescendo and Leyton stared at him inamazement.

"Can't you hear me? Speak, man, speak. Hullo! Hullo!" Herattled the receiver rest violently.

"Is that exchange?" he cried. "Look here, I've just been rungup by Hampstead 0024, and I've been cut off in the middle. Couldyou find out about it?"

He waited, one foot tapping feverishly on the floor.

"You can't get any reply, and the receiver is still off? Thankyou."

He turned to Leyton.

"It's possible that he was called away; I'll hold on a bitlonger."

But a minute later he gave it up and his face was very grave."Something has happened, Bill; I'll have to go to Hampstead.Either he's ill, or..."

He left the sentence unfinished, and Leyton looked at himcuriously.

"What was it you heard?" he asked.

"He had just asked me to go up and see him at once. The lastwords he said were—'I've got...' He was beginning a newsentence, and he never completed it. I heard a noise that soundedlike a hiss; then came a clatter which might have been caused bythe receiver of his machine dropping on to his desk. And there'sbeen nothing since."

He crossed to a small cupboard in the corner, and Bill Leytonraised his eyebrows. He knew the contents of that cupboard, andthings must be serious if Standish proposed utilising them.

"If you're taking a gun, old lad," he remarked, "I suppose I'dbetter come with you. And on the way there you shall explain tome who and what is Mr Sanderson."

A taxi was passing the door as they went out, and Standishgave the driver the address.

"Tread on the juice," he added briefly. "It's urgent. Now,Bill," he continued as the car swung into Curzon Street, "I'llput you wise as to Sanderson. He is a man who occupies rather apeculiar position in the Government. Very few people have everheard of him: very few people even know that such a job as hisexists. He is of Scotland Yard and yet not of Scotland Yard; thebest way to describe him, I suppose, is to say that he is asecret service man. Crime as crime is outside his scope: if,however, it impinges in the slightest degree into the politicalarena, then he sits up and takes notice. His knowledge of thingsbehind the scenes is probably greater than that of any other manin England: information comes to him from all quarters in a waythat it doesn't even to the police. And if he were to write abook the wildest piece of sensational fiction would seem like anursery rhyme beside it. So you will see that he is a man whomust have some very powerful enemies, enemies who would feelconsiderably happier if he was out of the way. In fact..."

He broke off abruptly, and leaning back in his corner lit acigarette.

"Go on," said Leyton curiously.

"I was having a talk with him a few days ago," went onStandish. "And for him he was very communicative: generally he'sas close as an oyster. It was confidential, of course, so I'mafraid I can't tell you what it was about now. We must wait andsee what it was that caused him to stop so suddenly."

"So it was that talk that made you bring a gun," saidLeyton.

"Exactly," answered the other, and relapsed into silence.

Five minutes later the car pulled up in front of a medium-sized detached house standing back from the road. A small gardenwith a few trees filled the gap between the iron railings and thefront door; save for a light from one window on the first floorthe place was in darkness.

Standish tipped the driver handsomely, and then waited tillhis tail lamp had disappeared before opening the gate. The rainhad ceased, but it was still blowing hard, and by the light of aneighbouring street lamp Leyton saw that his face looked graverthan ever.

"Look at that blind, Bill," he said, "where the light is.That's his study, and what man sits in a room with a blindflapping like that? I don't like it."

"Perhaps he's round at the back," suggested the other.

"Let's hope so," said Standish shortly, and walking up thesteps to the front door he pressed the bell.

Faintly, but quite distinctly, they heard it ring in the backof the house, but no one came to answer to it. He tried againwith the same result: then stooping down Standish peered throughthe letter-box.

"All in darkness," he said. "And a Yale lock. Bill, I like itless and less. Let's go round and see if there's a light on theother side."

There was none, and for a moment or two he hesitated.

"Look here, old boy," he said at length, "there's somethingdevilish fishy about this show. Strictly speaking, I suppose weought to get hold of the nearest policeman, but I have a verystrong desire to dispense with official aid for a while. I'mgoing to commit a felony: are you on?"

"Break in, you mean?" said Leyton with a grin. "Lead on, oldman: I'm with you. Which window do we tackle?"

"None: a child could open this back door."

From his pocket Standish produced a peculiar-lookingimplement, the end of which he inserted in the keyhole. For amoment or two he juggled with it, and then there came a click asthe bolt shot back.

"Asking for it, most of these doors," he whispered, and thenstood listening intently in the passage. A faint light filtereddown a flight of stairs in front of them, coming from a streetlamp on the other side of the house. On their left an open doorrevealed the larder: next to it the dying embers of a fire in thekitchen grate showed that the servants had been about earlier,wherever they were at the moment.

Cautiously he led the way up the stairs into the hall, whereeverything was plainly visible in the glare from the glass overthe front door. And at the foot of the next flight he paused tolisten again. But, save for the howling of the wind, there was nosound.

"Come on, Bill," he muttered. "Not much good standing here allnight."

They went up to the first story: the room with the flappingblind was marked by the line of light on the floor. And with aquick movement Standish flung open the door, his revolver grippedin his right hand—a hand which slowly fell to his side.

"My God!" he cried. "I was afraid of it."

Seated at the desk with his back to them was a man. He wassprawling forward with his left arm flung out, whilst his righthand, crumpled underneath him, still clutched the telephonereceiver. And from the edge of the desk a little stream of bloodtrickled sluggishly on to the carpet.

For a while Standish stood where he was, taking in everydetail of the room: then he crossed to the dead man and verygently lifted his head. And the next moment he gave anexclamation of horror.

"Great Scott! Bill," he cried, "the poor devil has beenstabbed through the eye."

It was a terrible wound, and with a shudder Leyton turnedaway.

"Let's get the police, Ronald," he said. "We can't do anythingfor him and this ain't my idea of a happy evening."

But Standish with a puzzled frown on his forehead seemed notto hear.

"What an extraordinary thing," he said at length. "Death musthave been instantaneous, and therefore if it had beenaccidental—if, for instance, he had suddenly become dizzyand his head had fallen forward on to one of those spike thingsyou skewer letters on we should see it on the desk. Now there isnothing there that could possibly have caused such a wound, so wecan rule out accident. Suicide is equally impossible for the samereason: in any event, a man doesn't commit suicide in the middleof a telephone call. So it is perfectly clear he was murdered, orkilled accidentally."

"My dear old boy, even I can see that," said Leyton a littlepeevishly. "What about my notion of the police? Let's ring up."Standish shook his head.

"We can't do that, Bill. It would mean taking the receiver outof his hand, and everything must be left as it is. You can go tothe window, if you like, and hail a bobby if you see one passing:personally I want to try to get at this. Go and stand behind hischair for a moment, will you."

Obediently Leyton did so, though he was clearly puzzled."What's the great idea?" he demanded.

"I'm trying to reconstruct what happened," said Standish, "andI wanted to see if that light in the wall over there made yourshadow fall on the desk. As you notice, it does, which makes iteven more difficult. Let's try it from the beginning. Sandersonwas sitting in the chair he is in now, the receiver to his faceand in all probability his right elbow resting on the desk. Hisconversation was perfectly normal: quite obviously he wascompletely unconscious of being in any danger. He begins asentence—'I've got,' and at that moment he is killed in amost extraordinary fashion. 'I've got'—what? That's thepoint. Was he going to say—'I've got information of somesort'; or was he going to say—'I've got so and so with mehere'? If the first, it is possible that he didn't know themurderer was in the room: that he was stolen on from behind. Butin that event a shadow would have been thrown, and Sanderson withhis training would have been out of that chair in a flash."

"It's possible," put in Leyton, "that only the light in theceiling was on."

"And that the man who did it turned on that one beforeleaving?" Standish shook his head. "Possible, admittedly, Bill,but most unlikely. Surely every instinct in such a case would beto turn lights off and not on. However, one can't rule it outentirely. Let's go on. Supposing he was going to say—'I'vegot so and so here': where do we get then? We wash out in thefirst place the extreme difficulty of striking such an accurateblow blindly from behind. The man, whoever he was, could havebeen standing in front of Sanderson or beside him. But even soit's terribly hard to understand. If you try to stab me in theeye with a skewer I'm going to move damned quick. Even if the manwas standing beside him, and did a sudden backhander with hisweapon, it seems incredible to me that Sanderson couldn't dodgeit. One's reaction, if anything is coming at one's eye, isliterally instantaneous."

"The plain fact remains that the poor devil didn't dodge it,"said Leyton.

"There is another very remarkable point about the whole thing,Bill," went on Standish. "Why did the man select the middle of atelephone conversation of all times to kill him? It seems the onemoment of all others to avoid."

"That certainly is a bit of a poser," agreed Leyton.

"It's such a poser that there must be a good reason for it,and there's one that occurs to me. If a man is speaking into atelephone, even one of the desk type like this, he keeps his headstill. And that was probably essential for the infliction of thiswound. Well—I'm just going to have a look round and see ifI can spot anything, and then we'll go for the police."

He glanced through the contents of a paper-rack: there wasnothing save a couple of invitations and some bills. Then hiseyes travelled slowly over the desk. There was not much on it: atray containing pens; a calendar; an open bottle of Stephens'ink. In the middle were several sheets of blotting-paper foldedtogether into a pad, one corner of which was stained a vividcrimson—the dead man's head had fallen there.

"His pockets we had better not touch," said Standish, "butpossibly the waste-paper basket might reveal something."

But it was almost empty: a torn-up letter, and a smallfragment of blotting-paper with an ink stain in the centre of itwas the total bag.

"Nothing much in that lot," he continued. "Hullo! this ink isstill damp. And there's the place on the pad where this bit wastorn from. Cheer up, Bill," he added with a faint smile, "I'venearly done. By the way, I wonder where the cork of that bottleis?"

And Bill Leyton exploded.

"Damn it, Ronald, I don't know and I don't care. This room,with that poor blighter sitting dead there, is giving me thewillies. What does it matter where the cork is? It probably wastaken out of the bottle and fell on the desk and made a blot.Then that bit of blotting-paper was torn off to wipe it upwith."

"And the cork was then thrown out of the window in a fit ofpique," added Standish with mild sarcasm.

"But what can it matter, old boy?" said Leyton irritably. "Thewound can't have been done with a cork."

And then he shrugged his shoulders: there had appeared on theother's face an expression he knew only too well. Standish wasfollowing up some idea in his mind, and nothing short of anearthquake would disturb his concentration. What possibleimportance could be attached to the fact that the ink bottle wasminus a cork Leyton failed to see, but he knew the futility ofarguing.

"You don't shake an ink bottle, Bill, before you open it,"said Standish suddenly. "And that one is half empty."

"What the deuce?" began Leyton feebly.

"It's got this to do with it," said the other. "The cork wouldbe dry when it came out. Therefore the ink that that little pieceof blotting-paper was used to mop up did not come from thecork."

He stiffened abruptly.

"Listen," he whispered, "don't make a sound. There's someonemoving downstairs."

The two men stood motionless, straining their ears. The windhad dropped a little, and in a momentary lull they distinctlyheard the creak of a board in the hall below.

"Get behind the curtains, Bill," he muttered. "It may be thatthe murderer has come back for something."

They stood waiting tensely, one on each side of the window.Between them the blind, with a sort of devilish perversity,flapped more than ever, so that it was quite impossible to hearany noise in the house. And since the door opened towards thewindow the passage outside was invisible from where theystood.

Through a little chink Leyton could see most of the room: thedead man sprawling over the desk; the half-open door; theswitches on the wall beyond. But it was at the door he wasstaring, fascinated: who was going to come round it in a fewmoments?

Suddenly he heard a stifled exclamation from outside, andglancing across at Standish he saw that he was standing rigid,his revolver ready in his hand. Then he once more looked at thedoor: the visitor had arrived. Seconds dragged on into minutes:the suspense was becoming unbearable when, happening to glance atthe two switches, he saw a hand resting on them. And the nextmoment the room was in darkness save for the light from thestreet lamp outside.

He could no longer see the door itself, only the desk with itsmotionless occupant looking even more dreadful in the eerie half-light. But an unmistakable creak from the side of the room toldhim the unknown had entered. What was going to happen now? hewondered; and the next instant he knew. Some hard object struckhim a crashing blow in the face and in the stomach, and he letout a shout of pain.

"Splendid," came a voice from near the wall, "I thought Iwasn't mistaken. I've got you covered, so just step into thelighted area by the window and step darned quick, or the nextthing that hits you won't be a table."

Leyton glanced across at Standish, and saw him give a quicknod. The game was clear: evidently the table thrower thoughtthere was only one man behind the curtains. So he stepped outobediently and waited. His nose felt as if it was broken, and hewas half winded, but those were trifles compared to the shock theother man was going to get in a moment or two.

"You look a bit of a streak of misery in silhouette, don'tyou," went on the voice. "Let's have a look at you in real life.Peter—switch on."

And then things happened. He had a momentary glimpse of a vastindividual about four feet away from him, and another man by thedoor. And the next instant he was tackled round the waist, andwent crashing backwards, knocking over Standish, who had come outfrom his curtain and was standing just behind him.

"Two of 'em, Peter," roared the big man, "and one's got agun."

What the result would have been is doubtful: he was wedged ina struggling mass between Standish, who was on the floor, andsomeone who felt rather like Carnera on top of him. But the endcame most unexpectedly.

"Quit it, Hugh," cried another voice, "there's some mistake. Iknow this bloke."

"What's that?" The big man scrambled to his feet. "A mistake.There was no mistake about the revolver I saw in his hand."

"It's Ronald Standish. I've played cricket with him."

"Good Lord! it's Peter Darrell. Well, I'm damned." Standishwas sitting on the floor rubbing his head. "Who in the name ofheaven is your pal?"

"Drummond, old boy: Captain Hugh Drummond."

"I'm most dreadfully sorry," said Drummond. "I seem to havebloomered badly. But I saw poor old Jim Sanderson dead at hisdesk, and I could just see through the crack by the hinges of thedoor that there was someone behind this curtain. I couldn't seethe other one, and I jumped to the conclusion that whoever it wascouldn't be up to any good. So I drew the fox by bunging a tableat it, and then I suddenly realised I was looking down a gun,when it doesn't do to stand on ceremony. However, those are alltrifles: what on earth has happened here?"

"The poor old chap has been murdered," said Standishgravely.

"I'm not altogether surprised," remarked Drummond quietly. "Hetold me today that he thought the ice was getting darned thin.You've no idea who did it, I suppose?"

Standish was silent for a few moments while he studied theother.

"None," he said at length. "May I ask what brought you heretonight, Captain Drummond?"

"Nothing can prevent you asking what you like, Mr Standish,"answered Drummond affably. "And perhaps I'll tell you if you'llanswer the same question yourself."

"Cut it out, you two," said Darrell. "I personally guaranteeeach of you to the other. And it seems to me it would be best ifwe all pooled our knowledge."

"Bravely spoken, Peter," said Drummond. "But as that may be alongish job, oughtn't we to do something about this first? Isuppose it will be necessary to get the police."

Standish glanced at him sharply.

"Of course it will," he cried. "What an extraordinarysuggestion."

"Peter—I believe he suspects us," said Drummond. "Youmust explain to him some time or other that in the past we havealways tried to dispense with their help. And mark you, Standish,we're on something pretty big: his murder proves it."

He went nearer the dead man and bent over him.

"My God! what an awful wound. Shot clean through the eye."

"Not shot," said Standish, "or I should have heard it. He wastelephoning to me when he was killed. That's what brought Leytonand me up here."

"Not shot," echoed Drummond. "Then how in the name of fortunewas that wound made?"

"Exactly," agreed Standish. "How?"

"At any rate, Peter, we now know why we couldn't get any replyon the 'phone," said Drummond after a pause. "Which, if you wantto know, Standish, is what brought us up here also."

But Standish was not listening: he was staring at somethingunder the desk.

"The plot thickens," he remarked as he stooped down to pick itup. "There is a lady in the case."

He held in his hand a fine bronze hairpin.

"It was lying half hidden," he said, "and the light happenedto catch it."

"And he wasn't married," remarked Drummond thoughtfully. "Thatcertainly looks the nearest approach to a clue there seems to be.Of course, it may belong to one of the servants. By theway—where are the servants? We haven't been exactly silent,have we?"

And as if in answer to his question they heard voices in thehall below. A man was speaking, and then came a woman's reply.They stood waiting, their eyes on the door. Someone was coming upthe stairs; someone who evidently had no idea that anything waswrong, for they could hear him whistling under his breath. Therecame a perfunctory knock on the half-open door and a manappeared, who halted in amazement as he saw the four of themwatching him. Then his eyes fell on the motionless figure at thedesk, and with a gasp he staggered back against the wall.

"What's 'appened?" he stammered. "In Gawd's name—what's'appened?"

"Who are you?" said Standish quietly.

"Mr Sanderson's butler, sir. I've just come in."

"What is your name?"

"Perkins, sir. I've just come in with my wife, sir. 'Ow did it'appen, sir?"

"That, Perkins, is what we want to try and find out," saidStandish. "Try and pull yourself together, my man, because Ishould like you to answer a few questions. Was that your wife Iheard you talking to downstairs?"

"Yes, sir. We've just got in from the pictures."

"And when did you go out?"

"Quarter to eight, sir. Mr Sanderson let us go before hefinished his dinner."

"Was anyone having dinner with him?"

"No, sir. He was alone."

"Did he say anything to you about expecting anybodyafter?"

"No, sir—not a word."

"Now, Perkins, here's a hairpin. Can you tell me if thatbelongs to your wife?"

The butler shook his head decisively.

"No, sir. That I know it doesn't. The missus has blackones."

"Is there any other maidservant in the house?"

Once again the man shook his head.

"No, sir. My wife and I do all the work."

"And you're quite certain, Perkins, that Mr Sanderson saidnothing to you about expecting anyone this evening?"

"Quite positive, sir. His last words to me were—'Comeback when you like and I hope you enjoy yourselves.' And seeingthe light in the window, sir, I just came up to see if he wantedanything. What's 'appened, sir? Lumme—this will break themissus' heart. One of the kindest gentlemen I ever knew."

The man's grief was obvious, and Drummond laid a kindly handon his shoulder.

"He's been foully murdered, Perkins," he said.

"Who's the swine what did it?" cried the butler. "Strewth! ifI could get my hands on him he'd go the same way."

"That's what we all feel," said Standish. "And with luck we'lldo it. But I want you now to do something. Go out and get hold ofthe first policeman you see, and bring him back here."

"Very good, sir: I'll go. As a matter of fact, there was onenot far from the house when we came in."

With a last look at his master he left the room, and a momentor two later the front door slammed.

"There's no good interrogating the wife," said Standish. "Thepolice can do that if they want to, and we've found out all wecan from Perkins. By the way, Drummond—what made you say alittle while ago that we were up against something prettybig?"

"I think that that had better keep," said the other quietly."There are footsteps on the drive which must be Perkins returningwith the necessary peeler. Tomorrow we can compare notes. Butthere is one thing we must settle at once. The mere fact that youwere talking to him over the telephone is sufficient to accountfor you being here, but not for Peter and me. So until we'vecompared notes shall we have it that we were all playing a quietgame of push-halfpenny in your rooms and came together?"

For a moment Standish hesitated, and a faint smile flickeredround his lips. He was beginning to remember one or two yarnsPeter Darrell had told him on cricket tours in the past whichconcerned Hugh Drummond—stories which he had largelydiscounted in view of the obvious hero-worship of the teller. Butnow he began to wonder if they were exaggerated. As a prettyshrewd judge of a rough house he had to admit that Drummond was apast master and could give him points. A glance at theunfortunate Leyton's nose, which was now a rich blue, and thefeeling of his own elbow from which every particle of skin hadbeen removed were sufficient confirmation of that fact.

"Don't forget," continued Drummond quietly, "that unless youagree I shall have to give my real reason for being here. Themere fact that I could get no answer to the telephone is notenough. And that means that things will come out at theinquest."

He looked at Standish searchingly.

"Things," he went on, "of which I don't think you are incomplete ignorance yourself. Do we want them in thenewspapers—yet?"

Voices could already be heard on the stairs: Perkins, wild andincoherent—the other stolid and unemotional.

"Right," said Standish, making up his mind. "We were allplaying bridge in my rooms."

"Would to Allah we had been," muttered Leyton ruefully.

"Then I shouldn't be wanting a new face."

"This way, officer: here's the room."

Perkins flung open the door, and a policeman entered who,after a glance at the dead man, gave the other four a look ofkeen scrutiny.

"Good evening, gentlemen," he said. "This looks a badbusiness. May I ask what you know about it?"

"I'll tell you all we know about it, officer," saidStandish.

The policeman listened attentively, making a note from time totime with a stubby pencil.

"Nine-forty, you say, sir, when you were telephoning. Andthere was no trace of anyone here when you arrived."

"The house was empty," said Standish.

"Then may I ask, sir, how you got in?"

"A very natural question, officer," remarked Standish.

"Feeling convinced that something was very much amiss I tookthe law into my own hands and broke in."

The policeman shook his head gravely.

"That's an offence, sir: you had no right to do so."

"I am fully aware of that fact," said Standish. "And I willtake full responsibility for it when the time comes. I may say myname is very well known at Scotland Yard."

"Well, sir—it's your affair, not mine. And while I thinkof it, I'd just like the names and addresses of all yougentlemen."

They gave them to him, and he wrote them down in hisnotebook.

"Now, sir," he continued, "do you know of anyone who had agrudge against Mr Sanderson?"

"I can't say that I do," said Standish. "But his job was onein which he would almost certainly have made powerful enemies."The policeman nodded portentously, and then proceeded to examinethe body. But after a short time he straightened up and shook hishead.

"Well, sir, this is too big a job for me to handle: I must getthe Inspector. Will you gentlemen be good enough to remain herewhile I go to the station. I shan't be long."

"All right, officer: we'll wait."

The policeman picked up his helmet, and a few seconds laterthe front door slammed behind him.

"You can wait downstairs, Perkins," said Standish. "Don't goto bed, of course, and you'd better tell your wife what hashappened."

The butler left the room, and suddenly Standish began tolaugh.

"Sorry, Bill: can't help it. Your face is one of the funniestsights I've seen for a long while."

"Glad you think so," grunted Leyton.

"I apologise, laddie," said Drummond. "I apologise profusely.But it's a dangerous hobby—hiding behind curtains. Lookhere, why don't you toddle off and get a raw steak on it: if youbeat up a butcher he'll give you his whole shop as soon as hesees you."

"Not a bad idea," agreed Standish. "In fact, it's a good one,Bill. Luckily that policeman asked no questions, but theInspector is bound to want to know what you've been doing. So youpush off: I'll say you weren't feeling up to the scratch."

"And, Peter, you go with him," said Drummond. "I've got ahunch, Standish—may be right, may be wrong. But we're in atwo-man show."

"What do you mean?" asked Standish, looking a littlemystified.

"A show when it will be better for all concerned to move incouples," answered the other quietly. "There's every reason forPeter going with him if he's under the weather, and it would be aghastly thing if he was knocked out properly before the funbegins."

"But you don't think..." began Standish.

"I do," said Drummond shortly. "The game has begun, I tellyou, and Rule A is—Take no unnecessary chances. So get amove on, you two, or you'll be butting into the Inspector. Andvet the taxi, Peter, if there's one loitering about near thehouse."

"You seem to have had a certain amount of experience in thissort of thing," said Standish when the other two had disappeareddown the road.

Drummond gave a short laugh.

"Just a little," he confessed. "There have been times in thepast when Fate has been very kind to me. And I'm thinking thatshe is still smiling. Tell me, Standish, did poor old Sandersonsay anything important over the 'phone? Give you any names orinformation?"

Standish shook his head.

"Not a word. What about you at lunch today?"

"Nothing at all. He told me that he had been aware for sometime of a big organisation in England which was definitelyhostile to the country. Some of the smaller fry had been laid bythe heels, but that until a few days ago he had had no idea whothe big men were. He also said that things were getting veryticklish and that there might be something doing in my line."

"Which, I gather," said Standish with a smile, "is hittingfirst and talking after."

"Something of that sort," agreed Drummond vaguely. "I can pusha feller's face in rather quicker than most."

"It's much the same as what he said to me," said Standish,growing serious again. "And I'm afraid I was rather inclined tolaugh at the old chap. By Jove! there's not much to laugh at overthis development."

"That's a fact," agreed Drummond. "Who the devil was here, Iwonder. Can it have been a woman alone?"

"A woman do that?" Standish pointed to the dead man. "Why not?I've known at any rate one in the past who'd do it and ask formore."

"It's the actual wound that staggers me, Drummond, as I wassaying to Bill Leyton earlier. It was either the most astoundingfluke that the aim was so accurate, or else his head must havebeen held from behind."

"Then," objected Drummond, "he would surely have bellowed downthe 'phone. Anyway, one thing is clear: this organisation he wastalking about is a reality and he had found out too much fortheir peace of mind."

"It looks like it, I agree."

Standish glanced at his watch.

"It strikes me that that inspector is a damned long timecoming," he remarked. "The station is only about a quarter of amile away."

"Do you know him by any chance?"

"Yes. A man called McIver: he's quite capable."

"Not old McIver?" cried Drummond. "Why, he and I are thegreatest pals. We once chased an elusive gentleman calledPeterson together, though I must admit that I did most of thechasing, and he didn't altogether approve of my methods. By theway, have you been through the drawers in the desk?"

"I haven't," said Standish. "Your somewhat unexpected arrivalinterrupted matters."

"We might fill in the time till the police come having a look,don't you think? There are his keys on that steel chain."

He gently removed the bunch from the dead man's trouserpocket, and unfastened it from the chain. The centre drawer theycould not get at, as it would have entailed moving the body, butthey went through all the side ones systematically. But save forone small scrap of paper they found nothing of interest. It hadevidently been torn out of a cheap note-book, and on it wasscrawled in an illiterate handwriting—"The day of the weekbackwards. If two, omit first."

The two men stared at it mystified.

"That's certainly not his writing," said Standish. "What thedeuce does it mean?"

"Must be something important," remarked Drummond, "or hewouldn't have kept it. But it's got me beat."

"Same here," admitted Standish, and once again he looked athis watch. "Do you realise," he said, "that it's forty minutessince that policeman left? Even if McIver was out someone elseought to have come by now."

They looked at one another thoughtfully.

"Can't have done the policeman in, can they?" said Drummond."No object that I can see."

"Well, I'm not going to stop here any more," cried Standish."I'm going to the station myself. Will you come too?"

"Yes," said Drummond. "I will. I've still got that hunch abouta two-man show, and I can't do any good here."

They relocked the drawers, leaving everything, including themysterious scrap of paper, exactly as they had found it. Thenwith a hail to Perkins to tell him what they were doing, theyleft the house.

It was still blowing hard, and the road was deserted. Most ofthe houses they passed were in darkness: that district of Londoncontains an early-to-bed population. And they had walked somelittle way in silence, when suddenly Drummond caught Standish'sarm and the two men halted. On the other side of the street werefour or five new buildings in various stages of construction, andit was at one of these that Drummond was staring.

"I thought I saw something move," he muttered. "Hullo! what'sthat?"

Quite clearly above the howling of the wind had come apeculiar noise which sounded as if a pile of bricks had fallendown. And it came from the half-built house opposite.

"The gale blown something over," said Standish, but Drummondwas already crossing the road. And with a shrug of his shouldersStandish followed him.

The usual litter of planks and heaps of cement that accompanybuilding operations made walking difficult, and suddenly Drummondswore under his breath. He had stumbled oversomething—something that he at first thought was a sack,but which immediately afterwards he realised was nothing of thesort.

"Standish," he called out. "Come here."

The other joined him, and Drummond flashed on his torch.

"Well, I'm blowed," he muttered. "Is the joker drunk?"

Lying on the ground breathing stertorously was a man. He hadevidently just slipped down from a sitting position, for a numberof displaced bricks were behind him. But the thing that made themboth stare at him in amazement was his costume: he was clad onlyin underclothes and a shirt.

Suddenly Standish bent over him and sniffed.

"Drunk be blowed," he cried. "The man's been chloroformed. Hisbreath reeks of it."

And then he in his turn caught Drummond's arm.

"Look at his boots, man, look at his boots. If those aren'tpolice regulation boots I'll eat my hat. Great Scott!" he almostshouted. "I've got it. We've been fooled, my boy. The policestation—and run like the devil."

And three minutes later an astonished sergeant woke up from aslight doze as two somewhat breathless men came dashing in. "HasPC 005 made a report, Sergeant?" cried Standish.

The Sergeant gaped at him stupidly.

"No, sir. He's not been in here since he started out on hisbeat. A report about what, if I may ask, sir?"

"Murder," said Standish shortly. "Mr Sanderson's beenmurdered."

"What's that? Mr Sanderson murdered?" came an incredulousvoice.

Inspector McIver had entered from another room.

"Hullo! Mr Standish. And you, Captain Drummond. What's thisyou say, gentlemen?"

"Come straight along with us, McIver," said Standish. "Thereis not a moment to be lost. He's been killed in his own house,but I want to stop at one of the partially built ones half-waythere. Stabbed in the eye, McIver," he explained as they started."It's one of the most amazing crimes of modern times, as you'llsee for yourself in a few minutes. But first of all I want you tohave a look at this. Now then," he said as he led the way overthe rubble, and Drummond flashed his torch on the unconsciousman, "who is that?"

"PC 005," grunted McIver. "What the devil is the meaning ofthis?"

"He's been chloroformed," said Standish quietly, "with thesole object of stealing his uniform. And the man who stole itcalmly interviewed us in his role as a policeman in the roomwhere Mr Sanderson was murdered."

"Quick," said Drummond, "darned quick. This is beginning tolook like the goods."

"Why should he want to interview you?" demanded McIver.

"Lots of reasons. Perhaps he didn't know how many of us werethere: I don't know what the butler told him. But he wanted toget back into that room unsuspected. And he did so. Then he foundfour of us..."

"Four," echoed the Inspector.

"Yes," said Standish. "You know Mr Leyton, don't you, McIver?A great friend of mine. Tall, thin man."

"And you certainly know Peter Darrell," remarked Drummond.

"Yes: I know most of your friends, Captain Drummond," saidMcIver grimly. "Are they at the house now?"

"No," remarked Standish gravely. "Bill Leytonfelt—er—a bit ill, and he and Mr Darrell left aboutan hour ago."

"An hour," cried McIver. "Do you mean to say..."

And the words died away on his lips as he suddenly feltDrummond's vice-like grip on his arm.

"Not a word," whispered Drummond. "Look there."

They had reached the gate of Sanderson's house, and Drummondwas pointing at the lighted window.

"Get back under cover," he muttered. "That's the room wherethe body is, McIver, and there are men in it. I saw their shadowsmoving."

CHAPTER II

THEY crouched down in the shadow of some bushes,staring at the house.

"Three of 'em," said Drummond in a low voice. "The Lord hasdelivered them into our hands."

"Couldn't be the butler and your two friends, I suppose?"whispered McIver.

Standish shook his head.

"Most improbable," he answered. "And if they are, there's noharm done. The point is, how we're going to get into the house.The front door is bolted with a Yale lock, and if we ring thebell the element of surprise has gone. I've tackled the back dooronce tonight: what about trying it again?"

McIver grinned faintly, but made no comment, and the three menkeeping close to the wall tiptoed round the side of the house. Asbefore, it was in darkness and Standish frowned uneasily.

"Where are Perkins and his wife?" he whispered. "I don't likeit."

For the second time he produced his peculiar-looking implementand inserted it in the keyhole, and once again McIver grinnedfaintly as the lock shot back.

"Quite a professional, Mr Standish," he remarked. "I didn'tknow that that was one of your accomplishments."

They crept along the passage only to stop suddenly as theycame opposite the kitchen door. For the fire had been made up,and by its light they could see the motionless figure of a womansitting in a chair. She was lashed to it with rope, and a clothhad been tied tightly round her mouth. But her eyes were open,and as she saw them an ominous glitter shone in them. Clearly MrsPerkins was not in the best of tempers.

"We'll set you free in a moment, Mrs Perkins," whisperedStandish. "But the first thing to do is to catch the swine. MyGod! what's happened?"

For there had suddenly come from upstairs a hissing, cracklingnoise, and shadows began to dance fantastically on the stairs.Then a great cloud of smoke eddied towards them, followed by astrong smell of burning.

"They've fired the house," shouted Drummond, dashing up intothe hall. The other two were just behind him, and the next momentthey were all sprawling in a heap on the floor. They had trippedover something, and the something was the unconscious body of thebutler. And as they scrambled to their feet there came a mockinglaugh and the front door slammed.

"Get Perkins and his wife out of it," cried Drummond. "I'mafter 'em."

But when he reached the road all that he saw was the red tail-lamp of a car disappearing in the distance: the men had got cleanaway. Behind him the upper part of the house was like an inferno:flames were roaring out of the window of the room whereSanderson's body lay, and were rapidly spreading all along thestory. Then McIver appeared dragging Perkins, and a few momentslater Standish came round the corner of the house supporting hiswife.

"Petrol," said the Inspector shortly. "The place reeks of it.If only we'd waited here a minute or two longer we'd have caughtem."

"True, laddie," murmured Drummond. "But these two wretchedsouls would probably have been burned to death."

Windows had been flung up in the neighbouring houses, andMcIver, going out into the road, hailed a man opposite and askedhim to ring up the fire brigade. He had to shout, so great wasthe noise of the flames which, fanned by the wind, were nowsending out showers of sparks into the night. And then at lastfrom the distance came the clang of a bell and the fire enginearrived.

"I wonder what was the inducement that made them run such arisk?" said Standish thoughtfully. "We almost got 'em."

He was standing in the road with Drummond watching the firemenat work.

"Papers possibly," answered the other. "Don't forget the keyswere in my pocket, and that was a very substantial desk. They mayhave decided it would take too long to force thedrawers—they knew we must come back shortly—and sothey fired the place."

"Doesn't quite work, old boy," said Standish. "Since they usedpetrol they must have gone there with the intention offiring the house."

"That's true," admitted Drummond. "I wonder if Mrs Perkins canthrow any light on the matter?"

But that worthy woman was not much help. She and her husbandhad heard their hail as they left the house, and then veryshortly afterwards had again heard voices upstairs. Thinking theyhad returned, Perkins had gone up to the hall, and the next thingshe had heard was the sound of a fall. She had called out, andreceiving no answer had been on the point of going to see whathad happened when two men rushed into the kitchen and seizedher.

"Would you recognise either of them?" cried Standish.

Once again they drew blank. The men had been masked, and savefor the fact that one was tall and the other short she could giveno further description of them.

"So it boils down to this," said Drummond thoughtfully. "Theonly one of the whole gang that we should know by sight again isthe bloke who masqueraded as PC 005."

Nor was Perkins of any assistance: less, indeed, than hiswife. He had gone into the hall where he saw the outlines ofthree men. And he was on the point of switching on the light,when he received a stunning blow on the back of the head, andremembered nothing more.

"All the more fun, old lad," said Drummond earnestly toStandish. "I don't like these little performances when they aretoo easy. And unless I'm much mistaken the next move will comefrom them."

"What makes you think that?" said Standish doubtfully."Because they can't be sure how much we know," answered theother.

The fire, by this time, was more or less under control. Someof the bottom story was still intact, but the whole of the upperpart of the house was completely gutted. Naturally the end whichhad suffered most was the one in which Sanderson's room had been,and where the petrol had been poured. And even as they watched,the floor of his study gave way, and what was left of the deskand the rest of the furniture fell with a crash into the roombelow.

"Two hours at least, gentlemen, before anyone can get in,"said McIver, joining them. "Are you going to wait?"

"I don't think there's much use," answered Standish."Presumably we shall be wanted at the inquest, and you know whereto find us. And if you come round and see me tomorrow I can giveyou full details, though I warn you they aren't very full."

"You said he'd been stabbed through the eye," said theInspector.

"That's right. And it was done in the middle of a telephoneconversation with me."

"Most extraordinary," said McIver. "Well, the post-mortem mayreveal something if there's anything left after that blaze tohold a post-mortem on. Good night, gentlemen."

He turned away with a nod, and the two men pushed their waythrough the fringe of spectators that a fire alarm draws togetherno matter what the time or locality. And it was not until theyhad walked some way in silence that Drummond glanced sideways athis companion.

"Are you going to give him full details?" he saidquietly.

"Confound you, Drummond," laughed Standish. "I know whatyou're driving at. But you've got to bear in mind that I'm almostin a semi-official position."

"But not quite. That's just the point. And don't forget onething: even the police have been known to suppress evidence at aninquest when they think it undesirable for it to be made public.Laddie," he continued earnestly, "it would be nothing short of acrime to run the slightest chance of spoiling this show. I maysay that as a fairly good judge I have seldom known one startmore auspiciously."

"There are points about it, I agree, which promise well,"conceded the other.

"Certain things, naturally, you will have to tell: thetelephone conversation, the wound—all that does no harm.But as for his suspicions which he passed on to us concerning theexistence of this organisation, what is the use of mentioninganything about it? You know nothing more than that he hadsuspicions..."

"Which have now been amply justified," interruptedStandish.

"Exactly. Which is all the more reason why we shouldn't letthe other side know that we know they're justified. Lull 'em, oldlad, into a false sense of security. Then when we finally get onto 'em, we'll shake 'em to the marrow."

He waved a vast hand at a passing taxi.

"Let's go to your place," he remarked, "and have a spot whilewe talk it over."

Standish sat back in his corner and lit a cigarette. There wasundoubtedly something in what Drummond said. The case wouldinevitably cause a tremendous sensation in the papers: thedetails were so bizarre and extraordinary. But it was possiblethat if they kept their mouths shut over certain points publicinterest would die down after a few days, and as Drummond hadsaid, the other side would be lulled into a sense of falsesecurity.

That the other side was not to be sneezed at was evident.Their actions that night proved that they were bold to a degree:also that there were several of them. But, however bold theywere, he once again began to ask himself why they had run such afoolhardy risk in coming back to fire the house. It could nothave been a question of papers, for another reason besides theone he had given Drummond. Whoever it was who had done the murderwould have had ample time to go through all the drawers and getaway at leisure. What, then, could have caused them to take sucha well-nigh incredible chance? Was there some clue left behind inthe room that he had overlooked, and which it was imperative forthem to destroy: a clue which possibly the man masquerading asthe policeman had spotted? One thing at any rate was certain.Whatever had been their reason for doing it, they had succeededonly too well. No vestige or shadow of evidence remained forinvestigation.

"Our last remaining hope, as far as I can see at the moment,"he remarked as the taxi stopped, "is that PC 005 will be able tothrow some light on the matter. Though," he added grimly, "Idon't think it's likely. There is an atmosphere of thoroughnessabout these gentlemen that appeals to me."

"My dear fellow, they're the goods," cried Drummond. "And Isincerely hope you've seen the force of my arguments. Hullo!what's stung you?"

For Standish had paused in the doorway of his sitting-room andwas staring at his desk.

"Somebody has been at my papers," he said quietly. Drummondraised his eyebrows.

"Are you quite sure?"

"Absolutely certain. They are none of them in the sameposition as I left them."

"Your man, perhaps."

"He knows it's as much as his life is worth," gruntedStandish. "And confound 'em, whoever they are, they've forced allthe drawers."

Drummond let out a bellow of laughter.

"Gorgeous," he cried. "We very considerately gave them all ouraddresses and they've wasted no time."

"You'll probably find they've done the same to you," said theother.

"They're welcome to anything they can find in my rooms,"grinned Drummond, "provided they don't take my book of stories.But they aren't going to worry about me—at any rate not atpresent. It was you he was ringing up when they got him, and it'syou they're after at the moment."

Standish nodded thoughtfully.

"You're probably right there," he agreed. "Anyway, I see novast reason against a drink."

He walked over to the cupboard and produced two glasses. "Youhaven't perchance got a spot of ale, old lad?" said Drummond."I'd sooner have it than whisky if it can be managed."

"Sure thing," cried Standish. "There are a dozen Lager in thecorner. Help yourself."

He mixed himself a stiff whisky and soda, whilst Drummondopened a bottle of beer.

"Poor old Sanderson!" Standish sat down with his drink. "Ican't get over it. By Jove! he'll be a loss to the country."

"A loss for which payment is going to be extracted in full,"said Drummond grimly. "We'll get 'em, Standish: you can stakeyour bottom dollar on that."

He took a long drink of beer, and the next moment chokedviolently as a hand clutched his arm so suddenly that thecontents of his glass were spilled all over the carpet. He swunground: Standish was swaying beside him. His eyes were halfclosed, and he seemed to be trying to say something. Then with agrunt he pitched forward on the hearth-rug.

For a while Drummond stared at the recumbent figure dazedly:what on earth had happened to the fellow? He was breathingstertorously: his cheeks were flushed, and at first it seemed toDrummond that he must have had some kind of fit. And then as hebent over him he distinctly smelt something strange about hisbreath—something that was certainly not entirely due towhisky.

He straightened up, and stood looking thoughtfully across theroom. Drugged, and the drug was evidently no weak one. And if hehadn't been drinking beer they'd both be lying unconscious on thefloor.

The first shock over, his brain began to work at speed. Asalways in an emergency his head became ice cool, and though atthe moment there was nothing to be done it was his course ofaction in the next half-hour or so that had to be decided anddecided upon quickly.

He went to the door and opened it cautiously: there was nosound of movement in the house. Clearly, therefore, Standish'sfall had not aroused anyone. Then he returned to the fireplaceand once more bent over the unconscious figure. The breathing waseasier; the colour in the cheeks more natural: he had been caughtwith the most ordinary of age-old tricks. But why? What was thegood of drugging Standish, merely for the pleasure of drugginghim? To shut his mouth at the inquest? Absurd. Standish was theprincipal witness, and if he was unfit to give evidence theproceedings would be adjourned till he was fit. There must besome other more cogent reason than that, and as far as he couldsee there was only one that held water. The other side was goingto have a shot at kidnapping Standish altogether. They hadgambled on the fact that he would have a drink before going tobed, and they proposed at their leisure to remove him thatnight.

A grim smile flickered round Drummond's lips: it was asituation after his own heart. One obvious line of action stoodout: to call the nearest policeman and await furtherdevelopments. But as a stealthy glance through the window showedhim the figure of a man lurking on the other side of the street adifficulty at once arose if he took that line. There would be nofurther developments. And since the policeman would inevitablyassume that Standish was drunk and not drugged, it might prove alittle hard to keep him there the entire night. He would insiston putting Standish to bed, and then departing about his lawfuloccasions. Besides, his every instinct rebelled against such adefensive policy. Here was a chance to get information, and notto miss it. The point to be decided was the best way to set aboutit.

The man outside knew that he was there. He must have been seengoing in with Standish, and since there is no back exit from thehouses in Clarges Street he could not have left. So would it befeasible to leave ostentatiously by the front door: call up somemessage from the pavement to Standish, and then return later? Ifthe light continued for a couple of hours in the sitting-roomthey would assume that the drug had worked, especially if he madesome allusion from outside to Standish having a night-cap.

But here another difficulty arose. The street outside wasalmost deserted, and it would remain so for the rest of thenight. It would be next door to impossible for him to return tothe house once he had left it without being seen. Further, therewas no hiding-place where he could remain concealed and hope tofind out anything worth knowing. So that scheme would not holdwater.

What about going to ground somewhere in Standish's rooms: thebathroom or his bedroom? Again he dismissed the idea. The others,if they came at all, would be bound to search the place, when hewould certainly be discovered. And though it might lead to apleasing rough house, that was not what he wanted. It wasinformation he was after: to see without being seen.

Suddenly the only possibility struck him. It was a risk, buttaking risks was the main creed of his life. What made himhesitate temporarily was a doubt if he could pull it off, and ifit was not successful he might get better results by one of themethods he had already discarded. Could he bluff them intothinking that he too was drugged? Remain in the room the wholetime and see what took place: see who came; get a line on whatthey were up against. Could he act sufficiently well to deceivethem? That was the crux of the matter.

Standish was now snoring peacefully, and he realised thedecision must be made soon. And for a moment or two Drummond waseven tempted to get a taxi and take him back to his own rooms.Then he dismissed the idea as unworthy of consideration: it wasworse, if possible, than calling in the law. He would chanceit.

Creeping on hands and knees lest his shadow should be seenfrom outside, he took his beer glass to the bathroom to wash it.Then still on all fours, he returned and half-filled it withwhisky and soda. He took the chair facing the door and placed theglass on the coal scuttle beside him. Then he suddenly noticedthe empty beer bottle, and once more he crawled across the carpetto hide it amongst its full brethren. There was nothing more tobe done now except to sit and wait.

The sound of the traffic from Piccadilly was growing less andless, and he glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Nearly two:how much longer would it be? He dared not smoke for fear it mightbe noticed, and as the minutes dragged on he began to wonder ifhe was not making a fool of himself. Were they coming at all? Hadhe misjudged the whole situation completely?

Three o'clock, and his head began to nod. He pulled himselftogether: to be found asleep would wreck everything. The fire haddied down, but to make it up would be fatal, though the room wasgetting cold. Everything must appear to be normally consistentwith them both having been unconscious for a couple of hours atleast.

And then suddenly there came a sound which made him wide awakein an instant. A car had drawn up just outside. He could hear thefaint purring of the engine; the opening of a door; finally thenoise of a key being inserted in the lock below. There was amuttered conversation on the pavement, and then the front doorwas quietly opened.

Now Hugh Drummond was about as free from the needle as anyliving man, but he felt his pulses quickening a little. Had hebeen able to meet these people—and every instinct told himthey were coming to the room he was in—had he been able tomeet them in the ordinary way as himself he would not have turneda hair. Two or four—numbers never mattered to him in theslightest. But to have to sit there pretending to be unconscious,unable to do anything whatever happened, was a very unfamiliarrole.

He let his head sprawl back on the chair in such a positionthat he could see with the minimum opening of his eyelids. Thenlistening intently he waited. The door was just ajar: the landingoutside was in darkness. And through his almost closed eyes hewatched the black opening.

A belated taxi travelling at speed passed in the distance, andthen, as the noise died away, there came the sharp crack of aboard from just outside. And the next instant he saw a man's facepeering into the room. It was their friend of earlier on, who hadimpersonated PC 005, and who was now dressed in his ordinaryclothes.

The door was pushed open, and he came into the room. "Allright," he whispered. "They're both here."

Two other men entered, and Drummond studied them cautiously.His breathing was heavy and regular: his limbs were relaxed; andafter one searching glance through almost closed lids to ensurethat he would recognise them again he shut his eyes completely.Were these the three, he wondered, who had fired Sanderson'shouse?

Of the two new ones, the first who came in was small andlooked like a ferret. He had a sharp nose and prominent teeth:his hair was sandy and his ears stuck out. Moreover, in sharpcontrast to the other two his clothes were shoddy. In fact, helooked rather like a cheap bookmaker's tout.

The third man on the other hand was the exact contrary. A tophat was slightly tilted on the back of his head; his eveningovercoat, complete with red carnation, was open, revealing awhite waistcoat and boiled shirt. His features were aquiline: hiseyes a strikingly vivid blue. But what might have been a verygood-looking face was spoiled by thin lips and a sneeringexpression. His character was plain for all to read: cold andmerciless to the last degree.

He approached Standish and turned him over with his foot,whilst the other two watched him: there was no doubt as to whowas the leader. Then he crossed to Drummond, and lifting up onehand pinched it hard. But Drummond, who had anticipated somethingof the sort, gave no sign, and with a grunt the man turnedaway.

"They're both under," he said curtly. "Which is which?"

"The one on the hearth-rug is Standish," answered the boguspoliceman, while the man like a ferret went to the window andpeered out.

"Who is the big guy in the chair?"

"His name is Drummond: I can't tell you more than that."

"You said there were four of them in Sanderson's house."

"So there were, sir. I suppose the other two have gone back totheir rooms."

There came the scrape of a match, and the man in eveningclothes lit a cigarette.

"You've been through all his papers?" he demanded. "Every one,and found nothing," answered the other. "I didn't think youwould. What he knows is in his head—if he knows anything atall. You say Sanderson was actually telephoning to him at thetime."

"So Number Four told me."

"And that over the telephone at any rate no information wasgiven?"

"That's so, sir."

The leader, having crossed to the desk, was going methodicallythrough the papers on it, and once again Drummond cautiouslyopened one eye. Ferret-face was still by the window, the othertwo had their backs to him, and for a moment or two he wastempted to take them by surprise. There would not be muchdifficulty in laying the pair of them out, summon the police andhave the whole lot arrested. But he hesitated. As yet he hadheard nothing of importance. Apparently some mysteriousindividual known as Number Four had murdered Sanderson, butobviously he was not one of these three. And there was still apossibility that some remark might be made which would give somevaluable information.

Evidently the man in evening clothes was one of the loudernoises in the gang: possibly even the loudest. Apart from the"sir," his whole demeanour placed him in a different class to theother two.

"When did you get your orders?" he demanded suddenly. "NumberFour gave them to me after he'd done the job," answered theother.

"Did they include laying out that policeman?"

"No. But it was necessary to get into the house somehow."

"You're a fool, Gulliver," said the man in evening clothessoftly. "The last thing you want to do in this country is tomonkey with the police."

"How else was Ito get in?" muttered Gulliver sullenly. "And myorders were to get all names and addresses, and find out anythingI could."

For a while the other made no reply, but continuedmethodically going through the papers on the desk.

"Did you find out anything?" he demanded after a while.Gulliver shook his head.

"Not a thing. But a man like Standish wouldn't be likely tosay much to an ordinary policeman in any case."

"Where is Number Four now?"

"I can't tell you, sir: I don't know. He handed me my orders,and then got straight into the car and drove off. A lady was withhim."

"What's that? A lady. What sort of a lady?"

The man in evening clothes had swung round, and his voice hadrisen.

"Couldn't see very well: she was all muffled up. Young, Ishould think; anyway, she had a very good figure. Golden hair,too: I saw that."

"Good God! it's impossible."

The other had risen and was pacing excitedly up and down theroom.

"She promised me," he muttered. "Damn it! she promised me.Look here, Gulliver, was she with Number Four when he didit?"

"I can't say, sir," answered Gulliver. "They were togetherwhen they came to the car, but whether she was with him when ithappened I don't know. Do you know who she was by anychance?"

"Mind your own infernal business," snarled the other. "Whatthe devil has that got to do with you?"

He continued to pace the room, and when he next spoke hisvoice was calmer.

"It was completely successful, was it? Sanderson was killedinstantaneously?"

"Clean through the eye, sir, just as if he'd been pole-axed."

"Good. I hadn't much faith in it myself, but evidently I waswrong."

The last remark was made almost to himself, and Drummond, halfopening one eye, saw that the man called Gulliver was lookingcurious.

"What is it, sir?" he said. "Is it something new?"

"It strikes me, Gulliver," answered the man in eveningclothes, "that you're going to get into pretty considerabletrouble shortly. May I ask you to repeat Rule Number Three."

"No member shall ask the business or question the orders ofany other member," quoted Gulliver sullenly.

"Don't forget it, my friend," said the other softly. "You getyour reward in strict proportion as to how you do your work. Howanother member does his is nothing whatever to do with you.Curiosity is only one degree less dangerous than treachery. Andlest you should doubt it, Gulliver, you will find if you searchthe papers tomorrow that there will be an account of a secondmurder in them. Not as important as Sanderson's: in fact, it willprobably be tucked away in a back page somewhere. You rememberJean Picot, Gulliver?"

"Yes," said Gulliver, moistening his lips.

"Tomorrow you will read an account of his death in an East Endbrawl. Most regrettable, and I am sure that no one will trace anyconnection between it and the flamboyant headlines announcing MrSanderson's. Which is where everyone will be wrong, Gulliver.Jean Picot was ill-advised enough to try to run with the hare atthe same time as he hunted with the hounds. So incrediblyfoolish," he continued even more softly, "as to give informationto Mr Sanderson. Well! he will give no more, and Mr Sandersonwill receive no more."

"You know I'd never split," muttered Gulliver.

"I don't think you will," said the other contemptuously. "Youhaven't the brains—or the guts. However—enough ofthis. Is the street clear, Jackson?"

"A peeler has just gone by, sir," answered the ferret-facedman at the window. "He's turned the corner into Curzon.Street."

"All right. I'll just finish going through these papers, andthen we'll get him into the car."

"What are you going to do with the big bloke, sir?" askedGulliver.

"Leave him here," said the other indifferently. "He's not thesort of thing one wants as a pet."

Silence fell on the room save for the rustling of the paperson Standish's desk, and Drummond began to do some rapid thinking.He had got a certain amount of information, though nothing ofmuch value. The existence of a criminal organisation had beenconfirmed, if confirmation was necessary, and he knew the namesof two of the members. Moreover, the features of the man inevening clothes were stamped indelibly on his memory, even thoughhe was still in ignorance of his name. But the point that nowarose was what he was going to do himself in the next fewminutes.

The advantages of remaining apparently unconscious wereobvious: he possessed knowledge which the other side did not knowhe possessed. But dare he allow them to remove Standish? Murderseemed to mean nothing in their young lives, and he could not runthe risk of allowing them to kill him. On the other hand, if theyintended to do him in why had they not done so at once?

Had he been in Standish's place he would have liked to chanceit, in the hopes of finding out something really important. Butin view of their very brief acquaintance he felt he was hardlyjustified in assuming that Standish would feel the same way. Andyet it went against the grain to sacrifice the advantage he hadgot.

Once more he half opened one eye, and the next moment healmost gave himself away. For Standish was staring at him, andhad quite deliberately winked. He was still sprawling on thehearth-rug breathing loudly, but since his face was turnedtowards the fireplace neither of the men at the desk could seehim.

Now what was the line of action? The effects of the drug hadevidently worn off, and Standish had been playing the samegame—lying doggo and listening. But it completely alteredmatters, for now there were two of them and they were both armed.It would be the simplest thing in the world to capture thelot.

Again he glanced at Standish, and this time he saw his lipsmove. And even to one who had no knowledge of lip language themessage was clear.

"Do nothing."

He closed his eyes: Standish had sized up the situation in thesame way as he would have done. He deliberately intended to allowhimself to be abducted on the chance of getting to the heart ofthings. So now they could both work from different ends.

"Nothing here at all."

The man in evening clothes pushed back his chair and rose.

"What's the time? Four o'clock. Get him below, and don't makea sound. Then cart him across the pavement between you as if hewas drunk. Just wait till I see it's all clear."

He went to the door and peered out.

"All right," he whispered. "Get on with it."

The two others picked Standish up, and Drummond could hear thesoft creaking of their footsteps as they carried him down thestairs. Then the front door opened and he heard them cross thepavement: the engine was started, and a few seconds later thenoise of the car died away in the distance.

He sat very still, conscious that the man in evening clotheshad not gone himself. He was standing on the hearth-rug close by,and after a while it required all the will power he possessed notto open his eyes. It was nerve-racking to a degree to feel theother man so near to him and not know what he was doing.

Suddenly he realised that the man was bending over him: hecould feel his breath on his face. Was it possible he suspected?For if he did Drummond was at a terrible disadvantage. At anymoment Sanderson's fate might be his.

He stirred a little and muttered foolishly: movement of somesort was imperative. And still the other man bent over him insilence, while the perspiration began to gather on Drummond'sbrow with the strain.

He rolled over with his head hanging across the side of thechair so that his forehead should not be seen, but he knew thathe could not stand it much longer. What was the fellow doing?What was he waiting for?

And then he felt the man's hand on his arm, and only by themost monstrous effort of will did he avoid clenching his fist.The man was feeling his muscles, much as a butcher might feel apiece of meat. And all of a sudden he began to chuckle softly tohimself.

The sweat was almost dripping on the floor, and yet Drummondmade no movement. Never in his life had he heard such adiabolical sound. There was madness in it: a sort of gloatinganticipation. But of what?

The man's fingers, like thin bars of steel, were travelling upand down his biceps and still that evil chuckling continued. AndDrummond felt he would willingly have given a thousand pounds tobe able to jump up and catch him one straight between the eyes.But it would not do: he must stick it. And then, at last,to his unspeakable relief the man moved away from him.

But he still remained in the room: Drummond could hear himmoving quietly about. Once or twice he knew the man was behindhim, but in the position he had rolled into it was impossible tosee anything even if he opened his eyes. Five minutes, or was itfive years, went by, and at length the ordeal was over. He heardthe man go down the stairs; the front door shut and his footstepson the pavement died gradually away.

With a sigh of relief he sat up in the chair, and stared roundthe room. The fire was out: he felt cramped and stiff. But thefearful tension of the last quarter of an hour was over, and thereaction was incredible. Never in his life had he been through aperiod of such unbelievable strain. And even now he was not quitecertain whether he had bluffed him or not. He felt that thebetting was that he had, but what had that devilish laughtermeant? Had it been the idea in his mind? Why, if he believedDrummond was unconscious, should it afford him pleasure to findout what sort of condition he was in?

He went over to the window, and keeping behind the curtainlooked out. The man who earlier on had been on the other side ofthe road was no longer there: the street was deserted. He couldgo whenever he liked, and a desire for something stronger thanbeer was beginning to make itself felt.

At the same time it would not do to run any risk. It waspossible that his own rooms were being watched, and if so acomparison of times would show that he had left Clarges Streetvery shortly after the man in evening clothes, a fact which wouldtend to confirm any doubts that gentleman might have with regardto his having been genuinely drugged. And so after due reflectionhe decided to wait at least another hour before leaving. Beer itwould have to be, and worse fates have befallen man.

He poured himself out a glass and sat down at Standish's desk.There were one or two points that had to be decided in his mind,and the first was what he was going to say at the inquestconcerning Standish's disappearance. One thing was obvious: hemust stick consistently to the line he had started on. He hadbeen unconscious the whole night, and knew nothing. Why had hebeen unconscious? He had been drugged through drinking Standish'swhisky.

And at that stage in his reflections he happened to glance atthe sideboard and his eyes narrowed. The tantalus was empty. Helooked at the coal scuttle where he had placed his own half-emptyglass: it had disappeared. So they had removed all traces of thedrug whilst he had been in the chair with his eyes shut. Probablythe man in evening clothes had done it after the others had gone:it would have been a simple thing to do without his hearing. Anyproof, therefore, of having been drugged was gone as far as theauthorities were concerned.

But did that matter? It was the opponents who were theprincipal factor to be considered. They knew that a drughad been placed in the whisky: they would at once suspect if hedid not mention it, even if it were incapable of proof. Theessential thing as far as they were concerned was that everythingshould be consistent with the fact that he had been genuinelydoped, and knew it.

A further point also arose: even when talking privately toMcIver the fiction would have to be kept up. The Inspector was agood fellow, but however tolerant he might be unofficially therewas no getting away from it, their action that night was mostreprehensible. They had had an easy chance of collaring three ofthe gang, one of whom at any rate had been guilty of a graveassault on a policeman. And they had not taken their opportunity,but had deliberately let it go. It was a bird in the hand withMcIver, especially when, as in this case, the two in the bushwere somewhat problematical.

However, rightly or wrongly they had done it, and havingstarted on the line there was nothing for it but to carry on. OnStandish's behalf he felt fairly confident: he struck him asbeing quite capable of looking after himself. It was a pity hehad not been able to get the number of the car, but it could notbe helped. It meant that Standish would have to play anabsolutely lone hand unless he could trace him by some othermeans. And as he recalled the conversation he had listened tothat night he had to admit that so far he had no vestige of aclue as to where they had taken Standish.

One thing, of course, had come out: the man in evening clotheswas not the head. There was a bigger man behind him—the manwho had given the orders for Sanderson's death. And for the deathof—what name had they said?—Jean Picot. A Frenchmanpresumably, and a low-class one if he had been killed in an EastEnd brawl. And yet he had been in a position to give informationto a man like Sanderson.

One thing it certainly tended to show: the gang was a largeone with wide ramifications. People from all sections of societyseemed to belong to it. The three who had been in the room thatnight were fairly typical of the upper, middle, and lowerclasses. What was it Sanderson had said to him: something whichbore that out?

"I've been finding clues in all sorts of unsuspected spots: inthe Ritz and in a doss-house down in the docks. And they'reconnected, but I can't get the connection at the moment."

And now, poor devil, he would never get it. Or perhaps he hadgot it, and that was why they had done him in. There was somemore of their conversation, too, that he recalled.

"The robbery of the Exminster pearls four months ago, and thepulling of Light Parade at Newmarket—not much resemblancebetween the two, is there? And yet I am as certain as I can bethat the same brain planned both. One was big, the othercomparatively small, though as a matter of fact a syndicate madea packet over pulling that horse. And there have been othercrimes—just as widely divergent, where one gets a tracehere or a trace there that points to one central control. Thething has been outside my scope up to date, but there areindications now that they are beginning to concern themselveswith things political."

"You mean Communism?" Drummond had asked.

"Not exactly—though a bit of that may come in as asideshow," Sanderson had answered. "Communism in this country isnever likely to do much harm: we're too level-headed. But it's apretty open secret that all is not too well with us financially,and that is a state of affairs which, under certaincirc*mstances, can be exploited with great advantage by theindividual."

Drummond rose and began to pace up and down the room. If onlyhe had paid more attention at the time, and taken Sanderson'swords a bit more seriously, the old boy might be alive now. Hehad hinted in that last conversation that he knew he was indanger, but then someone else had come butting in and Drummondhad drifted off. And now he was dead, and any information he hadgot had died with him. Something might perhaps be found in hisoffice in Whitehall, but anything like that would be kept tothemselves by the police.

Moreover, from what Standish had said to him he knewpractically nothing either: they were both starting completely inthe dark. And their opponents were evidently men who did not letthe grass grow under their feet, or, when they deemed itnecessary, stick at anything. It was going, in fact, to be a gameof no mistakes, and it was not the first time he had played underthose rules.

The faint grey streaks of dawn were beginning to show over theroofs opposite, and he decided that it would be safe to go. Soonce again he took his beer glass to the bathroom and washed it.And it was as he was returning to the sitting-room that he saw apiece of paper lying on the floor of the passage.

He stooped and picked it up. It had been torn off a largerpiece, and at first sight it seemed to be a mere jumble ofcapital letters. And then as he studied it closer he saw thatthere were two lines of writing—the top one in ink, neatlywritten, the bottom one scrawled roughly and almost illegibly inpencil.

 BMSMQYLIRPQMLQCMT GOTOSANDERSONSHO 

"Go to Sanderson's house."

It was not hard to supply the three final letters, and torealise what he held in his hand. Clearly it was part of theorders received by the man who had impersonated the policeman. Hemust have torn the paper up, put the pieces in his pocket andaccidentally dropped one on the floor.

Drummond sat down again at the desk and studied the messagecarefully. The ink letters had presumably been written by thegiver of the order: the pencil ones had been added by therecipient. And he wondered if messages were always sent incipher.

It was a subject of which he knew next to nothing. He had avague idea that E was the commonest letter in the Englishlanguage and that A, T, I, and 0 came next. And assuming that"house" was correct he had the cipher equivalent of four of thefive vowels. A was Y, E was R, 0 was M, and U was T. Only I waslacking. In addition to that he held the clue to seven of thecommonest consonants.

He lit a cigarette thoughtfully: this was a valuable find.Unskilled though he was in anything to do with decoding, even hecould see that, with his knowledge of eleven frequently usedletters, four of which were vowels, it should prove acomparatively simple matter to read any further message thatmight fall into his hands.

Presumably an expert would have been able to solve the thingwithout the pencilled solution below, though he dimly rememberedhaving heard that even the simplest cipher could defeat a manunless there was a good deal of it. Now if E was the letter thatwas used most frequently the solver would almost certainly havestarted on the assumption that M stood for it.

Inspired with enthusiasm, it struck him that he might find outstill more. Was there some regular sequence in the cipherletters? For instance G was represented by B. Now G was theseventh letter of the alphabet, and B was the second. Was thecipher letter always five in advance of the real one? But amoment's inspection caused him to scratch his head mournfully. Byno possible method could S be regarded as five in advance of T,and it was worse still when the little matter of A and Y croppedup.

"Blank, old sport," he murmured sadly, "blank as be damned.Solving these blamed things ain't your forte."

He put the paper carefully in his pocket-book, and took onefinal look round the room. McIver would almost certainly insiston coming to see it, and he wanted to leave nothing inconsistentwith his story. He remembered of old that the Inspector was ahard man to bluff, but he had done it in the past and he felttolerably confident of doing it again. There was nothing, so faras he could see, to give the show away, so switching off thelight he left the room.

He glanced searchingly both ways when he reached the street:no one was in sight. But Drummond was taking no chances, and thewhole way to his house in Brook Street he walked as if he wasslightly drunk. And when he finally let himself in he fumbled foran appreciable time with his latchkey. To the best of hisknowledge only a watering cart was about, but there were one ortwo small mews where a man could stand concealed and watch.

He closed the door behind him: the game would begin in earnestshortly. But in the meantime he wanted sleep. And his lastcoherent thought after he fell into bed was to wish Standishluck.

CHAPTER III

HE awoke about ten o'clock to find Peter Darrellsprawling in an easy chair reading a morning paper.

"By Jove! old lad," he remarked as Drummond sat up in bed,"you ought to let yourself out as a foghorn. I've never heardsuch an infernal row as you were making in my life."

"Dry up," answered Drummond. "Those were my deep-breathingexercises. How's that long, thin, warrior's face?"

"Haven't seen it this morning, but it looked like a Turnersunset when I left him last night. How did you get on?"

Drummond swung his legs out of bed and lit a cigarette.

"Peter, old son," he remarked, "we had the hellova time. Isthere anything in that rag about it?"

"Not a word that I can see."

"Nothing about them setting fire to the house?"

"The devil they did! No—there's nothing about ithere."

"I suppose the fire was too late for 'em to get it in.Anything about a policeman running around London in his pants?Oh! boy, we had a wonderful time, which finished up with themkidnapping your pal Standish."

Darrell looked at him in amazement.

"Kidnapping Ronald! Why the deuce did you let 'em dothat?"

Drummond went to the door and shouted for his man.

"Beer, fool, beer: I have already been awake for hours. Yes,Peter," he repeated, coming back into the room, "they kidnappedhim. In fact, old boy, bar that and one or two other smalltrifles, they put it across us good and hearty last night. Thankyou, Denny: turn on the bath, will you?"

"What clothes will you be wearing, sir?" asked his man.

"Something neat and tasty, Denny; something that will carryconviction at Scotland Yard, where presumably I shall have torepair shortly."

His servant left the room and Drummond took a long drink ofale.

"Do you mind explaining?" said Darrell resignedly. "Yousay—'bar that'. Kidnapping Ronald doesn't sound to me ascreamingly successful point to you."

"That, old lad, is where you are wrong. We did it onpurpose—with eyes open. At least I speak metaphorically: inreality they were shut. Their first score, Peter, was thepoliceman who interviewed us, who wasn't a policeman at all.After you two had gone Standish and I waited and waited andnothing happened. No one came: for the very good reason, as wediscovered later, that no one had been told to come. So at lastwe decided to breeze along to the station ourselves and pull outMcIver, and on the way we ran into the soul-shattering sight ofan unconscious and semi-naked man in large boots, who turned outto be the real policeman. Point one to them. They'd got our namesand addresses and gained an hour of valuable time.

"However, we toddled back with McIver, and as we got to thegate we saw shadows moving in the room where Sanderson's bodywas. So thinking we'd nab them we beetled round to the back doorand got in at just about the same moment that the men upstairswere starting the bonfire. And it was some blaze, believe you me.They had emptied a young reservoir of petrol over the place,having previously knocked out that old bird Perkins and lashedhis wife up in the kitchen. They must have been waiting forStandish and me to go, because we weren't away for more thantwenty minutes at the outside.

"Well, to cut it short, we just had time to get the two oldfruits out before the place was blazing like a furnace."

"And the men got clean away?"

Drummond nodded.

"They had a motor handy which must have been standing up theroad a bit without lights, because we none of us saw a car beforewe went into the house. So that was point two to them: any cluethey might possibly have left has been destroyed, for even beforeStandish and I left, the house was completely gutted.

"Then came their next little effort. I went back with him tohis rooms for a spot, and the instant he got in he noticed hisdesk had been tampered with. However, as he had nothing whichcould give anything away, that didn't amount to a row of pins,except that it showed rapidity of movement on the part of theopposition. Then came point three. Standish had a whisky andsoda, while I lapped up a beaker of ale. And, Peter, my lad,they'd doped the whisky. Our one and only Standish went down likea pole-axed bull and passed clean out of the picture. And it wasthen that little Willie did a bit of thinking. What was theobject of doping him unless they meant to come back?

"At any rate it was worth having a dip at. So I washed out thebeer glass: half-filled it with whisky and soda and sat down towait. I was going to sham being doped if they arrived, and see ifI could find out anything. And that is exactly what happened,though I can't say I found out much. Three of 'em came about twohours later: a man in evening clothes who looked capable ofmurdering his mother for the gold in her false teeth; the blokewho had done the policeman trick on us and whose name isGulliver; and a little sandy excrescence who looked like a ferretand answered to the name of Jackson."

"Do you think they were the three who had fired the house?"asked Darrell.

"The man in evening clothes, whose name I never heard, wasnot: that was clear from the conversation. With regard to theother two—I don't know: they may have been in the party.However, to get on with it: there was I playing 'possum in thechair and Standish stretched out genuinely on the hearth-rug.Well, it soon became evident that they intended removing him andleaving me, and I was just wondering if I'd have at 'em or notwhen I saw that Standish's eyes were open. The effects of thedrug had worn off, and he was doing just the same as Iwas—playing 'possum.

"Well, now there were two of us and we were both armed.Moreover, the man in evening clothes and Gulliver were chattingon this and that by the writing desk, with their backs to us. Soit would have been easy money to round 'em up. But your palwasn't having any, and he got it across to me to do nothing. He'ddecided, and I think he was perfectly right, to let 'em take himaway.

"Of course I don't know how long he'd been foxing and how muchhe'd heard. But it was clear to me that though the blighter inglad rags was pretty high up in the list of starters, there wereothers who were even higher. And presumably it is into theiraugust presence that Standish is to be introduced. I know it's arisk, but since he was on for it himself I think it was worthtaking, don't you?"

Darrell grunted.

"I should think you'll be as popular as a skunk in a drawing-room when McIver hears about it," he remarked.

"But, my dear Peter," said Drummond in a pained voice, "McIverisn't going to hear about it. Hasn't your mind yet grasped theelementary fact that I was drugged myself, and know no more whathappened than you do? I spent the night unconscious in one ofStandish's armchairs."

"Well," said Darrell doubtfully, "it's done now, old boy, andthat is all there is to it. But I can't help thinking you'd havescored a bit more if you'd pinched those three birds."

"Don't forget I know them," remarked Drummond, "and they don'tknow I know 'em. Except, of course, Gulliver—the shampoliceman, who we all know by sight. But it's the man in eveningclothes, Peter, that we're going to have a bit of fun with. Theothers called him 'sir,' and he's got some nasty habits. Whichreminds me. While I have a tub, cast your eye through that paperand see if there is any mention of a man called Jean Picot, whowas killed in a brawl down in the East End."

He wandered into the bathroom and Darrell picked up the paper.And after a few minutes' search he found it under "News inBrief":

"A man named Jean Picot was stabbed yesterdayafternoon in a fight in Mersey Street, a small slum runningparallel to Whitechapel. He died before reaching hospital. Thename of his assailant and the cause of the affair are unknown."

He read it aloud to Drummond, who listened thoughtfully.

"They're thorough, Peter," he said, "devilish thorough. Ican't tell you the name of the assailant or his number, but I cangive you the cause of the affair. Jean Picot had been givinginformation to Sanderson."

"You heard that last night?"

"I did. Also that a gentleman called Number Four murderedSanderson with some patent weapon that was being tried out forthe first time, and of the efficacy of which my friend in eveningclothes was doubtful. Further, the hairpin we found belongs to awoman with golden hair and a good figure, who I should thinkmeans something in his young life."

He came back into his bedroom towelling himselfvigorously.

"They seem to have chatted pretty freely," said Darrell. "Theydid. Evening Clothes in particular at one period got distinctlyshirty with Gulliver. He implied that a similar fate to JeanPicot's awaited anyone who started talking out of their turn. Soperhaps it's as well that he knows nothing about Gulliver'sbloomer. Look in my pocket-book, Peter, and you will there find ascrap of paper which he accidentally dropped in the passageoutside Standish's room."

"This piece covered with letters?"

"That's the one. Now Gulliver was given his orders by thismysterious Number Four, after Sanderson had been murdered. Hisorders were in writing and in cipher, and that bit of paperyou're holding in your hand is part of them. Very consideratelyhe has translated the cipher for us, so that it should not be amatter of vast difficulty for us to read any further messagewhich may fall into our hands."

"How do you know these are Gulliver's orders?"

"Because when Evening Clothes was ticking him off formonkeying with the policeman his excuse was that his orders wereto get into Sanderson's house. And as you see, the letters he hasscribbled in in pencil bear that out. That HO at the end must beeither house or home, and of the two I should think house was themore likely."

Suddenly Darrell gave a little exclamation and picked up thenewspaper.

"I may be wrong," he cried, "but I believe I saw something inthe agony column of the same sort. Yes: here it is. Now, is thatfrom the same source? It's a long line of capital letters."

Drummond bent over his shoulder and studied it.

IPHDTMICITYOOTIUNYIUT MNJICILPTNO 

"There you are, old lad," he remarked complacently. "With alittle care we'll solve it in our heads. Look at the key:wherever you see R put an E, which as you know is the commonestletter in the English language, and meanwhile I'll getdressed."

"All that you say may be correct," murmured Darrell a fewmoments later, "but there would seem to be one triflingdifficulty. There isn't an R in the whole blamed sentence."

"Not an R." Drummond paused with his shirt half on. "Theremust be an R. It stands for E. You can't have a sentence withoutan E. Look again, Peter."

"I'm looking. Moreover, I've put in the other letters, andwhoever wrote this has got 'em again."

 DR ODHDUA UD ADUO DHDNRU 

"You can't in common decency ask a man to Dhdnru."

"Don't be an ass," said Drummond. "You've probably got itwrong, you mutton-headed idiot."

"Try it yourself, old son," grinned Darrell. "But that's thesolution, as far as it goes, if your key is correct."

"Damn it—the key must be correct," cried Drummond. "Weknow that, because it makes sense."

"Then this can't be the same cipher," said Darrell. "Even ifwhat you say is right, and E is the commonest letter, we don'tget any farther. That would mean that I in the message stood forE and you get UE and AE. No, laddie, much as I regret to say it,this is a wash-out completely."

"Cut it out of the paper anyway, Peter," said Drummond.

"Somebody might have a brainstorm later. Hullo! who's that?"He paused in the act of putting on his tie and listened.

"I believe it's McIver himself. Put that bit of paper away,old boy: there's no good mentioning it to him."

The door opened and the figure of the Inspector could be seenin the passage outside.

"Good morning, Captain Drummond," he said. "I fear I'm alittle early, but the matter is rather important. Do you knowwhere Mr Standish is?"

"Come in, McIver," said Drummond quietly. "I was expectingyou. So Standish is not in his rooms?"

"I've just come from them. Not only is he not there, but hisbed has not been slept in."

"I was afraid of it," remarked Drummond. "McIver—theydrugged us both last night."

"Who drugged you and how?"

"Dope in the whisky in Standish's rooms. I had one when I gotthere, and so did he. And the next thing I remember was when Iwoke this morning in one of his easy chairs with a mouth like atallow factory. Of Standish there was no trace. Of course I was abit muzzy, and what I hoped was that he had come round before meand gone out for a walk to cool his head. But if he's not backthere now it looks rather bad."

"Are you certain he drank a whisky and soda himself?"

"Quite: I saw him do it. And since both drinks came out of thesame decanter it's pretty certain he was laid out the same asme."

"You saw nothing suspicious?"

"Immediately we got into his sitting-room. Standish noticedthat his papers had been tampered with," said Drummond. "Butbeyond that—nothing."

McIver frowned.

"This is the most perplexing affair," he remarked. "What thedeuce do they want to kidnap him for?"

"Because they don't know how much he knows, McIver. They'reafraid of what he might say at the inquest."

"And how much do you know, Captain Drummond?"

"Precious little," said Drummond frankly. "And I don't thinkStandish knew much more. There are one or two things that stickout a mile or so, of course. It's obvious that we're up against apowerful and utterly unscrupulous gang of criminals, and it'sfurther obvious that Sanderson was on their tracks. In fact, hesaid as much to me the other day, though at the time I didn't paymuch attention. Well, they've got him all right, and presumablybecause he was 'phoning Standish at the time they've removedStandish also."

"Did you see the wound in Mr Sanderson's head?"

"Both Mr Darrell and I did," said Drummond. "It was straightthrough the right eye, and death must have been absolutelyinstantaneous. It might have been done with some implement like avery fine stiletto, or with a very small-bore revolver, were itnot for the fact that Standish would have heard the latter overthe wire. By the way, has PC 005 sat up yet and takennotice?"

The Inspector grinned faintly.

"He's the sorest man in the London police force today," heanswered. "But he can't tell us anything. All he knows is that hewas suddenly set upon from behind just as he was passing thehalf-built house where we found him. There were two men in it,and before he could blow his whistle they'd got a cloth soaked inchloroform round his mouth and nose. And the next thing heremembers is coming to and being extremely sick."

"How long was it before they got the fire out finally?" askedDrummond.

"About an hour after you and Mr Standish left," said McIver."But the whole of that end of the house is merely a shell."Drummond looked at him thoughtfully.

"What do you make of it all, McIver?"

"Very much what you do, sir," answered the Inspector. "It'squite clear that we're dealing with a mighty dangerous bunch, andthat Mr Sanderson knew too much for their liking. Or at any ratethey thought he did. When he was talking to you about it did hesay anything definite?"

"No. He mentioned two or three crimes that have taken placerecently—one I remember was the Exminster pearlrobbery—and said he had reason to believe that they wereorganised by the same brain."

"He mentioned the Exminster case, did he? That's queer."

"Why?" asked Drummond.

"Well, as you know, sir, most of the big burglaries are thework of one of perhaps half a dozen men. And each of them has adistinctive way of working. The police can almost always tell bythe way a job is carried out which particular merchant has beenon it. They may not be able to prove it, but that doesn't alterthe fact that they know. Then they keep a very wary eye on thefence he usually employs, and sometimes get him that way. But inthe Exminster case it was different. None of the familiar traceswere about, and Andrews, who was on it, told me he was prettywell certain it was the work of a new man and an expert atthat.

"And there's another funny thing about that case," hecontinued. "Lord Exminster offered an enormous reward for therecovery of the pearls. They are family heirlooms and he is avery wealthy man. And the reward he offered was considerably inexcess of what the thief could get by selling them to a fence. Infact, it's doubtful if any fence in England would buy them atall: you can't cut pearls, and those stones are too well known.Moreover, his Lordship let it be known that if he got them backthere would be no questions asked. But he has never seen a signof them from that day to this."

"Possibly the thief is holding 'em and hoping for betterterms," said Drummond.

"Maybe. But the reward was ten thousand pounds, which is goodenough for the average burglar. No: I wonder if Mr Sanderson wasright, and the burglar was acting under orders from someoneelse."

"Then it would seem funny that the someone else didn't pouchthe reward."

"That depends on whether he wanted the pearls or the moneymost. With an average thief there would be no doubt aboutit—the money every time. But there have been cases—Iadmit I've never come across one myself—where the manbehind the actual working criminals was so big that money didn'tmatter. He employed men to steal works of art, for instance,which under no conceivable circ*mstances could he hope to sell,or even display to his friends."

"You mean he merely gloated over them in secret," saidDarrell.

"Just so, sir. He'd pay the man who did the job a lump sumdown, through one or even two intermediaries, and the transactionwas finished. And in all probability the actual criminal didn'teven know who he was working for."

Drummond lit a cigarette, and strolled over to the window.What McIver was saying not only bore out Sanderson's theory, butalso what he had observed himself. The allusion to other membersof the gang by numbers—presumably if there was a NumberFour there must be others as well; the giving of orders incipher; the reprimand to Gulliver because of his curiosity withregard to someone else's business—all tended to prove thatthere was a controlling force and very rigid discipline. Sorigid, in fact, that anything in the shape of treachery waspunished with death—vide Jean Picot. And for thefirst time he began to feel uneasy over Standish. Had the riskbeen justified?

He turned round as McIver rose.

"What are we going to do about Mr Standish?" he said.

"I don't see that there is anything we can do," answered theInspector. "He's a gentleman who is very capable of looking afterhimself, but I'm bound to admit I don't like it."

"I shall have to mention the drugging at the inquest."

"Most certainly, sir. There's no point in your not doing so.My hat!" he added with a short laugh, "this is going to supplythe papers with some copy. Well, sir, I'll let you know when andwhere you'll be required."

"Will you want me?" asked Darrell.

"Yes, sir. And the other gentleman, too—Mr Standish'sfriend. The post-mortem is today, and the inquest will betomorrow. And by then we shall know if there is anything in MrSanderson's office that throws any light on the matter."

"I doubt it," said Drummond as the door closed behind theInspector. "Sanderson wasn't the sort of bird who committedthings to paper: he carried them in his head. What aboutstrolling round and seeing Leyton, Peter: he ought to be toldwhat has happened to Standish."

"I'm with you," said Darrell, getting up. "But the more Ithink of it, old boy, the less do I like this stunt of his. Evenif he does find out where their headquarters are he's not goingto be allowed to get away with it."

Drummond grunted: the remark expressed his own thoughts rathertoo nearly for his liking.

They found Leyton eating breakfast very slowly and carefully,and Darrell's description of his face overnight still held. Everycolour from bright red to deep indigo was represented, and heapparently found it necessary to assist the working of his lowerjaw with his hand.

"Behold your handiwork," he remarked as they came in. "Ishould think that a year might see my recovery. You'll findcigarettes on the mantelpiece."

He uttered a sharp yell of pain.

"God! there's another bit of my face gone: I forgot I couldn'tturn my head."

Drummond regarded him with a professional eye.

"As pretty a bit of furniture throwing as ever I did in mylife, laddie," he remarked. "I mean, the fact that you were thevictim does not detract from it as a work of art. Have youthought how you are going to account for it at the inquest? Aslight tiff with the girl's brother, or what?"

"Take him away, Darrell," moaned the sufferer plaintively, "orI shall have a relapse. Where's Ronald?"

"Where, indeed," said Drummond. "Pay attention, old boy,because one or two things have happened since we parted."

And once again he ran over the events of the past night.

"So that's how it stands, Leyton," he concluded. "Peter thinkswe were wrong, and I myself am beginning to wonder."

"You didn't even get the number of the car," said Leyton.

"I couldn't. Evening Clothes remained behind with me, so itwas impossible to get out of the chair."

"Which means, then, that Ronald, in full possession of hissenses, and with a revolver into the bargain, was really beingguarded by two men."

"And the driver. Unless, of course, there was someone else inthe car who didn't come upstairs."

"I don't think you need worry," said Leyton at length. "If hewent into it as you say yourself with his eyes open, he'll comeout of it OK. And McIver knows nothing of this?"

"Not a word. And it's essential that he shouldn't. He would bebound to insist on it being mentioned, which not only will nothelp Standish, but will also wash out the one big card we hold.It's obvious that the man in evening clothes is one of their starturns, who, as things stand now, will not be on his guard againstme the next time we bump into one another. And if anything issaid about this, that advantage is gone."

"The point is, are you likely to bump into one anotheragain?"

"One can but look," said Drummond. "He had the expensive-restaurant appearance, and if the cause is good one is preparedto masticate a kipper in two or three of them nightly in the hopeof meeting him."

"But what do you do then, old boy?" objected Darrell. "Youcan't toddle up to him and introduce yourself."

"Peter," remarked Drummond, "you pain me after all theseyears. You leave all that part of the programme to littleHugh."

"And in the meantime," said Leyton, "there seems nothing forit but to wait and hope that Ronald gets away with it."

"That's so," agreed Drummond, getting up. "I'll send you up afew more pounds of steak, and I should think you'd better say youimpinged on a lamp-post when bottled. So long, old boy: you'll beall right again in a month or so."

He strolled out, followed by Darrell, and paused undecidedlyon the pavement. And then his eyes suddenly narrowed, though hestill swung his stick as before.

"We're being shadowed, Peter," he remarked, "as I ratherexpected we should be. Don't look round, but he's looking into aflower-shop window about twenty yards away. I noticed the sameman as we came here."

"What are you going to do about it?" said Darrell.

"Have a little fun and laughter to pass the time," answeredDrummond with a grin, walking towards a man in a blue-serge suitwho was now engaged in lighting a cigarette.

"Lovely blooms, sir, are they not?" he remarked affably. Theman stared at him.

"What the devil do you mean, sir?" he cried. "I don't knowyou."

"A great love of nature should be a sufficient introduction toenable us to dispense with more formal methods," said Drummondearnestly. "And when a man stands gazing at the hydrangeas orwhat-nots for twenty minutes, till his nose resembles apomegranate in hue, he is at once admitted to the noblebrotherhood of wurzel growers. Tell me, my dear new friend, haveyou ever shadowed anyone before?"

"Do you want me to call a policeman, sir?" spluttered theother.

"Rather: I'd love you to. But let's finish our little chatfirst. Where were we? Ah! yes—this shadowing business. Youknow, my dear sir, you're quite incredibly bad at it. I watchedyou with the greatest interest the whole way from my house, and Ishould love to know if I'm to have the pleasure of your companyfor the rest of the day. Because, if so, I must insist on yourgoing home to get an overcoat. Wait, you little rat, till I'vefinished."

The man writhed impotently, as Drummond's great hand closedround his arm.

"You see," he went on, "I'm going to my club in St James'sSquare, and I fear you'll find it somewhat cold waiting for twoor three hours. And I don't think you'd be very popular as atemporary member."

He relaxed his grip, and in a flash the man was gone.

"Come on, Peter," he grinned, "let's go and have one. There isanother of 'em we know, but I'm afraid the small fry aren't muchuse to us. What a pity Evening Clothes stopped behind last night:if he hadn't I might have been able to board the luggage grid ofthe car. But he's our hope, Peter, unless Standish pulls off thetrick. You and I will have to spend our substance in riotousliving until we bump into him again."

He stopped and bought a midday paper.

"Great Scott! they've got it all right. Look at theheadlines."

 AMAZING CRIME IN HAMPSTEAD HIGH HOME OFFICEOFFICIAL MURDERED HOUSE COMPLETELY GUTTED POLICEMAN CHLOROFORMED

He skimmed rapidly over the letterpress: it was much as hewould have expected. There was no mention of either Standish orhimself, though Perkins, in an interview, had alluded to fourstrange gentlemen who had been in the house when he returned fromthe cinema—gentlemen whose names he did not know. But theaccount ran to two columns and finished up with the announcementthat the elucidation of this unprecedented outrage was in thecapable hands of Inspector McIver, and further developments mightbe expected shortly.

They turned into Drummond's club, and the first person theysaw waiting in the hall was McIver himself.

"I must apologise, sir, for coming round here," he said, "butI went to your house to find you, and your servant said I'dprobably catch you at your club."

"That's all right, McIver," said Drummond. "Come into thisroom and we shan't be disturbed."

"Now, sir," began the Inspector when they were seated, "a verystrange development has taken place. Mr Standish has disappeared,and so I can't ask him direct, but you'll be able to tell me. Hewas quite positive, wasn't he, that he heard no sound, no report,when he was speaking to Mr Sanderson on the telephone?"

"That's so, McIver," said Drummond. "And that was why he wasconvinced that the wound was inflicted with an instrument."

"Well, sir," said McIver, "the post-mortem on what was left ofthe body has been carried out. It was charred, of course, beyondrecognition, but a great part of the head remained. And in viewof where the wound was it was on the head we concentrated."

He leaned forward impressively.

"Embedded in the brain, and not very far in, was found abullet of very small calibre."

"Which knocks the stiletto theory out of court," saidDrummond. "But if he was shot, why didn't Standish hear anyreport?"

"A compressed-air pistol," suggested Darrell.

"Or something fitted with a silencer," remarked McIver. "Thereare one or two very efficient ones on the market."

"Have you ever heard one being used, McIver?" said Drummond."Because if you have you'll know that the term silence is onlyrelative. They undoubtedly muffle the report very considerably,but not enough to prevent it being heard over the telephone."

"Supposing the man who was using it was some distance awayfrom the instrument," suggested the Inspector.

"That would mean that he was some distance away also fromSanderson," cried Drummond. "And you can hardly expect one tobelieve that the murderer, whoever he was, drew a large cannonfrom his pocket and took deliberate aim at one of Sanderson'seyes. By the way, how did the bullet enter the eye—directfrom in front?"

McIver nodded.

"Yes: straight from the front but a little upwards. Now itstruck me that Mr Sanderson might have been leaning backwardslooking up at the ceiling, as he was speaking into the receiver.Then he wouldn't have seen what the other man was doing."

"I see two objections to that theory, old policeman. I layclaim to a certain modicum of efficiency with most kinds offirearms, but just think of the accuracy of shooting necessary ifthe man was some distance away from Sanderson to plug him throughthe eye. Why, it's target shooting brought to a fine art. Hewould have had to take the most careful aim, and even ifSanderson was looking up at the ceiling, he would surely haveseen the other fellow focusing the young field gun."

"Supposing he didn't focus it: supposing he took a quick potshot which by luck got Mr Sanderson in the eye. What aboutthat?"

"It's possible, McIver," agreed Drummond, "but I don't thinkit's likely. And I'll tell you for why. If the bullet is of verysmall calibre, and has only gone in a short distance, there can'thave been much power behind it. Well, what was going to happen ifhe'd missed the eye, which was now more than likely with a quickpot shot. Damn it—he'd have done no damage at all. He mighthave chipped a bit off Sanderson's ear or peppered him on thecheek, but he wouldn't have killed him. And what possible objectcould there have been in doing that?"

He lit a cigarette.

"Just one moment before you speak," he continued, "becausethere is another thing that I think puts your theory down and outdefinitely. Death was instantaneous: so if he was leaning backwhen he was killed, why did we find him sprawling forward overhis desk?"

"I admit all the difficulties, Captain Drummond," said theInspector a little peevishly. "Nevertheless, the fact remainsthat a bullet was found in his brain, and it can't have beenthrown there. Therefore he was shot by some form of gun,revolver, or air pistol, which amongst other things was so nearlysilent that Mr Standish didn't hear it over the wire. But whetherit was fired at a long range or from close to it seems at presentimpossible to say."

"Agreed," cried Drummond, "but I know which I'm betting on.Close to, McIver: I'd lay a fiver to sixpence on it. Incidentallythere is one thing that I don't think Standish told you lastnight. We found a hairpin on the floor under the desk—abronze hairpin which did not belong to Mrs Perkins."

"So a woman was there?"

"Well, old lad," said Drummond with a grin, "I believe evenWatson would have deduced that."

"She may have done it," continued the Inspector unmoved.

For a moment Drummond hesitated: should he tell McIver all heknew? Better not: there was no point in altering the plan ofcampaign now.

"True," he said calmly, "she may have done it. Or she may haveassisted in the deed. Or she may have been there earlierand left before it happened. I don't think it takes us muchfarther. All we know is that a woman with golden hair or auburnhair was in that room some time last night."

Inspector McIver rose with a grunt.

"At any rate that is one positive fact which is something," hesaid. "Have you seen the midday papers?"

"I have," answered Drummond. "They've let themselves go allright, haven't they?"

"Nothing to what they'll be after the inquest when you'vegiven your evidence," cried the other. "You'll find yourselfkeeping reporters off with an umbrella."

"I've done it before," laughed Drummond. "So long, McIver:keep me posted if any fresh developments occur."

"I will. And that reminds me: I've circulated Mr Standish'sdescription to every Chief Constable, though I doubt if it willdo much good. His salvation is going to lie in his own hands, andno one else's. If they didn't stick at murdering Mr Sanderson,they're not going to stick at him either. And you'll probably bethe next on the list."

"Mother's little ray of sunshine," laughed Drummond. "See thatScotland Yard sends me a wreath."

The door closed behind the Inspector, and Drummond'sexpression grew serious again as he turned to Darrell.

"There's a darned sight more in what he says than I like, oldboy," he remarked. "Your pal Standish has got to pull through onhis own in this show."

"I thought for a while that you were going to tell McIverabout Number Four and the rest of it," said Darrell.

"If it would have helped Standish in the slightest degree Iwould have. But it couldn't have. He may literally be anywhere inthe British Isles. There's one point though, Peter, that strikesme. I think it would be a good thing to see Leyton once again. Heis the only available person who was really present at the timeof the telephone call, though McIver doesn't know it. And nowthat we know he was shot and not stabbed, it would be just aswell to find out for sure if Standish said anything at the timewhich throws any light on it. Because the more I think of thatwound the more amazing does it seem to me."

"I agree," said Darrell. "And so did Standish if youremember."

"Let's have a stoup of ale and then go round and see him."They found him applying fresh steak to his face, and told him thenew development.

"And what we were wondering," said Drummond, "was whether hesaid anything which would help."

"Let me get things in order," said Leyton thoughtfully. "Ianswered the telephone, and spoke to Sanderson. At least I assumeit was Sanderson: he said it was. But as I never knew him it mayhave been somebody speaking for him. I then gave the receiver toRonald, and he certainly spoke to Sanderson, or if it wasn'tSanderson it was to someone who could imitate his voicesufficiently well to deceive Ronald. And Sanderson asked Ronaldto go up and see him. Ronald said, 'My dear fellow! on a nightlike this.' Then Sanderson answered 'I've got' and nevercompleted the sentence. Instead there came a noise which Ronaldsaid sounded like a hiss, and the clatter of what was probablythe receiver hitting the desk. That's all I can tell you."

"Noise like a hiss," repeated Drummond. "That seems to pointto a compressed-air weapon of sorts, doesn't it?"

"Well, it completely defeated Ronald," said Leyton. "Ofcourse, he didn't know about the bullet being found inSanderson's brain, and thought it was a question of stabbing. Buthe got deuced excited over a bottle of ink without a cord, and apiece of blotting-paper in the basket with damp ink on it."

"What was the great idea?" said Drummond curiously.

"Ask me another, my dear fellow. The only thing I can tellyou, and Darrell will bear me out in that, is that when Ronaldsits up and takes notice over anything, however apparentlytrivial, there's generally some reason for it. But as far as I'mconcerned I don't quite see that it matters vastly. From what youoverheard, Drummond, when you were foxing they evidently triedout some patent brand of new weapon. And the damned thingsucceeded only too well. They killed the unfortunate Sanderson,and that's all there is to it."

"Not quite all," said Drummond quietly. "In fact very far fromit. And it's this point that I know was worrying Standish. Don'tyou see the almost inevitable conclusion that Sanderson must havebeen in ignorance of the fact that it was a weapon at all?"

The other two stared at him.

"The bullet went in from straight in front," continuedDrummond. "And as McIver sapiently remarked, it can't have beenthrown in. It must have been propelled along a barrel of sorts.And that barrel Sanderson must have seen in front of him,pointing at his eye for an appreciable time before the shot wasfired. Now do you mean to tell me that anyone, particularly a manlike Sanderson, is going to continue sitting calmly in a chairtelephoning when he's looking down the wrong end of a gun?Therefore he didn't know it was a gun."

"Even so," said Leyton after a pause, "I don't see that itmatters much."

"The devil you don't," cried Drummond. "Well—I do. If inaddition to being up against a gang who don't stop at murder, wehave also got to compete with a weapon which is unrecognisable asa weapon until it is too late, the dice are loaded pretty wellagainst us. Sanderson was no fool, and I don't think that any ofus can flatter ourselves that we would spot a thing that hedidn't. Hullo! old boy, you have a visitor."

Leyton swung round: a small and excessively dirty street Arabwas standing in the doorway.

"How the dickens did you get in, my lad?" he demanded."Through the door, guv'nor," piped the urchin. "Are you MisterLeyton?"

"I am."

"A bloke give me this 'ere note to tike to yer. Give me 'alf acrown, 'e did, and 'e said you'd give me anuvver."

He produced a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket andhanded it to Leyton, who gave an exclamation when he saw it.

"Good Lord!" he cried, "it's from Ronald."

"Hold hard a moment," said Drummond. "Now, my stoutheartedyoung sportsman, can you give us a description of the gentlemanwho gave you this note?"

"Medium-sized bloke, sir: bit red in the face. Broad 'e wasthough."

"What was he dressed in?"

"Blue-serge suit, sir; wiv mud on it."

"And where did you meet him?"

"Dahn in Bishop Street, near the Elephant and Castle."

"Sounds all right so far, Leyton. May I see the note?" Insilence the other passed it to Drummond.

"Tell Drummond to come as soon as he can. 34 Lower WoodStreet. Disguise if possible."

"You are sure this is in Standish's writing?" said Drummond."If it isn't, it's a very fine forgery," answered Leyton.

"Tell you one thing, guv'nor," chipped in the urchin eagerly,"the gent wot give me the note looked to me as if 'e was dodgingfor 'is life."

"What made you think that, infant?" demanded Drummond. "Way 'ewas looking over 'is shoulder all the time. Just like wot onesees at the pictures."

"Good. Well, here's half a dollar for you, and just listen tome for a moment. When you get into the street I shouldn't be atall surprised if somebody or other speaks to you and asks youwhat you've been doing up here, and what we've been talkingabout. And if anyone does, tell him to go to hell."

"Right-'o, sir!"

A grimy finger was raised in salute, and the next moment thelittle Arab had disappeared.

"I thought so," said Drummond, who had gone to the window. "Aman has stopped him. Damn it! the little blighter is taking moneyfrom him."

He peered through the curtains, and then suddenly grinned.

"OK," he remarked, coming back into the room. "He pocketed themoney, and then co*cked a snook at the donor. Now then, chaps,this requires thinking out a bit. I feel pretty sure in my ownmind that that note is genuine. If it was a forgery with the ideaof trapping me, surely they would have sent it direct to myhouse. But Standish, even if he remembered my address, which Idoubt, knew that the surest way of getting me would be throughLeyton, who is, so to speak, on our list of distinguishedinvalids."

"Confound you," laughed Leyton. "But to come back to the note;I'll swear that's his writing."

"At any rate we're going to act on the assumption that it isgenuine," said Drummond.

"Can you manage the disguise part of it?"

"Can I manage my foot? That's easy, old lad. The slightdifficulty at the moment is the undoing of the gentleman outside.He has got to be shaken off, and any friend of his who may beabout. So we'll try the simplest method first."

He went to the telephone and dialled a number.

"Hullo! is that Smith's hotel? Put me through to the hallporter, please, Dover Street entrance, at once. Is that you,Robins? Captain Drummond speaking. I want you to have a taxiwaiting for me with the flag down and the engine running in aquarter of an hour from now. Tell the driver that the instant Iget into the car he is to start at once without waiting for anyorders, drive down Hay Hill and into Berkeley Square, where I'llgive him further instructions. Got that? Good. And,Robins—get a good machine."

"What's the great idea?" said Leyton as he hung up thereceiver.

"As old as the hills, old boy," answered Drummond, "but itoften comes off. Smith's has another entrance in AlbemarleStreet."

CHAPTER IV

"BY Jove! Peter, that note from Standish hastaken a load off my mind," Drummond remarked, as ten minuteslater he and Darrell turned into Piccadilly. "I wonder what he'sfound out."

He stopped for a moment to look into a shop window, and makesure the follower was not lost.

"He's better than the other one, I think, but that ain'tsaying much: anyway, he's still there."

"What about a gun, Hugh?" said Darrell as they resumed theirwalk.

"I'll borrow one from Aaronstein," answered Drummond.

"Whom, by the same token, Peter, I want you to ring up for me.Tell him I'll be down in three-quarters of an hour, and I'll wantsome lunch. Any rig will do which will not attract attentionamongst the denizens of Lower Wood Street."

"Do you know where it is?"

"Not an earthly. But old Aaron has a very good map."

"Shall I come into Smith's with you?"

"Yes, please, old boy. And should the gentleman behind smell arat and try to follow me, stop him some old how."

They turned up Albemarle Street, with their attendant aboutten yards behind them.

"Shall I let McIver know we've had this note?" askedDarrell.

"Leave it for a bit, Peter, until we know what Standish's gameis. Maybe he wants to lie doggo, which would be impossible ifMcIver once hears he's free again. And as far as I'm concerneddon't worry if you don't hear from me tonight, but at the sametime stand by to act on any message you get. To prove it'sgenuine I'll sign it 'Cuckoo.' Here we are, old boy: keep youreye skinned on that bird. He may not know the architecture ofSmith's, but on the other hand he may."

The two men swung into the hotel and parted at once, Darrellremaining by the Albemarle Street entrance whilst Drummond walkedrapidly along the passage that led to the Dover Street one. Andit soon became obvious to him that the man did know the plan ofthe building and had spotted the trick. From behind cameDarrell's voice hailing him as a long-lost friend, and glancinground for an instant he had a glimpse of the man's face distortedwith anger, dodging wildly from side to side whilst Darrelldodged in time. Then he was in the taxi which was off in asecond. And he was the other side of Berkeley Square before hisinfuriated pursuer finally shook off Darrell and dashed out intoDover Street.

"A quid if you'll tell me where that taxi went," he shouted tothe porter.

"What, that taxi that's just gone?" said Robins blandly. "Withthe big gentleman inside?"

"Yes, you fool," snarled the other. "Quick—I'mpolice."

"Are you now?" remarked Robins with a wink at Darrell. "Well,that being so, you ought to know that divulging the destinationsof taxis is strictly forbidden in the regulations laid down forhall porters."

But the man had seen the wink, and with a venomous look atDarrell, who was grinning broadly, he disappeared.

"The Captain up to his old games, sir?" asked Robins. "Can'tkeep him off 'em," laughed Darrell. "Thank you, Robins: youworked it splendidly."

"The best machine I could get, sir, and I know the driver.He's a good man. Thank you, sir: though it's a pleasure to helpthe Captain at any time. He's clear away this time."

And though Drummond was even then thinking the same thing hewas far too old a stager to leave anything to chance. The Parkhad been his first order, and he followed it by doing a littletour of the less-frequented roads in Bayswater. And not until themachine had remained stationary for five minutes in an almostdeserted road did he feel absolutely confident that he'd got awaywith it.

"Dodging the wife, sir, or treasurer of a slate club?" grinnedthe driver.

Drummond laughed.

"Seems a bit like it, doesn't it? We will now go to thenearest tube station."

"Right, sir. Queen's Road."

His destination, the emporium of Samuel Aaronstein, lay in thepurlieus of Whitechapel. It was a peculiar shop, in whicheverything from a bootlace to a grand piano could be obtained,and one of the principal side-lines was the sale of second-handclothes. It was that that had first attracted him there, coupledwith the fact that old Samuel had the invaluable gift of holdinghis tongue. Many times in the past had Captain Drummond of BrookStreet vanished into a private room at the back of the shop toemerge later in one of Samuel's outfits as Mr Jones ofHoundsditch.

Moreover, the old Jew was perfectly honest, as he had oftenproved. It was quite safe to leave money or valuables in hischarge for any length of time: everything would be accounted forto the uttermost farthing.

The shop, as he had anticipated at that time of day, was notvery full: the evenings are the rush hours in those parts. Andwith a quick nod to Aaronstein he walked straight through intohis own particular room behind, where he was immediately joinedby the proprietor.

"Morning, Samuel," he said. "Has Mr Darrell telephoned?"

"Half an hour ago, sir. I've laid out three different rigsthat vill fit you."

"Good for you, Sam," cried Drummond, beginning to undressrapidly. "What are they?"

"Ordinary vorking man, Captain; commercial traveller;seafaring rig."

"Do you know anything about Lower Wood Street down Elephantand Castle direction? I'm going there, and I want the mostsuitable of the three."

"I'll go and ask young Joseph," said Aaronstein. "That boyknows every district in London."

He returned in a couple of minutes.

"Not the seafaring one, sir," he said, "but either of theother two. There are shops there and tenement houses, sovhichever you decide upon it von't be conspicuous."

"I'll chance the commercial traveller," said Drummond after amoment's thought. Number 34, he reflected, might be a shop or itmight not: if it was he could do the traveller act, if it wasn'the could pretend to be looking for a room.

"And I'll want a revolver, Sam: no good saying you haven't gotone, you old devil, for I know you have."

The Jew shook his head dubiously.

"Vell, Captain Drummond," he said, "you vill be careful, von'tyou? If the police knew I had firearms in the shop..."

"They won't, Sam: if any question arises I'll say I got it outof a Christmas cracker. Then I want a good map of London, andthat lunch which I trust Mr Darrell ordered."

"Certainly, sir; certainly. The lunch vill be ready in tenminutes: Rebecca is cooking it now. I vill go and hurry herup."

Over his meal Drummond studied the map. From Standish's noteit was clear that he thought he had been followed, otherwisethere seemed no object in suggesting disguise. And it wastherefore in Lower Wood Street that danger was to beanticipated.

Drummond marked its position clearly in his mind: the fewerquestions he had to ask the more likely was he to be taken for alocal resident. And the great thing was to attract as littleattention as possible. For though his ability to make up wasconsiderable there was one thing he could not disguise—hissize. And it seemed to him to be more than likely that anyone whowas keeping Number 34 under observation would have been warned tokeep a look-out for a big man going in there.

"Marvellous," said Aaronstein, returning half an hour later toremove the lunch. "Your own mother vould not know you,Captain."

"Not bad, Sam," agreed Drummond. "Give me the gun, and I'moff. Keep my things for me as usual."

The old Jew's praise was deserved: Drummond was a commercialtraveller to the last button. A moustache completely altered hisface, and by walking with a pronounced stoop he managed toconceal his height. And though he knew for certain that he hadnot been followed to Aaronstein's shop, he assumed his proposedrole at once. No mistakes was the order of the day, and the stoopwanted practice.

Lower Wood Street proved to be one of those depressinglocalities which abound in outer London. It was long and straightand featureless: two rows of drab houses, each one exactly likeits neighbour. At one end were a few cheap shops, and half-wayalong some stalls almost blocked one of the pavements. As usualthe houses on one side were even numbers, on the other odd, anddeciding that any watch that might be kept on Number 34 wouldprobably be from opposite, he chose the odd side for his firstsurvey.

The numbers at the end of the street where he had entered werehigh ones: his goal therefore was some distance off. And his planwas to walk right to the other end of the street, giving Number34 a preliminary inspection as he passed; then return on theeven-numbered side and begin playing his part.

The road was fairly crowded, particularly near the stalls, astate of affairs that cut both ways. It made him lessconspicuous, but the same thing applied equally to any possiblewatchers of Number 34. And one of his main objects was to try tospot those watchers if he could.

He reached the stalls: the house numbers had now reached thefifties. And at the last one he stopped, apparently listening tothe proprietor bawling his wares. But his eyes were busysearching the bit of road in front of him. Some children wereplaying in the gutter: two or three women were gossiping by anarea railing. But so far as he could see there was no one aboutwho looked in the smallest degree suspicious.

He walked on slowly until he was almost opposite his goal:then he stopped, and pulling a packet of Gold Flake out of hispocket he lit a cigarette. Was it his imagination, or had thecurtain in the sitting-room of Number 34 quivered slightly?

He strolled on: one thing seemed sure. Whether it had moved orwhether it had not, there was no one in the street who waswatching the house. He reached the end of the road, crossed overand retraced his steps. And at Number 20 he began to act hisrole. Specimens of table linen were his stock-in-trade, andfortunately none of the good ladies in any of the houses hecalled at evinced the slightest interest in them.

At last he reached Number 34 and rang the bell.

"Good afternoon, missis," he began, as a buxom, homely facedwoman opened the door.

But he got no farther: to his unqualified amazement she flunga pair of ample arms round his neck and kissed him.

"Why, it's Arthur," she cried. "Blessed if it isn't littleArthur come to see his old Aunt."

And simultaneously from a room behind came Standish's voice:"Play up, old boy."

Drummond needed no second bidding: he dropped his case ofsamples and kissed the old lady heartily in return.

"Aunt Marie," he exclaimed. "Well, I never did. To think ofthat now. When did you move here?"

"A year ago, Arthur. George," she called loudly to someone atthe back of the house, "here's Arthur. He's coming to have a cupof tea."

Drummond followed her inside and she shut the front door.

"Well done, Mrs Bordon," said Standish, joining them in thepassage. "I don't know whether we've bluffed 'em or not, but youcouldn't have acted better."

"Where are they?" asked Drummond.

"In the house opposite. Two of them. Jove! old man, I'm gladto see you."

He led the way into a back sitting-room.

"Not half as glad as I was to get your note," answeredDrummond quietly. "I had the needle badly all this morning. Youspotted me as I went up the other side, did you?"

"Yes. The instant you stopped to light that cigarette. Andthen, knowing you were coming here, I fixed that littleperformance with Mrs Bordon. She was my old nurse. This isn't theonly house you've been to, is it?"

"No. I called at seven others. I'm touting table linen."

"Excellent," cried Standish. "Any fresh news from yourend?"

"I see you've got the midday papers," answered Drummond, "soyou've read the official story. But there's one thing that willsurprise you: I heard it this morning from McIver. Sanderson wasshot: they found a small bullet in his brain."

"The devil he was," said Standish thoughtfully. "I did hear afaint hiss."

"So Leyton told me. But that will keep: let's hear what you'vebeen doing. For I don't mind admitting that we've all been damneduneasy. You see, the devil of it was that that blighter inevening clothes stayed on after the other two had taken you offand I couldn't even get the number of the car."

"You know who that was, don't you?" said Standish.

"I don't: do you?" cried Drummond, sitting up abruptly. Theother nodded gravely.

"Yes," he said. "I do. And when I saw him last night I verynearly gave the whole show away I was so dumbfounded."

"I don't know when you actually came to," said Drummond, "buthe didn't know you. He had to ask which of us was which when hecame in."

"No: he wouldn't know me. I was but a humble guest at the Citydinner at which he was the guest of honour two or three monthsago."

Drummond stared at him.

"Guest of honour! Then who the deuce is he?"

"Sir Richard Pendleton."

"Pendleton—the surgeon," cried Drummond in amazement;"man—you must be mistaken. What on earth would he be doingmixed up with that outfit?"

"Exactly what I've been asking myself all day," said Standish."I tell you I nearly gave it away last night when I realised whohe was. I'd been awake for quite a while before you spotted it,and I'd heard his voice. That sounded familiar, but of course Icouldn't turn round and see who it was. So I possessed my soul inpatience till the other two picked me up, and then I risked apeep. And there's no doubt about it, old boy, it wasPendleton."

"But it's incredible," said Drummond. "I've never happened tomeet him, but he dines out all over the shop. Half the women inLondon sit on his doorstep."

"I know all that," agreed Standish. "And there is only onepossible explanation to my mind. It's a case of Jekyll and Hydein real life. Mark you, there are quite a number on record. It'sa peculiar form of perversion, that's all."

"Well, if you're sure it was Pendleton, there's no more to besaid," remarked Drummond. "Let's hear what happened after theytook you off."

"They dumped me in the bottom of the car and we started. Andafter a while Mr Gulliver—the policeimpersonator—began to snore. A little later his friend MrJackson followed his example, and the situation became ratheramusing. There was the prisoner wide awake with a gun, whilst theguard slept peacefully. The driver was the only other occupant,and he was separated from us by a partition. The car was goingfast, but I couldn't tell in what direction until the sunsuddenly rose, and I realised by the shadow we were travellingsouth. I didn't dare move to see if I could recognise thecountry, because I was afraid of waking them, in which case itwould have been necessary to act at once. My object, of course,was to find out where they were taking me without letting themget me there. It struck me that wherever my destination was itwould be easier to get in than to get out."

"Exactly what struck us," said Drummond.

"Then came an extraordinary piece of luck: the car stopped andthey both woke up.

"'The damned gates are shut,' said Gulliver, and I heard thedriver get out of the car. The Lord had delivered 'em into myhands."

Standish grinned at the recollection.

"I had already taken the precaution of removing my gun from mypocket, so I plugged each of 'em through one foot—a painfulbut most efficacious proceeding."

"Gorgeous," cried Drummond. "Man, it's a pleasure to hunt withyou."

"I then got out of the car and had a look round. The din frominside was indescribable: the driver, with his eyes popping outof his head, was standing with the gate half open staring at me.And then the silly ass decided to have a dip himself: he let thegate swing to and came for me. That was short and sweet: a poorfighter. I got him one on the point of the jaw, and he departedinto a ditch that must have been very wet, judging by the splash.And after that I decided it was time to hop it: the band insidethe car was now playing fortissimo. I took a glimpsethrough the gate, and saw a big house in the distance: thenhaving put a shot into both front tyres I went off at a steadydouble up the road.

"I didn't know where I was—the country was quiteunfamiliar—but I'd found out all I wanted to. Sooner orlater I must come to a village, when I should be able to get mybearings. The danger was that I should be pursued before I couldreach it. I'd delayed that particular car, but it was almostcertain there would be another one available. And if mysupposition was right and I'd found their headquarters, it wasnot going to be long before that other one was on the road.Moreover, our friends struck me as being of the type that wouldnot hesitate to use a rifle if necessity arose.

"The gates were now out of sight, and the road stretchedstraight in front of me for half a mile. In the distance I couldsee the South Downs, but what was far more to the point was thatthere was a small but thick copse about a hundred yards away onmy right. And I decided to sprint for that. I knew they mustovertake me if I stuck to the road, and then I was for it. So Idashed across a field and went to ground in theundergrowth—just in time. For I had hardly disappeared inthe bushes when I heard the roar of a racing car coming from thedirection of the house. A big yellow Bentley came madly round thecorner, and for a moment or two I thought it was going on. Butthe people inside were no fools: they knew I couldn't have gotaway up the road in the time. The car halted about two hundredyards beyond the wood and six men came tumbling out, each onearmed with a shot-gun. And what was a darned sight worse, theyhad evidently spotted the wood as my most likely hiding-place,and they made a bee-line for it.

"The next few minutes were not too pleasant. I knew darnedwell that if they caught me they'd shoot on sight, and as theywere forming into a line of beaters the chances were all LombardStreet to a china orange that they would catch me.

"The undergrowth was the sort that looks dense from outside,but turns out to be quite thin when you're in it. So littleWillie did some pretty rapid thinking. I was close to the edge ofthe copse, and by the mercy of Allah I noticed a shallow ditchwith a hedge beside it that ran almost to the road. And keepingon the blind side of the hedge I left that wood at speed.

"I could hear the men behind me going through the undergrowthand I knew that if one of them happened to break covert I was agoner. But no one did, and I reached the road OK. And then camethe dangerous moment: get across the road I must, or they'd spotme as soon as they left the wood. Once again my luck was in: theditch I'd been following went under the road through a smallculvert. And so did yours truly: it was a bit of a tight fit, butI managed it.

"Now came the point. The road was above the level of the fieldthe other side, but there was no trace of cover. They would bebound to see me when they got back to the car. Should I stop inthe drain or what? Well, I didn't like the idea of that drain atall. They would almost certainly spot it, and that meant beingplugged sitting. So there was only one chance, and it had to betaken at once. Crouching down, I hared as fast as I could towardsthe car."

"Priceless," cried Drummond. "As I said before, you're apleasure to hunt with."

"Well—it worked. There was no one in the car, and I'vedriven a Bentley since the year dot. Of course they heard theengine start, and two of 'em came crashing out of the wood andlet drive. But the range was far too great, so I waved 'em atender farewell and trod on the juice.

"I drove for about a mile when I saw a village in front of me.And at that juncture I decided it would be safer to leave the carand walk. It was probably well known in the neighbourhood, and Iwanted to run no risk of the local policeman asking me how I cameto be driving it, especially as I didn't even know where I was,which would make it seem all the more suspicious.

"The village turned out to be a place calledFastington—one of those sleepy little Sussex places thatlie round the foot of the Downs. The nearest railway station theytold me was at Pulborough, and with that I got my bearings. I'dplayed a lot of golf there last summer, and knew a retired navalofficer very well who lives close to the links. So I hired anancient Lizzie, and drove to his house to see if he would send meup to London in his car.

"I found him in his garden dreaming of new and damnablebunkers to be added to the course, but when he descended fromthese realms of pure thought I got a set-back. His Lancia washors de combat: I should have to hire or go by train. So Idecided on the latter, and then asked him if he knew the name ofa man owning a large yellow Bentley who lived nearFastington.

"'There's a parson comes from there with a pronounced hook onall his drives,' he told me, 'but I think he's only got a babyAustin. And I did hear that some new tenant has taken the OldHall, but I don't know if he plays golf or not.'

"'Is the Old Hall a big house standing some hundred yards fromthe road in its own grounds?' I asked him.

"I gathered it was, and then departed for the station. Andhere is where the bad luck came in, for I am convinced it was asheer fluke. I got on the train, and it was just moving when,happening to look out of the window, who should I see but thechauffeur I had knocked out early that morning. He gave a violentstart: evidently he was just as surprised to see me as I was tosee him. But the devil of it was that he did see me, and boltedout of the station like a scalded cat. I couldn't get out: wewere almost clear of the platform. I could do nothing till we gotto the first stop, Horsham, at any rate. You see, I had hopedthat I'd completely shaken 'em off, and as I had no intention ofreturning to my own rooms in Town, I had intended to worksecretly from an unknown hiding-place. And now if this damnedchauffeur got through on the 'phone it might be possible for themto get someone on the train at Horsham. Which, I regret to state,is precisely what happened. That blasted engine positivelycrawled, and when we finally crept into the station there weretwo of the men who had been after me that morning. At least Irecognised one for certain.

"Well, I was in a carriage by myself, and had no intention ofhaving their company to London. So I was out like a flash andinto a full third non-corridor. It may seem a childish precautionto you, but I think we've got to get one thing pretty firmly inthe grey matter. We're dealing with a bunch who will no morehesitate to shoot openly than the 'on the spot' brigade in theStates."

"I agree," said Drummond quietly.

"That stung 'em as far as London, and then the fun began. I'mno slouch at covering tracks, but those two had me beat. And, ofcourse, they had one big advantage. They knew that I knew theywere shadowing me, and so they didn't trouble to disguise thefact. But at last I really thought I'd shaken 'em off in one ofthose small streets north of the Elephant. I was making for herethe whole time, and I scribbled that note the urchin gave you.But I'd reckoned without my friends: they had picked up the trailagain. And five minutes after I'd come in here I saw theblighters the other side of the street."

"Is there any bolt hole at the back?" asked Drummond.

"Only by climbing the wall and going through somebody else'shouse," answered Standish. "And as the old girl here doesn't knowthe people it belongs to, it's a bit awkward."

"Washing out the birds opposite for the moment," saidDrummond, "what are your ideas for the near future?"

"A closer investigation of the Old Hall," said Standishpromptly. "Tonight, if possible. And I hoped you'd come withme."

"It would take a machine gun to prevent me," grinnedDrummond.

"But," continued Standish, "it's imperative to dodge those twoblighters."

"We'll fix that: don't you worry. We've got just the sameadvantage as they have: no finesse is necessary. And now thatthere are two of us I suggest that we draw 'em from their lair:then go straight up to 'em and knock 'em out."

"Simple and direct," said Standish with a smile.

And even as he spoke his eyes narrowed as he stared throughthe windows into the area at the back.

"Duck," he yelled suddenly, and both men hurled themselves onthe floor as the glass shivered to pieces and a china ornament onthe other side of the room split into a thousand fragments.

Simultaneously the door swung open: in the passage a man wasstanding with a revolver in his hand.

"Against the wall, both of you," he said curtly. "Put yourhands above your heads."

And Drummond gave one short laugh. As Standish saidafterwards, it was the most amazing piece of shooting he had everseen, especially in view of the fact that the gun was a strangeone. Drummond fired from the hip, and with a fearful curse theman let his revolver fall from a hand which now had a shatteredwrist. And then he ceased cursing. Something that seemed like thebuffer of an express engine hit him in the face: he was liftedbodily off the ground into a hat-rack behind him, and collapsinginto its debris he lay still.

"So much for Number One," said Drummond quietly. "But I fearNumber Two has escaped us for the moment. By Gad, Standish,you're right about these toughs: they go for the big thing. Neverwanted to shoot quite so openly."

"They'll do anything to get us," answered Standish. "Lucky Isaw that swine outside in the dusk. Come on, old boy: let's legit now. If Number Two is round there the coast is clear infront."

He gave a hail to Mrs Bordon, and the next moment the two menwere in the street.

"This way," said Standish. "If that fellow who fired is comingback he'll take the shortest route. And as I live, there he isrounding the corner now."

"We'll out him," said Drummond briefly.

The man had seen them, and for a moment he stood hesitating.And that moment was fatal: a fox in the middle of a pack ofhounds would have had more chance. The two of them were on himlike a flash: came a thud and the sound of a breaking jaw; thenoblivion. And stopping only to snatch what looked like a heavywalking-stick from the unconscious man in the gutter, Drummondand Standish disappeared at speed into the gatheringdarkness.

"As tasty a five minutes as I can recollect," laughedDrummond, hailing a taxi. "That's larned 'em, old boy."

"Why Whitechapel?" cried Standish.

"To meet my old friend Aaronstein and become myselfa*gain."

Drummond was examining the stick as he spoke with aprofessional eye.

"A very pretty weapon," he remarked, passing it toStandish.

"A spring gun and about the most powerful I've handled."

"Can it have been this they did poor old Sanderson in with?"Drummond shook his head.

"McIver said the bullet was of very small calibre and onlyjust inside the brain. This thing would have blown the back ofhis head off."

Standish nodded.

"That's true. That weapon, whatever it was, defeats me."

"So it does me," said Drummond. "But what defeats me even moreis what you tell me about Pendleton."

"I grant you, it's amazing. But there's no possibility of mybeing mistaken."

"I wonder who the yellow-haired lady is," remarked Drummondthoughtfully.

Standish stared at him.

"What yellow-haired lady?" he demanded.

"Were you still unconscious when they were talking about herlast night? Gulliver mentioned her as having been with NumberFour just about the time when the murder was committed. Thehairpin must have been hers. And Pendleton seemed quite upsetwhen he heard about it. By the way, to go back to the weapon theymurdered him with, I can tell you this much. It's something newthat they were trying out for the first time, and Pendletonadmitted he was doubtful as to whether it would be asuccess."

But for the moment Standish's thoughts were not on themysterious weapon: he was trying to recall a piece of scandal hehad heard recently in his club.

"Is Corinne Moxton a blonde?" he asked suddenly.

"The film wench?" said Drummond in some surprise. "Very muchlyso, I believe. As a matter of fact, I was asked to a co*cktailparty this evening to meet her. But why the enthusiasm?"

"Because I heard her name coupled with Pendleton's the otherday," answered Standish. "A fellow in the club was talking, andmentioned en passant that the gentleman had a prettyexpensive taste in women."

"Even so," remarked Drummond, "I don't quite see therelevance."

"I was wondering if perchance she was the owner of thehairpin," said Standish.

"She's a fairly hectic mover, so I gather," answered Drummond,"but that's not saying that she is tantamount to being amurderess. If you like, I'll go to this bally party—much asI loathe 'em—and vet the lady."

"Who is giving it?"

"Some darned woman in Park Lane. I've got the card in thepocket of my clothes at Aaronstein's."

"You don't know if she knows Pendleton?"

"I don't. But she's the type that knows everybody one ought toknow."

"I wish you'd chance it, old boy," said Standish. "It reallywould be rather humorous if you ran into Pendleton himself. I'llstay at the place you're changing at."

"Right you are," cried Drummond. "I'll go and lower some ofthe old girl's gin. And here we are at Sam's. Follow me straightthrough the shop."

He paid off the taxi, and led the way to the room at the back.The shop was crowded, but he caught Aaronstein's eye and beckonedto him to come too.

"All yell, Captain?" asked the old Jew.

"Quite, Sam, thank you. This is Mr Standish, who is going toremain here for a time."

Aaronstein bowed obsequiously.

"Pleased to meet any friend of yours, Captain," he said."About tonight," continued Drummond to Standish. "Disguise ornot?"

"Not," said Standish. "If by chance they catch us a disguiseis no good, and if they don't it isn't wanted."

"Make it so," said Drummond. "Sam, send out that youngscoundrel of a son of yours for a gallon of ale. I've got a mouthlike a lime-kiln. Here's the card," he continued as the Jew leftthe room. "'Mrs Charles Dingle—to meet Corinne Moxton. Docome—angel man,' written in the corner. '6.30-9: Ever heardof her?"

"No, thank God," said Standish. "By Jove! old boy," he criedin genuine admiration as Drummond peeled off his shirt and vest,"you have got some muscle on you."

"Not bad," said Drummond modestly. "I keep pretty fit, thisway and that."

He paused, struck by a sudden thought. Standish's words hadbrought back those ghastly minutes that morning when the man henow knew to be Pendleton had run his fingers up and down his arm,and he heard again that devilish chuckling laugh of gloatinganticipation.

He retailed it, and Standish listened in silence.

"Interesting," he remarked after a while. "It may be that hehopes you will be involved in some trial of strength at which hewill be a spectator. It bears out that Jekyll and Hydetheory."

Drummond continued dressing as young Joseph entered with thebeer.

"And there's another thing I haven't told you about," he said,"which will keep you amused while you're waiting here. Are you anexpert on ciphers?"

"Pretty fair," said Standish.

"Then have a dip at this," cried Drummond. "The torn-off scrapwas dropped by Gulliver in your rooms, translation and allcomplete. The other came out of the Telegraph thismorning, and it struck me that it might be the same code.Unfortunately it makes absolute gibberish."

"I'll have a look at it when you've gone," said Standish."What we've got to fix now is where we meet tonight. We'll want acar, and mine is in the garage close by my rooms."

"Which are being watched for a certainty," remarked Drummond."We'll take mine: the garage is a quarter of a mile from myhouse. But I don't think it's wise to bring her down here: she'sone of those super-charged Mercedes and might seem a bit out ofplace in Whitechapel. Tell you what, old boy: you and I will goindependently by train to Epsom—it's on our road. We'lldine at the Crown, and I'll 'phone my warrior to take her there.How does that strike you?"

"OK, baby," said Standish. "I'll be there about eight."

"Good. I doubt if I'll manage it by then, but I'll make it assoon as I can."

Drummond sank a final pint of beer, and sighed.

"Now for Dingle's pestilential party," he remarked. "If thecursed woman 'angel man's' me in a corner Charles will be awidower. I only hope I recognise her."

And had it not been for the fact that she was standing justinside the door as he entered the drawing-room he certainly wouldnot have done so.

"My dear," she cried, "how utterly toothsome of you to come. Iexpect you know everybody, but it doesn't matter if you don't. Dokeep an eye for me on young Henry over there: I think he's goingto be sick."

"Is he the pale-green thing in the corner?" asked Drummondlanguidly. "If so, the catastrophe seems imminent."

"Corinne hasn't come yet," she continued. "Don't you thinkshe's too utterly ravishing?"

"Incredibly utterly," murmured Drummond, drifting away andleaving a new arrival in the place of honour. In a far corner hehad espied a man he knew slightly and he now proceeded to joinhim.

"Evening, Rogers," he remarked. "What an infernal crush."

"Didn't know you patronised this type of entertainment," saidthe other. "I don't myself as a general rule, but my wife wascrazy to see this Moxton woman, and dragged me along."

"What's she like to look at?"

"I've only seen her on the films, but she looks a fizzer onthem. By the way, what an extraordinary affair this Sandersonbusiness in Hampstead is, isn't it?"

"Amazing," said Drummond, and at that moment a sudden stir bythe door saved him the necessity of further elaboration. Theguest of the evening was arriving.

She was a strikingly beautiful woman, with a well-nigh perfectfigure, and she moved with an unconscious grace that was one ofher principal charms. In one hand she carried the smallestPekingese he had ever seen, and he was on the point of remarkingon it when Rogers chuckled.

"I thought as much," he said. "He's never out of her pocket."Drummond glanced at the door: Sir Richard Pendleton had just comein.

"Who is never out of her pocket?" he said indifferently as helit a cigarette. A bit of acting was going to be required in afew moments, and until then casual conversation with Rogers wouldhelp.

"Pendleton—the surgeon. That thin-faced blighter who hasjust come in. Charges you a thousand quid to do the simplestthing, and from what I hear he'll want it all. The lady hassomewhat expensive tastes."

"Is there a Lady Pendleton?" asked Drummond.

"Not so that one would notice," said Rogers with a grin. "Ibelieve there is one, but one never sees her. Hullo! you seem tohave attracted the gentleman's notice: he was staring quite hardat you, but he's looked away again now Do you know him?"

"Never met him in my life," answered Drummond, taking aco*cktail from a tray which a footman was presenting to him.

He looked casually across the room: Pendleton was whisperingsomething in the actress' ear. And a moment later her glancetravelled slowly round the people present: met his indifferentlyand passed on. But she had spotted him, and he wondered what thenext move was going to be.

It came fairly quickly in the shape of his hostess.

"My dear," she cried, coming up to him, "Corinne wishes tomeet you. Come and be introduced."

A bit blatant, he reflected, as he followed her across theroom, but presumably Pendleton regarded himself as perfectlysafe. And the next moment he was bowing over the film-star'shand.

"An honour," he murmured, "which I have often dreamed of inthe silent watches of the night, but never imagined would cometrue."

"Say, big boy," she said, "you're talking boloney. Have youtwo never met? Sir Richard Pendleton—Captain Drummond."

"Good evening," said Drummond. "Charmed to meet you, SirRichard—unprofessionally."

The other smiled.

"From what I can see of you, Captain Drummond, I don't thinkyou're ever likely to meet me in any other capacity."

"Say, Cora's thrown a swell party," said the actress, and foran instant or two Drummond studied her face. Beautiful: more thanthat, lovely: hair the colour of spun gold. Her eyes had astrange tint in them that was almost green. Her complexion wasflawless; her skin perfect. But—there was something:something he could not put his finger on that was wrong. Andsuddenly he realised that she was looking at him, and in spite ofhimself he felt his pulses quicken a little. There was nomistaking the message in those extraordinary green eyes, thoughit was only there for the fraction of a second, and for a momenthe almost forgot the part she had played in Sanderson's murder.For Standish was right: she must be the woman in the case.

"They certainly seem to be making whoopee all right," heremarked, putting down his empty glass. "Personally I'm not veryfond of crowds of this sort. Two seems to me to be the maximumnumber for pleasure."

"Come and see me some time, you big man," she murmured, "andwe might fix one of your parties."

Again came the invitation direct and unmistakable: then shemoved away as Sir Richard came up.

"Extraordinary, this case of poor Sanderson, isn't it?" heremarked. "I see they've got a lot of fresh evidence in theevening papers."

"And they'll have some more tomorrow," said Drummond, "whenI've given mine."

"Yours!" echoed the surgeon, amazed. "Why, what do you knowabout it?"

"A lot, Sir Richard," answered Drummond quietly. "I was upthere when it all happened."

"My dear fellow, you don't say so," cried the other. "Were youone of those four unknown men the butler talks about?"

"Sure," said Drummond. "There was a lot of fun and merrimentlast night, I assure you. And not content with murderingSanderson, I'm damned if the blighters didn't drug the whisky inthe rooms of a pal of mine who was also there. I know I dranksome, and passed out till six o'clock this morning."

"Astounding," cried the surgeon. "And what took you up therein the first place, Captain Drummond?"

"Vulgar curiosity, Sir Richard," said Drummond quietly, "whichis always reprehensible."

A footman was again bringing round a tray of drinks, and ifPendleton appreciated the snub he showed no sign of it as he tooka glass.

"Was your pal also drugged?" he asked.

"I should imagine so. At any rate, he had disappeared when Irecovered."

"Amazing: quite amazing. One doesn't expect to hear of thingsof that sort in England. I wonder who the miscreants are. Is thisfor me?"

The butler had come up to him with a letter on a salver.

"It's just been brought, Sir Richard," he said. "Urgent, themessenger said."

"Of such is a doctor's life," remarked Pendleton. "Will youexcuse me?"

"Of course," said Drummond, moving away a little. How verysure the man was of his own safety, and of the efficacy of thedrug in the whisky! And at that moment, happening to glance atthe surgeon's face, he realised that the note contained news thathad upset its recipient pretty considerably. Every drop of bloodhad left his face, and his teeth were bared into a snarl. Then ina second the mask was replaced, as he put the note in hispocket.

"No answer, thank you," he said, and the butler movedaway.

"Not an urgent call for your professional services, I trust,"said Drummond affably.

"No: not this time, fortunately," answered the surgeon.

His voice was completely normal: it was the look in his eyesthat gave the show away. For they were fixed almost questioninglyon the other's face, and Drummond knew, as surely as if he hadread it, that the note referred to the Sanderson affair even ifnot to him personally.

"Fascinating job yours, Sir Richard," he remarked. "I'vealways envied people who can use their hands for such delicatework."

"There is a fascination in it," agreed the surgeon. "But wecan't all be constructed alike. Your mitier, for instance,I imagine is more of the sledgehammer variety. To use a fishingmetaphor, you would go after tarpon where I go after trout with adry fly."

"Perhaps you're right," said Drummond. "Though, talking of flyfishing, I remember on one occasion going out with an expert. Hewas one of those merchants who could cast backwards and sidewaysbetween his legs, whereas when I wield a rod I generally connectwith the next bloke's ear."

"And what was the result of your day?"

"I caught the fish."

"Beginner's luck?"

"Possibly: or perhaps the value of the unexpected. The crackof my line behind me so amazed the little fellows that they cameto the surface to see what had happened, and I then stunned themwith the fly."

"I fear you would not repeat the performance," remarked thesurgeon.

"Once is sufficient for so many things in life, Sir Richard.The means of achieving one's end cease to be unexpected thesecond time."

"A philosopher, I perceive, Captain Drummond."

"In a mild way. But principally a believer in straightforwardhitting as opposed to guile. I stunned my fish: the poor littlething couldn't believe I was such a fool as to throw a fly sobadly. Whereas my wily companion was so full of cunning that hedefeated his own ends."

"Almost might one think that you speak in metaphors," said SirRichard softly.

"Good Lord! my dear chap," cried Drummond affably, "youflatter me. I'm not nearly clever enough for that. Ah! MissMoxton, here's Sir Richard telling me that I'm a brainy fellah,whereas my strong point is pushing a bloke's face in."

The actress who had joined them smiled.

"I guess it's a very useful accomplishment, Captain Drummond,"she drawled. "Some day you must let me see you do it. Don'tforget that little party we're going to throw together."

"It is graven on my heart," said Drummond. He bowed and wentin search of his hostess.

"I trust young Henry has succeeded in keeping his lunch down,"he murmured. "A wonderful party, my dear—but forgive me ifI run away."

He lounged through the room, and Corinne Moxton's eyesfollowed him.

"If you don't fix that, Richard," she said quietly, "I'llnever forgive you."

And had Drummond seen her face at that moment he would haveknown what that something was that was wrong. For it might havebeen used as a model for the quintessence of cruelty. Theexpression faded and she looked at her companion sharply.

"Say—what's stung you? You've got a dial like an EnglishSunday."

"Standish has got away," he said briefly. "I've just had anote to say so. And with him was a big man dressed as acommercial traveller. A big man," he repeated thoughtfully, hiseyes on the door by which Drummond had just left.

"You don't mean," she began.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"I mean that I would very much like to be able to read CaptainDrummond's mind," he answered softly. "Very much indeed."

CHAPTER V

STANDISH was half-way through his dinner whenDrummond arrived at the Crown.

"I didn't wait for you, old boy," he cried as Drummond joinedhim, "because I began to feel deuced peckish. What luck?"

"It's the fair Corinne all right," said Drummond, after he hadgiven his order to the waiter. "And what is more, she hasextended to me the order of the glad eye. Why, I don't know, butshe was very much come hither."

"Was Pendleton there?"

"He was. And I had a long talk to him. He struck me as being anasty bit of work. He pointed me out to her just after theyarrived."

Standish looked at him thoughtfully.

"He pointed you out, did he? And after that she gotfriendly."

"Mine hostess took me up specially to be introduced to thelittle dear."

"So that it is just possible," said Standish with a faintgrin, "that the fact that she has apparently fallen for you mighthave some ulterior motive."

"Laddie," remarked Drummond gravely, "your intellect staggersme. And so in order to assist her I suggested a little party `deux at some future date."

"And you don't think that Pendleton has the slightest ideathat we know about him."

"I don't think he can have; in fact, I'm convinced he hasn't.He may have nerve: he must have to be playing the game he is. Butsurely he couldn't have the unspeakable gall to have a longconversation with me in the middle of a large party if he thoughtI was wise to his movements last night. Oh no. He is absolutelyconfident in his own mind that we know nothing about himpersonally; but he is not so confident as to what we know aboutother things. He got a note while I was talking to him whichupset him considerably. And it struck me that he began to look atme in quite a different way after he'd read it. I probablyshouldn't have spotted it if I hadn't known about him, but thatnote concerned me or you or both of us."

Standish lit a cigarette, and was silent for a few moments:then he leaned across the table.

"Look here, old man, do you know what we ought todo?"

"Of course I do," said Drummond cheerfully. "Tell the police.Tell 'em I was lying when I said I was drugged last night; tell'em all about Pendleton; put 'em wise to your doings thismorning. But we ain't agwine to do it, boy."

"Why not?"

"Do you want little Willie to die of a broken heart? Do youwant my last feebly breathed curses to ring in your ears throughthe long years to come?"

"You blithering ass," laughed Standish. And then he grewserious again. "You mustn't forget, old boy, that it's a questionof murder."

"I don't," said Drummond. "But telling the police won't bringSanderson back to life, and as far as finding the murderer isconcerned, and other little points about our opponents, we arejust as capable of functioning as old McIver."

"Confound you," said Standish with a grin, "it's all wrong. Iadmit quite freely that I'm of your way of thinking, but what'sgoing to happen if we get scuppered tonight?"

"My dear old lad, it's all in the day's work. Must run the oddspot chance now and then."

"That's not quite the point. The devil of a lot of informationis scuppered with us. And that really won't do."

"I get you, Steve," said Drummond thoughtfully. "And I quiteagree with you. I've got an idea," he cried suddenly. "I'll goand 'phone Peter. He'll be mad as hell when he finds we're goingwithout him, but that can't be helped."

"What are you going to say to him?"

"Tell him about Pendleton, and that we're going to do a bit ofcreeping in Sussex tonight. I'll tell him to stand by for amessage, and say I'll use the word 'Cuckoo.'"

He glanced at Standish, and saw that he was weakening. "Have aheart, old lad," he cried. "Peter gets the news and we get ourspot of fun. So everybody's happy."

"Right-o!" said Standish resignedly. "We'll chance it."

"Stout fellah," cried Drummond. "Let's have a mug of port:then I'll ring up and we can push off. By the way, did you makeanything out of that cipher?"

Standish shook his head.

"Nothing at all, beyond the obvious fact that the two keys arenot the same."

"Do you think the one in the paper is from the same source asthe other?"

"I should think it's more than likely. But it stands to reasonthat if they are using the newspapers as a means of communicationat all frequently they are going to vary their code, otherwiseany darned idiot can solve it. And now we'd better get a move on.There's no good our arriving there after they've all gone to bed.Always provided," he added, "there are any of them left to go tobed."

"You think they may have bolted?" said Drummond.

"I shouldn't be at all surprised. Whoever is running this showmust know by now that those two beauties let us slip throughtheir fingers this afternoon, and that we're at large. And theirassumption would almost certainly be that the first thing weshould do would be to go to the police."

"Perhaps you're right," said Drummond. "And yet I don't thinkthat if I was the boss of the show I should bother to quit onwhat has happened up to date—police or no police."

Standish raised his eyebrows.

"Once granted that the Old Hall is their headquarters, which Iam convinced it is, an official search of the house might prove alittle awkward for them."

"And on what are you going to base your demand for an officialsearch? The fact that you plugged two birds through the footoutside the lodge gate? The answer to that is, even if you getthe warrant, that the owner hasn't the faintest idea what such adastardly outrage has to do with him."

"We should find the two wounded men."

"Should we? Well, on that fact, old boy, I would definitelylay twenty to one against."

"And what about the six who came after me?"

"What about 'em? You have no proof that car-load came from theOld Hall. And, according to the owner, it most certainly did not.He again hasn't the faintest idea what you're talking about.Presumably some gentlemen out for a little early-morning bunnyshooting were quite justifiably annoyed when they saw a manpinching their car, and proceeded to loose off a couple ofbarrels in an endeavour to frighten him. His line would be thatthough these dirty doings had happened to take place close to hishouse, he had no more to do with the matter than if they'doccurred in Northumberland. I'm going to get on to Peter."

He went through the smoking-room, and Standish lit a pipe.Viewed from that angle, he reflected, there was a good deal ofhorse sense in Drummond's remarks. Provided the men concerned,particularly Gulliver and Jackson, were not discovered, a flatdenial on the part of the tenant of the Old Hall, that he was inany way mixed up in the affair, was perfectly feasible. And evenif they were discovered he could always take up the line that thedictates of humanity demanded that when two wounded men werefound outside his gates he should have them brought into thehouse.

"I've put old Peter wise to everything," said Drummond,joining him. "Told him where we're going, and all aboutPendleton. I've also warned him to keep his mouth shut, unless weget done in. Now let's go and find the bus."

Standish glanced at his watch.

"Nine o'clock. With luck we'll be there by eleven. And we mayas well take along that little toy we got this afternoon: thereare still some rounds in it."

The night was fine with a few clouds scurrying across the sky.The moon was due to rise in an hour, and would be almost full,which was all to their advantage, as the drive up to the housewas fringed with trees and undergrowth. Their plan was simple.They proposed to get off the car two or three hundred yards awayfrom the main gate, and let Drummond's chauffeur take it on inthe direction of Fastington. There were one or two by-lanes upwhich he could turn, and where he would be hidden from anyonepassing along the main road. They would then scale the wall, andafter that things would have to be left to chance.

Neither of them was under any delusions as to the risk theywere running, and it was characteristic of them that the nearerthey got the higher became their spirits. They were walkingstraight into the lion's den, and if anything went wrong theirchances of coming out of that den alive were remote.

"We're nearly there," said Standish at length. "In fact, Ithink that's the wall in front of us."

Drummond pulled up, and handed the wheel over to hischauffeur.

"You know what to do, Mervyn," he said. "Go on straight pastthe lodge gates, and then wait for us. And you may have to waitquite a while," he added with a grin.

The road was deserted, and as the tail-lamp disappeared in thedistance the two men approached the wall and examined it. It wasabout ten feet high, but fortunately there was no glass on thetop, and in a moment Standish was on Drummond's shoulders and ontop. He took a rapid look round: there was no one in sight. Thenlying across it he held down his hands to Drummond, who joinedhim at once.

Some bushes lay beneath them, and they lowered themselvesgently to the ground. Standish was carrying the rifle: Drummond'srevolver was to hand in his pocket, and they started off steadilyin the direction of the house. Fortunately the undergrowth wasnot thick, though blackberry brambles tore at their trousers. Themoon was shining fitfully through the clouds that scudded byoverhead: the trees were sighing and creaking in the wind.Otherwise all was silent.

Suddenly there came a sound which brought them both to astandstill. It was the deep-throated bay of a dog, and it wastwice repeated. It came from in front of them and from somedistance away.

"No Pomeranian did that," remarked Drummond thoughtfully. "AndI didn't reckon on live stock, did you?"

"I did not," said Standish, "and it's a nuisance. If once thebrute winds us it will give the show away, and we're to windwardof it."

They went on a little more cautiously, and Drummond was nowholding his revolver in his hand. The undergrowth was becomingthinner, though it still impeded their progress considerably. Andthen, but from very much closer at hand, the hound gave tongueonce again.

They stood motionless, peering ahead. A small clearing lay infront of them, and they skirted round the edge, and took coverbehind two trees. For something was moving twenty yards ahead. Acloud had obscured the moon, and it was impossible to seeanything, but they could distinctly hear the sound of some animalcrashing about in the undergrowth.

Suddenly the cloud cleared away, and the moonlight flooded theground in front. And now they could see the movement in thebushes, though whatever it was that was there was stillinvisible.

"If it scents us," whispered Drummond, "you let drive first,old boy. That machine of yours is silent."

They waited, and now it seemed as if the brute opposite waswaiting too. And then quite unexpectedly a huge mastiff came intothe clearing and stood facing them, its head moving slowly fromside to side. It was the size of a donkey, and Standish, therifle cuddled to his cheek, steadied himself against a tree. Itwas not an animal it would be wise to miss the first time.

It lifted its head, and again the deep bay rang out into thenight. Then it came towards them at a steady lope: it had spottedthem.

"Now," muttered Drummond, and from beside him came a sharphiss.

The hound paused for a second, only to come forward two orthree steps. Then it paused again, and this time its legs slowlygave from under it. It collapsed in the centre of the clearing,and they watched it twitching convulsively: then it laystill.

"Shooting," said Drummond tersely. "A pity, too, because it isa fine dog."

They approached it cautiously, but it was quite dead.

"One I'd sooner have as my own than meet as somebody else's,"said Standish. "But what I'm just wondering is what was causingall the excitement in the undergrowth there. It hadn't got windof us then."

They plunged into the bushes, and it was Standish who spottedit first. Lying half concealed was the body of a man, and histhroat had been completely torn out.

"Good Lord! it's Gulliver," cried Drummond. "Poor devil! Whata death."

But Standish was looking at him queerly.

"I didn't see any blood on that mastiff's muzzle," he said.Drummond stared at him.

"By Jove! you're right. There was no blood on him. What do youmake of it?"

"If that wound had just been inflicted blood would still beflowing."

"It may have been returning to its kill," said Drummond.

"Gulliver was never killed here," said Standish decidedly."There would have been far more blood on the ground. As you see,there is practically none. The thing was done somewhere else andthe body carried here."

"And the hound found it again."

For a moment or two Standish stood frowning thoughtfully: thenswitching on his torch he again bent over the body.

"My God! Look at his eye," he cried suddenly. "The same woundas Sanderson's.

"So it wasn't the mastiff at all," he went on slowly.

"How do you mean, it wasn't the mastiff?"

"That tore his throat out."

"How do you know?"

"Because no one unless he was crazy would have shot him in theeye after he was dead. Therefore he was shot first."

"Granted," said Drummond. "But what of it?"

"This," said Standish. "No hound would ever touch a deadman.

"By Jove! you're right," cried Drummond. "I hadn't thought ofthat. Then if it wasn't the hound—what was it that went forhis throat?"

"Exactly. What was it?"

"Queer doings," said Drummond thoughtfully. "What do you makeof it?"

"Supposing that mastiff hadn't found this body and giventongue, do you think we should have found it either? The chancesarc a thousand to one against. It might have lain here for daysundiscovered, and by that time it would have been almostunrecognisable. And when in the course of time someone didstumble on it the whole thing could then be put down to thehound: in other words, a ghastly accident. What is it?"

For Drummond had suddenly gripped his arm.

"I heard footsteps," muttered the other. "Quick—let'smove from here."

Like a shadow he vanished, and Standish who followed had onlyan occasional glimpse of him as he dodged through the bushes withthe uncanny silence of a cat.

"See and not be seen," breathed Drummond as Standish joinedhim. "That's the motto at present."

"It's about here," came a voice from the direction of the spotthey had just left. "And mind that damned dog. He'squeer—even with me. Brutus! Brutus! My God! Lookthere."

Two men came out into the clearing, and going over to themastiff bent over it.

"He's dead! Shot!"

"Who by?" cried the other fearfully. "Here—this ain't noplace for us. Hook it."

The speaker darted back under cover, followed more slowly bythe other, and as the sound of their footsteps died away Drummondlaughed.

"Wind slightly vertical," he remarked.

"Agreed," said Standish, "but it's a nuisance. They're hardlylikely to keep the news to themselves. So if we're going to havea closer look at the house, old boy, we'd better get a moveon."

"Spoken bravely, Horatio," cried Drummond. "Up and at it."

They pushed forward rapidly in the direction taken by the twomen, indifferent as to whether they were heard or not. In a fewminutes the inmates of the house would be bound to know thatsomeone was in the grounds, so the vital need for secrecy wasover. All that mattered now was that they should not actually beseen: the gun Standish carried was probably not the only one ofits kind.

After about two hundred yards the undergrowth began to getthinner, and they slacked up a little. And a moment or two laterthey saw the outlines of the house in front of them. It was alarge one, and to all outward appearances its occupants hadblameless consciences. Two of the downstair rooms werebrilliantly illuminated, and through the open front door lightstreamed out on to a big limousine standing in the drive.

For a while they crouched down watching. A man in eveningclothes came to one of the windows and leaned out, and shortlyafter two others joined him. A weather conference evidently, forthe first held out his hand to decide whether by chance it wasraining, and then they all withdrew.

"Too far off to see their faces, blast it," said Standish."Hullo! There they are in the hall."

The chauffeur had got down and was holding the door of the caropen, whilst the butler helped two of them into their overcoats.And then for a space the three of them remained in earnestconversation just inside the front door.

"If we move a bit over to the left we might get a glimpse ofthe two who are going," said Drummond. "The inside of the car islighted, and they may keep it so."

They skirted cautiously round the edge of the undergrowthuntil they were only a few yards from the drive. And they hadbarely taken up their position when the scrunch of wheels on thegravel announced that the car had started. They cowered down asthe headlights swung round and passed over them: they peeredeagerly out as the car came level.

Luckily the light in the back was still on, and they got aclear view of the two occupants. The one nearest them had a smallpointed beard and was smoking a cigarette: his companion, a long,hatchet-faced man, had an unlighted cigar between his lips. AndStandish, after one silent whistle of amazement,ejacul*ted—"Well, I'm damned."

"Who are they?" said Drummond curiously.

"The little man nearest us was Monsieur Julian Legrange, whooccupies an almost unique position in French politics. He holdsno portfolio, but his influence is enormous. Also, as one mightexpect, his knowledge of inside information is equally great. Theother one is an Irish-American millionaire by the name ofDaly—Jim Daly."

"What the devil are two men like that doing in thisoutfit?"

"I can't tell you, old boy. Though methinks the mystery ofSanderson's death is becoming a little clearer."

"But they couldn't be mixed up in that, surely?"

"Not directly, of course, though there is precious little JimDaly would stick at if his pocket benefited, and he loathesEngland like poison. No, what I meant was that the political sideof the matter is beginning to manifest itself."

"In the shape of the Frenchman?"

"In the shape of both. I grow more and more anxious to seetheir late host, for I'm thinking he must be an interestingindividual. A man of many parts, who can entertain for dinner oneof the most sought-after men in Europe, and at the same timecarry on with the odd murder or two. I'm glad we came, old boy: adevelopment such as that is the last I expected."

"Look at the house," said Drummond suddenly. "There are ourtwo beauties running round in circles in the hall and telling theproud owner the worst about the little dog."

The two men were plainly visible talking agitatedly to a thirdwhose shadow only could be seen. And the effect was rapid. Thefront door was shut, and the blinds were drawn down in the rooms,though the light still filtered out.

"Damn!" muttered Standish. "But we've got to see the gentlemansomehow."

"And we will, old lad: at least I will. You can't."

"What are you getting at?" said Standish.

"Too many people in that house know you by sight," answeredDrummond. "There are the birds that chivvied you this morning, tosay nothing of the two this afternoon who may be there, when Iluckily was disguised. None of 'em know me, so it's money forjam."

"But what do you propose to do?"

"Leave it to me, boy," said Drummond, grinning gently. "It'sjust the sort of show that Mother trained me for."

"It's madness, Drummond," said Standish uneasily.

"Madness your foot," remarked Drummond. "If there's anythingat all in the visit of those two guys who have just left, it'ssomething big and not too healthy. Now, there's no good kiddingourselves that the big noise in there is going to put his headout of the window if we go and sing a duet on the lawn. Thereforeif we're going to do anything about recognising him when we nextmeet him it's got to be done and done quick. You can't help forreasons already stated: so I'll function. And for the purposes ofthis entertainment you aren't here at all: I'm alone. So stayput, laddie, till I join you."

He dodged on to the drive, and then without any attempt atconcealment walked straight up to the front door and rang thebell loudly. That he was running a grave risk he knew, buttrifles of that sort were not in the habit of deterring HughDrummond. And it seemed to him imperative that at any rate oneperson on their side should be able to recognise the opposingprincipal by sight.

After a considerable delay, during which he thought he couldhear voices muttering on the other side of the door, it was flungopen by a butler whose evening clothes left nothing to bedesired—in fact, a man who looked a gentleman'sservant.

"Yes, sir?" he remarked coldly.

"There has been a spot of trouble," said Drummond, "and Iwould like to see the owner of the house for a moment."

"At this hour, sir?" said the butler, even more coldly.

"Naturally," remarked Drummond genially. "Since I wish to seehim now, it follows that I wish to see him at this hour. Does myreasoning seem faulty to you?"

"My master is not in the habit of receiving strangers withouta previous appointment at this or any other hour, sir," answeredthe butler.

"And I am not in the habit of being made to run for my life bywild beasts," said Drummond curtly. "Nor am I in the habit ofstanding on the doorstep chatting of this and that with butlers.So get a move on, my lad, unless you want a belt in the jaw thatwill keep you on bread and milk for the next week. Tell yourmaster that Mr Atkinson wants to see him, and that if, by chance,he does not want to see Mr Atkinson, the said Mr Atkinson willreturn in an hour or two with several members of the Sussexconstabulary."

For a moment or two the butler hesitated, and then seeing thatDrummond had already pushed past him and was glancing round atthe heads that lined the walls, he closed the front door.

"Kindly wait here," he said.

"I intend to," answered Drummond, still studying the trophies."Get a move on."

He heard a door open and shut behind him, and took a quicklook round. From a room on the other side came the sound ofvoices, but except for that the house was silent. A big staircaseoccupied half one end of the hall: a door beside it led evidentlyto the kitchen quarters. Over the fireplace, in which some logswere blazing, hung a large oil painting of a man dressed inclothes of the Stuart period, and in the centre a big bronze bowlfilled with ferns stood on a refectory table. In short, the wholeatmosphere of the place was what one would expect in an ordinaryEnglish country house.

At length a door opposite opened and the butler reappeared."Will you come this way, sir," he remarked. "Mr Demonico willreceive you."

The room into which he was ushered was in striking contrast tothe hall. The heavy scent of hot-house flowers filled the air,and the heat was stifling. Moreover, the whole furnishing schemewas the very last one would have expected to find after what hadgone before, especially in a room belonging to a man. Heavybrocades adorned the walls: glass cabinets containing enamel andother objets d'art stood in the corners, and on a table inthe middle was a beautiful cut-glass bowl containingpotpourri.

Seated in a chair on the other side of a roaring fire was astrange-looking individual, whose first and most dominantcharacteristic was his almost incredible baldness. He seemed toconsist of a brightly polished white dome to which a body wasattached as an afterthought. His eyes were concealed by darkglasses: he was clean shaven. But once over the hurdle of thathairless head it was the man's hands that attracted one'sattention. Long and clawlike, the nails were manicured like thoseof a woman to the extent of being varnished pink, and on thethird finger of each a magnificent ring glistened in the softlight.

For a few seconds Drummond stared at him fascinated. Thebutler had withdrawn: he was alone with this incredibleapparition. And then he pulled himself together: Mr Demonico wasspeaking.

"I am at a loss to understand this intrusion,Mr—ah—Mr Atkinson," he said, "but my man tells methat you forced your way in after making some rambling remarksabout the police. May I ask you to state your business with theutmost expedition, as your presence here offends meintensely."

His voice was soft and melodious, but in it there lay a noteof deadly menace.

"Sorry about that, Mr—ah—Mr—sorry, but theold footman wilted a bit over the introduction, didn't he?However, my business is to speak to you in honeyed accents aboutyour live stock. Are you aware that but for some fine agility onmy part I shouldn't be here."

"Then I wish to God you were not quite so agile," remarked hishost languidly.

"Not good, laddie," sighed Drummond. "I hoped for betterthings from you than taking such an obvious opening. To resume.Are you aware that I've been chased all over your confoundedgrounds by an animal that looked the size of an elephant?"

"May I ask what you were doing in my grounds at all?"

"Certainly; certainly. No secrets shall mar our friendship.Motoring along the road, carefree and with song burstingoccasionally from a heart full of joie de vivre, therecame an ominous spluttering: a pop or two: then silence. Irealised I was out of juice. Now I had recently passed yourplace, and so I decided to walk back and see if perchance I couldborrow sufficient petrol from you to get me to my destination, mydear old aunt's house near Pulborough. Still yodelling merrily Imade my way up the drive, when to my horror a large animal which,as I say, seemed to me the size of an elephant, barred my pathand began to yodel also. Moreover, it didn't seem a friendlyyodel to me. And so, though I blush to admit it, I deserted thedrive and plunged into the bushes, uttering shishing noises totell it not to come too. Will you believe it,Mr—ah—Mr—well the same as before—thatthat stupid animal didn't understand my shishes: it followed mein a most tactless manner. Further, it ran much faster than Idid, and it suddenly dawned on me that I had a revolver in mypocket. I drew it, and to cut a long story short, I regret tohave to tell you that the elephant is defunct."

"How lucky for you," murmured Mr Demonico. "May I ask if youusually carry a revolver when visiting your dear old aunt nearPulborough?"

"Invariably," said Drummond. "She's deuced queer-tempered inthe morning. She bit the butcher in the leg the other day."

"For heaven's sake spare me your childish attempts at humour,"remarked the other, "and try to concentrate on one thing. What isyour object in inflicting this tissue of lies on me?"

"Lies be damned," cried Drummond. "If you send out you'll findthat that mastiff of yours doesn't think it a lie, and I wish toprotest most strongly against such a dangerous brute beingallowed to wander loose. If I hadn't been armed it might havekilled me."

"An eventuality I could have contemplated with perfectequanimity," said Mr Demonico. "You have, however, not answeredmy question. What is your object in inflicting this tissue oflies on me? I do not allude to the death of the dog, of which Ihad already heard, but to the rest of the rigmarole."

He lit a cigarette from a small enamel box on a table besidehis chair, and blew out a cloud of smoke.

"You see, Mr Atkinson," he continued, "your story crashes onone vital point. No one is allowed to pass my lodge gates underany pretext whatever without previous permission being given byme over the telephone. Therefore you must have climbed the wall.So will you be good enough to inform me, and at once, how youdared to be trespassing in my grounds at this hour of thenight."

His voice had sunk to a whisper: his head was thrown a littleforward, and the hand clasping his left knee seemed more talon-like than ever. And Drummond, watching him thoughtfully, realisedthat there was no good in prolonging the interview. His bluff hadbeen called, but it had succeeded in so far as it had enabled himto do what he wanted—to see the man now sitting oppositehim.

He rose, and lit a cigarette also.

"I fear your lodge-keeper must have been napping for once," heremarked. "Why on earth should I bother to climb your bally wall?However, since the dog is dead and did me no harm, I am preparedto overlook the illegality of your having such a dangerous bruteloose without warning possible callers. But the least you can dois to ante up a tin of petrol."

He stiffened suddenly: from outside had come a shout for help.And it seemed to him that it had been the voice of RonaldStandish.

"Dear me," said the man by the fire softly. "Can it be thatother people are visiting their old aunts at Pulborough?"

Without another word Drummond crossed to the door: if it wasStandish who had called out, rapidity of action would benecessary. And the door was locked.

He looked at Mr Demonico, still motionless in his chair, andsaw that an evil smile was twitching round his lips.

"Do you want me to break this door down?" he askedquietly.

"If you can, my friend, do so by all means. You appear to meto be a large individual. But I fear you may find, as others havedone before you, that it is easier for the fly to get into thespider's web than it is for it to get out."

Drummond took a run and charged the woodwork with hisshoulder, only to realise at once that it was hopeless. This wasno ordinary door, but one that had been specially fitted, and hemight as well have charged the wall itself.

"The window will serve equally well," he remarked, going overand pulling the curtains. And this time the man in the chairchuckled.

"So that's the game, is it?" said Drummond, as he looked atthe steel shutter that stretched from floor to ceiling. "Well,laddie, what's the great idea? Do we sit here all night?"

"We sit here," snarled the other, "for exactly as long as Ichoose."

"And what happens if I wring your darned neck?" asked Drummondpleasantly.

"We sit here," repeated Mr Demonico, as if Drummond had notspoken, "until I satisfy myself as to who you are, and what youwere doing outside there tonight."

A whistle sounded beside his chair, and he picked up aspeaking-tube. And as Drummond watched him listening to themessage, he saw his face change and realised instinctively thatthere was danger. But he said nothing, and having replaced thetube he pressed a button on the arm of his chair, and a momentlater there came a clang in the wall. A small metal grilleopened, through which Drummond could see two eyes looking intothe room. The man in the chair gave a rapid order in a languagewhich Drummond could not understand, and which to the best of hisbelief he had never heard before, and the grille closedagain.

And now Drummond was doing some pretty quick thinking: ifsomehow or other they had caught Standish, the situation wasundeniably serious. There was no hope of any outside help tillthe next morning, since there was little chance of Peter arrivingearlier; until then they would have to rely entirely onthemselves. And the devil of it was they were separated. Further,for all he knew Standish might have been knocked out, in whichcase everything depended on him.

The first thought that automatically came into his mind wasthat he was alone with Demonico and he had a gun in his pocket.Even without the revolver the man in the chair would be a childin his hands, and the possibility of using that fact as an assetfor bargaining struck him immediately. Instinctively his handwent towards his pocket and Demonico laughed.

"You pain me, Mr Atkinson," he said. "I really wouldn't if Iwere you. Surely you cannot be such a complete imbecile as toimagine that I should have remained in here alone with you allthis time without taking a few rudimentary precautions againstsuch an action on your part. You have been covered by two of mymen ever since you came into this room, and if you look carefullyround the walls you will see where they are. The grille thatopened is not the only one, believe me."

Drummond's hand fell to his side; he knew without bothering toconfirm it that Demonico was speaking the truth.

"This is beginning to bore me," he drawled. "And the stink inthis room is something grim. What is the next item in theprogramme?"

"One that I trust will not bore you, Mr Atkinson. In fact, Ithink I can guarantee that it won't."

"That's good," said Drummond. "Up to date this performancewould have been given the bird by an audience of deaf mutes. Icome here to ask for the loan of some petrol, and because I havethe common civility to tell you about the death of your hound,you keep me here as a virtual prisoner."

"Virtual is a good word," remarked the other with a faintsmile. "However, it won't be for long now."

Drummond stared at him.

"Before what?" he said.

"Before you get your tin of petrol, and resume yourinterrupted journey to your dear old aunt," answered Demonicopleasantly. "You see, Mr Atkinson, I am a great recluse,and I have to take precautions against strangers invading myprivacy."

He rose and walked to a desk in the corner of the room, andonce again Drummond's hand stole towards his pocket. Then hechecked the impulse: what was the use? That Demonico was lying hewas certain, but as things were, he was at a hopelessdisadvantage. A glance round the room had shown him one of thetwo open grilles, with the muzzle of a gun fixed on himunwaveringly. He was a sitting target without a chance ofescape.

If only he knew about Standish: it was that that was worryinghim. Had that cry come from him? Had they got him somehow? Ifthey had, someone in the house would almost certainly haverecognised him. And if Standish had been spotted, did Demonico*know that Atkinson was a false name? Did Demonico know that hewas Drummond, and therefore mixed up in the whole affair?

The whistle in the speaking-tube sounded again, and Demonicocrossed to it.

"Splendid," he said, as the voice finished. "Well, MrAtkinson," he continued, replacing the tube, "your tin of petrolis all ready for you. I have thoroughly enjoyed your littlevisit, and I can assure you that there is no companion to poorBrutus to annoy you on your return journey. So that being thecase, there will be no necessity for you to be armed. I musttherefore request you to remove the revolver from your pocket andplace it on the table beside you."

"Why the devil should I?" cried Drummond. "It's my gun."

"And it will be returned to you at the lodge gates by one ofmy servants," said the other gravely. "To be quite frank, MrAtkinson, you seem to me to be a very excitable young man, and Ihave a rooted objection to excitable young men withrevolvers."

"And what if I refuse?"

"Then it will be taken from you and not returned at the lodgegates. May I beg to remind you that you are still covered fromtwo directions, so that even the great strength you so obviouslypossess will avail you but little. And one other point. When youtake it out of your pocket hold it by the muzzle."

For a moment or two Drummond hesitated. He was convinced nowthat it was a trap, but what was he to do? He did not even knowwhere the second grille was, so that the hope of getting a coupleof shots through the two of them was not only forlorn butimpossible.

"I trust you will not exhaust my patience, Mr Atkinson,"continued Demonico. "I give you ten seconds to do as I tell you:after that you will be used as a target. My men are only awaitingmy order."

"It's a most monstrous thing," cried Drummond with well-feigned indignation. "And I shall certainly complain to thepolice about it."

He threw the revolver on the table, and the other picked itup.

"Certainly," said Demonico smoothly. "I would if I were you.Though you may find it a little difficult to explain to them whyyou wished to shoot your aunt."

He paused suddenly, and stood listening: a car was coming upthe drive. It stopped outside the front door, and into Drummond'smind there leaped a wild hope that it might be Peter. Demonicowas frowning: evidently he was puzzled himself as to who was thelate caller. And when the speaking-tube whistled again he pickedit up quickly.

"Who?" he cried. "At this hour?"

And then a slow smile spread over his face.

"Ask them to wait in the drawing-room," he said.

He turned to Drummond with the smile still on his lips.

"The calls of business, Mr Atkinson, are indeed exacting.However, you would doubtless like to have your tin of petrol andresume your journey. Good night: you will have no difficulty withthe door this time."

"What about my gun?" demanded Drummond.

"It shall be handed to you as I promised at the lodge gates.Good night."

He resumed his chair, and Drummond walked to the door. It wasno longer locked, and he walked into the hall, which was emptysave for a man by the front door. And he was at once acutelyaware of one thing: someone using scent had just beenthere—the perfume still hung in the air.

"This way, if you please, sir," said a voice in his ear, andhe turned to find the butler beside him. "The petrol is in thegarage."

Should he bolt for it? A glance at the man near the doorrevealed an unmistakable bulge in his coat pocket: he hadnot been disarmed. And what about Standish? He must findout about him.

With eyes that took in every detail he examined the place ashe followed the butler. Everything seemed normal, but with thatuncanny sixth sense of his he knew that it was not. He knew thathe was being watched by hidden eyes: he knew the house was alivewith men. But no sign of that knowledge showed in his face: notfor nothing was he known as one of the best poker players inLondon.

And now an intense curiosity was beginning to possess him:what was going to happen? That they were going to present himwith a tin of petrol and let him go was inconceivable: if thathad been the case Demonico would not have troubled to relieve himof his revolver.

They were now in a long passage with a door at the fartherend. There were no windows, and it seemed to Drummond that it wasa covered communication way between the house and someoutbuilding. Could it be the garage? Could it be that, after all,he was wrong, and they were going to let him go?

The butler flung open the door, and he found himself in a roomone side of which was occupied by a flight of wooden stairs.There was no light save that which filtered in from the passagethey had come along, but by that he saw another door in front ofhim the whole appearance of which seemed very familiar. Again thebutler opened it: there on the floor just beyond was a tin ofpetrol.

"There you are, sir," said the man, standing aside, andDrummond stepping forward picked it up. And even as he did so thesecond door clanged behind him and he found himself indarkness.

He stood for a moment cursing himself for a fool: thenreaching out his hand encountered a smooth cold wall. He ran hisfingers along it to find the door: all they met was a barelyperceptible crack in the shiny surface. And he suddenlyremembered his torch.

He switched it on, letting the beam travel round. And thefirst thing it picked up was a slanting red line above his headon one of the side walls; then the countersunk door he had justcome in by. He was in a squash court: the wooden steps outsideled to the gallery, and that was why it had all seemed sofamiliar.

He tried the door at once, but as he expected it had beenbolted on the other side. And once again he began to do somerapid thinking. Escape was impossible: he could not reach thegallery with his hands even by jumping.

He took a step backwards, and nearly fell over the petrol tin,which he picked up and put against the wall. Then still trying topuzzle things out he commenced to walk about. Why had they takenthe trouble to put him in a squash court? Was it just a prison,or was there some deeper motive?

There was no overhead glass, but at the back of the gallery hecould see the faint outline of two windows. There lay a way outif only he could get there—a way out which short-circuitedthe passage back to the house. And then another idea struck him.Using his torch he went carefully round the four walls to findout if by chance there was another entrance. But there was nosign of one: the court was a genuine one, untampered with in anyway.

Suddenly he stiffened and switched out his torch: someone wasgoing up the wooden staircase that led to the gallery. Helistened intently: more than one person was there. He backed intothe centre of the court, his eyes fixed on the window acrosswhich whoever it was would have to pass. He counted three dimshadows: then came the sound of a chair being moved: the audiencehad arrived.

There was no doubt about it now: the court was not merely aprison. Something was going to happen which the three spectatorshad conic to watch. And even as he arrived at that conclusion hegot a whiff of the same scent that he had noticed in the hall. Awoman was up there in the gallery—the woman who had justarrived by car. Could it be Corinne Moxton with Pendleton?

He stood undecided: should he call out to them and ask whatthe devil the game was? Or should he switch his torch on andendeavour to see them? And he was still trying to make up hismind when suddenly the court was flooded with light. But it wasnot the ordinary lighting which comes from the roof andilluminates the floor and the gallery equally. A powerful arclamp had been fitted at the top of the back wall in the centre,with the result that the gallery behind it was in impenetrabledarkness as far as he was concerned. Of the three spectators hecould see no trace, though he knew they were there behind thelight.

A pulse was beginning to beat in his throat, and he was whiteround the nostrils. Seldom in his life had Hugh Drummond been inthe grip of such overmastering rage. His great hands hungclenched by his sides: his breathing had quickened. Was somebodygoing to plug him like that, a sitting target? Or what was goingto happen? And the next instant he knew it was not the former.For the door in the back wall underneath the arc lamp was beingslowly opened.

CHAPTER VI

THE sight steadied him: if there was going to bea gladiatorial exhibition, the audience should have their money'sworth. And it would not be his fault if the result proveddifferent to what they expected. The door was still opening, butas yet he could not see who was outside. And it struck him thathis present position was strategically unsound. In an instant hewas across the court and standing by the door, so that when itwas fully open it would be between him and whoever was coming in.At any rate they would start fair.

A board close to him creaked slightly, and he saw the shadowof a head just beyond the edge of the door which was now at rightangles to the back wall. And at that moment came Demonico's voicefrom the gallery.

"Well, Mr Atkinson Drummond, let's see if you prefer this tothe dog."

So he did know: that point was settled anyway.

"I'm sure I shall, you bald-headed old swine," said Drummondcheerfully, at the same time dodging back a couple of yards.

It was a sound move: thinking he had located Drummond themaker of the shadow was round the door like a flash. And for asecond Drummond stared at his adversary aghast. He was a giganticindividual with the coarsened, vicious features of a lowdownprofessional pug. But it was not at his face Drummond waslooking, nor at the great torso and shoulders; it was at hishands. Encasing each of them was a canvas glove from which steelspikes stuck out front and back. The spikes were about an inchlong and sharp-pointed, and after that one momentary pauseDrummond moved, and moved quickly. The best method of dealingwith this gentleman would have to be thought out, and until hehad made up his mind anything in the nature of close quartersmust be avoided.

The man had slammed the door, and with an ugly leer on hisface he made a dash at Drummond, who quietly dodged. His brainwas working at top pressure sizing up the situation. This must bethe method by which Gulliver's throat had been torn out after hewas dead, and he had no intention of letting the brute experimenton a living specimen. But he was under no delusions: once get toclose grips and he was done for. The man was, if anything, longerin the reach than he: the instant those diabolical gloves wereround his throat it was the finish.

Outfighting, too, was out of the question: one back-hander tohis head that got home would lay him out. And still he dodgedeasily and methodically, keeping in the centre of the court,while Demonico's sneering remarks from the gallery kept up arunning accompaniment. A gladiatorial exhibition it was, with awoman as a spectator! And as the amazing unreality of it struckhim one of the gloves whistled past his face, missing him by thefraction of an inch.

He pulled himself together as Demonico laughed: that would notdo. The devil of it was that the man, in spite of his low type,was almost, if not quite, as fit as he was, and the thing couldnot go on indefinitely. Besides, all his opponent had to do if hewanted a rest was to go and stand by the door for as long as hepleased.

The door! Was there a chance of opening it and getting out? Itmeant putting himself in a hopelessly unfavourable position forat least a second while he tried it to see if it was bolted. Andonce again a glove flashed past his face, grazing his cheek anddrawing blood.

The blow roused him to fury, but it was the cool collectedrage of the born fighter. He did nothing rash, which would havebeen playing straight into the other man's hands, but it made uphis mind for him. He would take the offensive. And the first ideathat came to him was the ordinary Rugby tackle. He knew he couldbring the other down that way, but what then? Unless the manhappened to be stunned by the fall, it would mean close fightingon the ground, which was every bit as dangerous as if they werestanding.

And then suddenly his eyes fell on a small dark object againstthe wall—the tin of petrol. He had forgotten about it, andit dawned on him that there lay the germ of a plan. Stillfeinting and dodging he thought it out, and at last he got it cutand dried. A risk—but something had got to be done.

Little by little he began to breathe faster, and he saw a lookof triumph gleam on the other's face.

"Getting tired, Pansy face," grunted the other. "Best give itup and come and take your medicine."

He did not answer: his knees seemed to sag a little; but everystep took him nearer the door.

"He's going to try and bolt," yelled Demonico, and the mangrinned sardonically. But no trace of expression showed onDrummond's face, though it was exactly what he wanted them tobelieve.

Out of the corner of his eye he was measuring his exactposition: it was going to be a question of the fraction of asecond. He was gasping now, and after each move he swayed alittle.

At last he got to the spot he intended—half-way betweenthe door and the tin and about a yard from the wall. And then hefeinted in earnest. He made as if to spring for the door, and inthe same movement went the other way. Completely deceived, theman, thinking he had him, sprang too. And Drummond had the tin bythe handle, while the other, half off his balance, fell againstthe door. Came a grunt of rage: the tin was whirled roundDrummond's head, as if it was a feather, catching his opponentfair and square on the nape of the neck. And without a sound theman crashed like a log to the floor and lay still.

Drummond seized him by the legs and swung him clear of thedoor: to get at Demonico was his only thought. But that gentlemanhad waited not on the order of his going: by half a second he hadmanaged to get the bolt shot home on the other side of the door.And Drummond cursed savagely, but only for a moment. For thoughthis method of finishing him off had failed, he was still asitting target to anyone in the gallery.

Taking the unconscious man again by the feet he dragged himinto one of the far corners of the court. He took off the spikedgloves and flung them away. Then if necessary he could lift theman up and hold him in front of his own body as a shield. Itwould be a tiring proceeding, but there was no other possiblemethod that he could see of getting any cover, and even thatwould be totally inadequate if they sent an armed man into thecourt itself.

He stood listening intently: it was inconceivable thatDemonico would allow him to get away with it. But the minutespassed and there was no sign of anyone. And then suddenly fromfar away in the distance he heard the faint sound of shouting. Hetook a few steps forward: the noise was increasing. And to hisamazement he recognised Peter's voice, bellowing "Hugh" at thetop of his lungs.

"Peter," he roared, "I'm in the squash court."

"Coming, old boy. Where's the blinking door?"

He was just outside and Drummond heaved a sigh of relief: thelast half-hour had been a bit of a strain.

"The only way in is through the house," he shouted, "unlessyou break the window in the gallery."

"Right," came the answer. "With you in a moment."

Drummond heard voices outside, some of which he recognised:Algy Longworth's inane drawl; Ted Jerningham; Toby Sinclair.Peter had arrived with the old bunch, but why he had soprovidentially done so was beyond him. And where were allDemonico's men?

"Get on my shoulders, you blithering ass," came Peter's voice."And don't put your dirty foot in my mouth."

"All right; all right," bleated Algy. "But I'm not a ruddyBlondin."

There was a crash of breaking glass, and Algy's voice again."I've been and gone and cut my new suiting. Hugh, old boy, be ofgood heart; little Algy is coming."

"Hurry up, you ghastly mess," shouted Drummond.

"Where's the door?" cried Algy, scrambling into thegallery.

"Where it usually is in a squash court," said Drummondresignedly. "You don't imagine it's in the roof, do you? By Jove!Algy," he added a moment later as Algy came into the court, "Inever thought I should be glad to see you, but I am. What onearth gave you the brain-wave to come?"

"Peter will tell you," answered the other. "What's that in thecorner?"

"Little Willie," said Drummond grimly. "And I think he's goingto die. Anyway, we'll lock him in, so that he can do it in peace.Now we've got to move."

He bolted the door, and raced up the stairs to the gallery,followed by Longworth.

"Explanations can wait, chaps," he cried, as he landed on theground outside, "though I'm damned glad to see you all. Followme: we're going through this house with a fine-tooth comb."

He led the way round to the front door, with the others afterhim. And the first thing that struck him was that there was nocar in the drive. So two members of his late audience had gone:what about Demonico?

The front door was bolted, but half a brick through a nearbywindow served equally well. And then in a body they poured intothe house. The first room Drummond made for was Demonico's: itwas empty. And it was then that Darrell spoke.

"Three of them—two men and a woman—bolted in a carjust after we started to raise Cain," he remarked.

"Hell!" said Drummond. Clearly Demonico had got away too. Butwhere were all the others? Room after room they went into: thehouse was empty. And at last they held a council of war in thehall.

"Got clear away—the whole bunch," muttered Drummond,"though the only three who matter are the ones in the car. Theothers have probably scattered in the grounds. My God!" he criedsuddenly, "where's Standish? I'd forgotten about him."

"He's not in the house, anyway," said Darrell.

"Come on, boys," said Drummond, "though I'm afraid it's aforlorn hope. If he was all right he'd have joined us."

He made for the spot where he had left Standish: there was noone there. But the trampled-down bushes showed that a desperatestruggle had taken place.

"They got him," cried Drummond savagely, "but what the devilhave they done with him? Standish," he shouted, again and again,but there was no answer; and at last he gave it up.

"May Heaven help Mr Demonico when I get my hands on him," hesaid grimly. "All one can hope for is that the old lad's notdead. I heard him shout once, but I was in the house and couldn'tget to him."

A sudden idea struck him.

"What sort of a car had they got?"

"Some sort of big American," said Jerningham. "And they weregoing all out down the drive."

"Any hope of catching 'em? They're bound to be making forLondon."

"Doubt it," said Darrell. "But we might have a chance, if wetake your bus."

"It's down the road," cried Drummond. "Come on; let's hog itfor home and Mother."

But the start was too great: no trace of the car they wereafter was seen. And as they drove into London Drummond sloweddown.

"Tell me, Peter," he said, "what in the name of fortunebrought you and all those warriors on the scene soprovidentially?"

"You'll see when you get to your house, old boy," answeredDarrell, "provided she is still there."

Drummond whistled.

"She! We have a fairy in the place, then."

"And some fairy. I'll leave her to tell you the tale herself.But I'll explain the rest. About half an hour after I got yourmessage from Epsom, your bloke Denny rang me up to say that abird was on your doorstep asking for you urgently. So, knowingthat you weren't available, I thought the best thing to do was totoddle round and interview her myself. She told me a long yarn,when she'd made certain that I was to be trusted, lots of which Icouldn't make head or tail of. It mostly concerned CorinneMoxton, the film woman."

"Go on," said Drummond.

"I didn't know you even knew her," continued Darrell, "and Itold this girl so. Her name, by the way, is Frensham—DaphneFrensham. However, she was very insistent about it all, and whenshe began talking about the Old Hall I thought it was time to situp and take notice. So I roped in the lads and came down."

"Good for you, Peter. And I don't mind telling you, old lad,there is every indication of rare and refreshing times ahead. Youtold this wench to stop on at my place, did you?"

"That's the notion. As a matter of fact she seemed frightenedto death. But she'll put you wise herself, and it's better foryou to hear it first hand."

Drummond pulled up outside his front door, and told hischauffeur to take the car to the garage.

"Who have we got behind?" he demanded. "Great heavens! it'sAlgy. Life today has been one thing after another. However, sincehe's here I suppose he'd better come in."

"And this from the man whose miserable life I have justsaved." Longworth got out of the car with dignity. "But I have noobjection to sinking a pint."

Drummond produced his latch-key, but before he could use itthe door was opened by his man.

"All well, Denny?"

"Yes, sir. The young lady seems quite comfortable."

"Good: lead me to her."

"There is one thing, sir. About half an hour ago a telephonemessage came through for you from someone who would not give hisname. The message was this. OK Cuckoo."

Drummond stared at him for a moment in bewilderment: thenlight dawned on him.

"By Jove! Peter," he cried, rubbing his hands together, "thatmust be Standish. Can't be anybody else. I told him at Epsom thatI'd arranged to use the word 'Cuckoo' with you as a proof thatany message was genuine, and no one else but him could possiblyknow. Was it a trunk call, Denny?"

"I couldn't say, sir," said his servant. "The gentleman justasked who I was, gave that message, and then rang off."

"Splendid," said Drummond. "We'll larn these birds a thing ortwo before we're through with them. Nov then—where is thelady?"

"In the study, sir. I have given her some sandwiches."Drummond flung open the door. Seated in an armchair by the fire,fast asleep, was an extremely pretty girl. Her cheeks wereflushed, and a mop of dark curls ran riot above a small, perfectface. She had taken off her hat which lay on the floor, and twosilk-shod legs were tucked away underneath her in that mysteriousattitude beloved of the female sex. The noise awoke her, and whenshe saw a complete stranger, for a moment fear shone in her eyes.Then Darrell appeared, and with a little exclamation ofembarrassment she sat up.

"Just like me," cried Drummond contritely, "to make a foolnoise and wake you."

"I had no business to fall asleep," she said. "Is it allright, Mr Darrell?"

"This is Captain Drummond," said Darrell with a smile. "MissFrensham, Hugh. And the half-wit with the eyeglass is AlgyLongworth."

"Oh! I'm so glad," she cried. "When Mr Darrell told me thatyou'd actually gone to the Old Hall I was afraid it would be toolate."

For a moment or two Drummond looked at her keenly. Mostcertainly, if appearances were anything to go by, this girl wasall right. But he was moving in deep waters, and he was far tooold a soldier to take any chances.

"From the little that Peter has told me, Miss Frensham," hesaid quietly, "I gather you know Corinne Moxton."

"Why not tell him everything just as you told me," suggestedDarrell.

"It's all so muddled and confusing, Captain Drummond," shecried. "I hardly know where to begin. Sometimes I feel the wholething is some ghastly nightmare. You see, when Miss Moxtonadvertised for a secretary-companion I applied for the post, andmuch to my surprise I got it. I was overjoyed: I've alwaysadmired her on the films, and I thought it was going to be thegreatest fun. The salary was very good, and it looked the mostwonderful opportunity. I even wondered if, through her influence,I might perhaps get a job on the films."

"Take it easy, Miss Frensham," said Drummond gently. "We'vegot plenty of time: the night is yet young."

"It's four o'clock," she said with a shaky little laugh."Well, my first shock came when Miss Samuelson—she was mypredecessor—came back to the flat one day. She hadforgotten something when she packed and had returned to get it.Miss Moxton was out, and Miss Samuelson and I had a talk. Ithought she was looking at me rather queerly, and at last I askedher if anything was the matter.

"'You'll soon find out what's the matter,' she said. 'I'msurprised you haven't done so already.'

"'What do you mean?' I cried in amazement.

"'What do you think of my late and your present employer?' shesaid.

"'I've only been here a few days,' I reminded her, 'and Ireally don't know. She seems very nice so far.'

"'Nice,' cried Miss Samuelson. 'Nice. My dear! there is nofiend in hell who is quite so fiendish as that she-devil in someof her moods.'

"At the time I didn't believe her. As you know, CaptainDrummond, jobs are not easy to come by, and I thought she wasjealous of me having taken hers. But a few days later I hadreason to change my mind. I was sitting doing some work for herwhen there suddenly came a yelp of pain from the room next door,followed by a pitiful sort of moaning. Now, she has two dogs: oneis a Pekingese, and the other is a dreadful little beast of atype I loathe. I rushed in to find out what had happened:evidently one of them had hurt itself somehow.

"I found Miss Moxton sitting in a chair by the window with thePekingese on her lap. The sun was shining into the room, and fromunder the bed there came a little whimpering noise.

"'I thought I heard one of the dogs crying out,' I said.

"And as I spoke I glanced at her face. Captain Drummond, Ifind it almost impossible to describe to you what her expressionwas like. Moreover, I watched it change: watched the mask thatconceals her real nature replace the truth. And what was thetruth? It was something so horrible, so diabolical that I almostcried out. It was a mixture of gloating joy and vindictivecruelty: it was dreadful, terrible, utterly evil. But when shespoke her voice was quite normal.

"'Poor little Toto,' she said. 'I wasn't thinking what I wasdoing, and quite accidentally I burnt him with this.'

"And I saw that she was holding one of those big magnifyingglasses in her hand."

Daphne Frensham paused for a moment, but none of the three menspoke.

"I pulled the poor little brute out from under the bed," shecontinued, "and there, on his head, was a nasty burn.

"'I'll put some butter on it,' I said, and took the dog out ofthe room.

"Now all this may sound very trivial to you, but the thing Iam getting at is this. I am as certain as I can be about anythingthat it was not an accident at all. You know how difficult it isto focus the heat spot from one of those glasses accurately, andthat even when it is in the right place it takes some little timebefore a bit of paper catches fire. And this was quite a deepburn. I am convinced that she held that dog in some way anddeliberately burned it in order to gratify some beastly side ofher nature. I am convinced that she has in her some abnormalstreak which can only be satisfied by the infliction of crueltyto something or someone. I do hope I'm not boring you," said thegirl anxiously.

"I have seldom been so interested in my life, Miss Frensham,"said Drummond quietly. "Please go on."

"Well, that happened about a month ago," she continued. "Itried to get it out of my mind, and persuade myself I'd beenmistaken. And I'd almost succeeded when another incidenthappened. I was in her room one morning before she got up, andshe was going through her letters. Suddenly we heard a commotionin the street, and I looked out of the window. There had been anaccident: some man working on the house opposite had slipped andfallen on the pavement. The poor fellow was writhing with pain,and there was blood all over the place. It was a sickening sight,and instinctively I called out—'Don't look: don'tlook.'

"In a flash she was out of bed with her nose glued to thewindow. And there she remained watching greedily till anambulance arrived and took the injured man away. And it wasn'tjust morbid curiosity: it was something more fundamental. Sheenjoyed every moment of it: it satisfied that vile side of hernature. Can you believe it possible, Captain Drummond, that thereare people like that?"

"Quite easily," said Drummond gravely. "I don't profess to beup in such matters, but I gather it is a well-known fact thatcases of a similar description are by no means rare. If a personis abnormal anything may happen: it's only when it gets too bador is dangerous to others that they push the bloke off to anasylum."

"And you don't think I'm exaggerating?"

"Far from it," Drummond assured her. "In fact, things arebecoming considerably clearer."

"You see," she went on without asking him what he meant, "whatI want to do is to try to show you Corinne Moxton as she reallyis and not as her public believe her to be. Otherwise you wouldthink I was mad when you hear what comes next."

"Fire right ahead," cried Drummond cheerfully. "Your sanity isabove suspicion."

"You met her yesterday afternoon, didn't you."

It was not a question but a statement, and Drummondnodded.

"I did."

"And Sir Richard Pendleton was with her."

"He was," said Drummond.

"And further, you were mixed up in the Sanderson murder."

"As a spectator only, I assure you."

His voice was lazy, but now his eyes were fixed like gimletson the girl.

"Yesterday evening," she continued, "she came back with SirRichard to her flat after the co*cktail party you met her at.There is a small sort of closet place that leads out of herdrawing-room, and I'd fallen asleep. It's becoming a habit withme, I'm afraid," she added with a smile. "Anyway, they didn'tknow I was there, and the first remark I heard as I woke up sodumbfounded me that my legs literally seemed incapable ofmovement. Corinne Moxton was speaking.

"'You bore me, Richard,' she said. 'He was the first man I'veever seen murdered, and I wouldn't have missed it for the world.And anyway, that's all over. What you've got to concentrate youryoung life on is that big boy Drummond. I'm just crazy to seethat guy up against it.'"

"Mother-love sure oozes from her," said Drummond with a grin."And what did our Richard answer to that?"

"'I'll fix that for you,' he said, 'but for God's sake,Corinne, be careful. Sanderson had to go, but don't forgetbumping off isn't as easy in this country as it is in yours. Andhis death is going to raise hell all round.'

"'Cut it out,' she cried contemptuously. 'His house is burneddown: what shadow of evidence have they got? No, Richard, yourlife's work is Drummond. I'm not interested in the rest of yourschemes, but that great stiff has me tickled to death. He's gotto be put on the spot, and I've got to see it done.'

"'He'll give us a run for our money, I assure you,' answeredPendleton. 'I felt his muscles last night. He's not as dangerousas that man Standish, but they'll both have to go. And if youlike we'll go down to the Old Hall tonight and fix things up.Then I'll have to leave you to get him there.'

"'Trust me,' she said. Now you get along, and come back later.We'll see about Sussex then.'

"And with that he left, and I sat on trying to think thingsout. I felt completely stunned. That she was cruel and had ahorrible nature I already knew, but not in my wildest dreams hadit occurred to me that she was as vile as that. And Sir RichardPendleton! I hated him from the first moment I saw him, but thathe, with his reputation, should be like it too simply knocked meflat. Of course, I'd read all about the murder of Mr Sanderson,and to find suddenly that my own employer was implicated in itwas almost incredible. But there was no getting away from theevidence of my own ears, and I had to decide what I was going todo.

"One thing was clear: I should only be signing my own death-warrant if either of them had an inkling that I had overheardtheir conversation. So I waited till she was in her bath: then Icrept along the passage and banged the front door as if I hadjust come in. She called out to me and I answered: all was welland good so far. But what to do next: that was the point.

"My first thought was the police, but I sort of funked it. Idon't know anything about Scotland Yard, and I thought that if Iwent up to a policeman in the street and told him what I'd heardhe'd think I was mad. And it was then that I had the idea ofcoming to see you, Captain Drummond. Your full name was in thepapers, and I got your address from the telephone book. But I hadto wait till Corinne Moxton had gone out.

"Sir Richard came back about an hour later to take her out todinner, and from their remarks in the hall I gathered she haddecided to go down to Sussex afterwards. So the instant they leftI flew round here, never dreaming that I shouldn't find you. Andthen your servant rang up Mr Darrell."

"I got the message, Hugh, about five minutes after yours,"said Darrell. "And when I heard what Miss Frensham had to say, Iroped in the warriors and followed you."

"For which relief much thanks to all concerned," saidDrummond. "Well, Miss Frensham, I'm most extraordinarily gratefulto you. You completely saved the situation as far as I amconcerned."

"But what do you make of it all, Captain Drummond?" she cried."I mean, you don't seem as surprised as I thought you wouldbe."

"Because, bless you, you haven't told me much that I didn'tknow already," he said with a grin. "What you say about the fairCorinne's character is most interesting: it explains a lot. Alsoyou have confirmed the fact that it was they who were at the OldHall tonight, and further, that they had no idea when theystarted that they would find me there. And it is interesting toknow that she was actually in the room when they did in poor oldSanderson."

"But what are you going to do about it?" she cried. "We can'tlet the vile beast go free."

"She won't," Drummond assured her. "Life is going to be fullof thrills for little Corinne before she's much older. But thingsare a bit deeper than even you think, Miss Frensham, and it isn'tgoing to help matters-if we rush our fences. Now in the course ofyour wanderings with your fair employer have you ever met a manwith a head as bald as a billiard ball called Demonico?"

The girl shook her head.

"Never," she said decidedly.

"Because he is the bird who up till this evening presided atthe Old Hall and who, unless I am much mistaken, is the principalnoise on the other side. You've never heard her mention him?"

"No," she answered. "That conversation I overheard tonight isthe only time I've ever even guessed that anything like this washappening."

"Well, chaps, we're up against something pretty big, andsomething that, at the moment, is mighty hard to get to thebottom of."

Briefly he recounted what had taken place at the Old Hall.

"Now, in view of what Miss Frensham has told us," hecontinued, "it seems pretty clear that the performance in thesquash court was staged on the spur of the moment to please dearCorinne. And I'm sure I hope it did. But as she herself admitted,when she was talking to Pendleton, she's not interested in therest of his schemes. I am, and so is Standish, far moreinterested than in that damned wench, much as she loves me. Thewhole of this elaborate organisation which killed Sanderson,burned his house down, and whose headquarters are, or at any ratewere, at the Old Hall has not been got together for the soleobject of letting Corinne see me killed. And so, people, itbehoves us to take stock of our surroundings and see where westand. Algy, you flat-footed son of Belial, take a piece of paperand stand by to make notes."

Algy Longworth roused himself from a slight doze and obeyedresignedly.

"Now," went on Drummond, "let's take points in our favour.First—Standish has got away with it: that message to Dennymust mean that. We don't know where he is, but neither do theopponents. Second—we know about the fair Corinne's littlepeculiarities, but do she and the boy friend know that we know? Iam inclined to think not, even after the episode of the squashcourt. Neither of them spoke—only Demonico did that. Theirfaces were in deep shadow: except that I could just make out thatone of them was a woman I saw nothing at all."

He paused, struck by a sudden thought.

"By the way, Miss Frensham, won't Corinne smell a rat when shefinds that you're not in the flat?"

"Oh no," said the girl. "I don't sleep there."

"That's good," said Drummond. "Very well then—point two:we know and they don't know we know. Point three: two celebratedfinanciers, Julian Legrange, a Frenchman, and Jim Daly, an Irish-American, are mixed up in the business, of whom the latter isknown to be hostile to England. Any more points in ourfavour?"

"One, old boy," said Darrell. "Tonight's performance will havedefinitely put the Old Hall out of commission as far as they areconcerned. That earth has been stopped all right."

Drummond nodded.

"That's so, Peter. Though, 'pon my soul, I don't know if thatis in our favour or not. There are advantages in knowing whereyou can find your fox. Mark that as neutral, Algy, you chump. Nowthen—points against. One: they have at their disposal amysterious weapon of the nature of which we have, at the moment,absolutely no idea save that it is some form of gun. Two: theyevidently have plenty of money and a large and well-disciplinedorganisation. Three: orders are sent to members of thatorganisation by means of a cipher in the agony column of thenewspapers, and we don't know the key to the cipher."

"Cipher," interrupted Daphne Frensham. "In the agony column?Wait a moment, Captain Drummond. About a week ago Pendleton wasin the flat, and he had The Times on his knee. He waswriting on a piece of paper as he studied it, and I thought hewas doing a crossword or something. I noticed he was frowning asif he couldn't get it right, and then he suddenlysaid—'Damn! I thought it was Tuesday,' tore up the paper,and began all over again quite happily. It sounds ridiculous, Iknow, but now you've said that about the cipher I'm sure he wasdecoding a message."

"Nothing is ridiculous in this show, believe me, MissFrensham," said Drummond quietly. "Peter, I wonder if we'veadvanced a step farther. I wonder if that's why we couldn't readthat message in yesterday's paper."

"Don't quite follow, Hugh."

"He said—'Damn! I thought it was Tuesday.' From whatMiss Frensham says he was frowning when he thought it wasTuesday, but as soon as he realised it wasn't, all was sunshineagain. So I wonder if they have a different cipher for differentdays."

"There's a distinct air of possibility about that," saidDarrell, "though I don't see that it's going to help us much. Themessages are so short that unless one has the key it's hopelessto solve 'em. And if you're right we shall want seven differentkeys."

"Still, it's a point to bear in mind. Standish might makesomething out of it even if we can't. Because if we could readtheir orders we've got 'em cold. However, there's no use buildingon it. Well, chaps, any more points strike you?"

"Only one," said the girl, "and that's a small one. Whatexcuse am Ito make for leaving her?"

"But, my angel woman," cried Drummond, aghast, "you aren'tgoing to leave her. It would be fatal. You'll be invaluable to uswhere you are: simply invaluable. Right in the heart of theenemy's camp. You mustn't go: you really mustn't."

"But she's practically a murderess, Captain Drummond."Drummond waved a vast hand soothingly.

"I know; I know," he said. "Her habits place her lower in thescheme of things than a carnivorous slug. Nevertheless, you mustsuffer in the good cause, Miss Frensham. It's not pleasant, Iknow, to take someone's money and spy on them at the same time,but when that someone is a woman like Corinne Moxton it puts adifferent complexion on things. Of course, I wouldn't suggest itif I thought you were going to be in the slightest danger, but sofar as I can see there can't be a breath of suspicion againstyou. And if you go on absolutely normally there never willbe."

"All right," said the girl a shade doubtfully. "But what is itparticularly that you want me to do?"

"Keep your eyes skinned," said Drummond promptly, "especiallyon Pendleton. You see, he fills a dual role. Not only is herunning round with Corinne, but he's one of the big men in theother show. And early knowledge of his intentions should proveamazingly useful. Also see if by chance you can find out anythingabout this man Demonico. I can tell you nothing except that he iscompletely bald, and has a revolting-looking pair of hands withfingers like talons and highly polished nails. Tonight he waswearing dark glasses, but that may have been as a disguise. IfPeter is right, and we've put the Old Hall out of commission forthem, he will probably make his headquarters in London. And, ofcourse, it would be of immense value to know where they are."

Daphne Frensham got up.

"Very well, Captain Drummond," she said, "I'll do it. But ifI'm to turn up on time tomorrow I'll have to be getting along nowor I shall get no sleep at all."

"Look here, Miss Frensham," said Drummond, "do you mind if Imake a suggestion? I am not going to the window to see, but I'mquite certain that if I did I should perceive the same blokelurking outside who was there when I came back. Now Denny caneasily rouse his wife, and I'm sure she can rig you out for thenight. Then tomorrow I will smuggle you out of the house at theback by an exit which even the wariest of watchers would miss.You see, I don't want to run the smallest chance of your beingfollowed to your own place and then from there to Miss Moxton'sflat. If that happened the whole show would be given away."

"But won't it be an awful bother?" she said.

"Good Lord! no. Denny is quite used to little trifles of thatsort."

He rang the bell, and after a few moments his servantappeared.

"There you are, Miss Frensham," he said after he had given thenecessary instructions. "Mrs Denny will fit you up with all youwant. Good night, and tell her what time you want calling.

"A good girl that," he continued as the door closed behindher. "By Jove! you chaps, this is a funny show. I didn't enlargetoo much on it in front of her, but there's no doubt we'redealing with something we've never struck before in the shape ofCorinne Moxton. She's like one of those cases one reads about inabstruse medical treatises. Abnormal, and it takes 'em all ways.With her the obsession is to see ghastly sights. It's the onlyway she can get any excitement. Think of a woman watching thatblighter with spikes on his hands trying to tear my throat out,as her evening's entertainment."

"The amazing thing to me is that the men should have stood forit," said Darrell. "They wanted you out of it, Hugh: why did theyrun such a risk?"

"The lady decided that she wanted her spot of fun," saidDrummond. "In addition to that, they probably thought I hadn't ahope, and to be quite candid, but for that tin of petrol, Ihadn't. Sooner or later we'd have had to come to close quarters,and then that blighter must have got me. And even after I'd laidhim out, if you and Algy and the rest of the bunch hadn't turnedup when you did I'd have been for the long drop. I was a sittingtarget for anyone with a gun in the gallery."

"It was the only possible thing to do, old boy, after hearingwhat that girl had to say," said Darrell. "Wake up, Algy, youhog, and finish your beer: it's time we pushed off. By the way,Hugh, I suppose you'll tell the police about the Old Hall?"

"I shall. And about Demonico. But I shan't mention Pendletonand Corinne. That card we'll keep up our sleeves. Night, night,chaps, and many thanks for rolling up."

He waited till the front door slammed behind them: then hewent to the window and looked out cautiously. So far as he couldsee the street was deserted save for the two men who had justgone, but he stood watching for a considerable time to make sure.Then he returned and flung another log on the fire.

It was a peculiarity of Drummond that he wanted far less sleepthan an ordinary individual, and at the moment he felt singularlywide awake. So, lighting a cigarette, he threw himself into aneasy-chair, and picked up Algy Longworth's scribbled notes. Theyrepresented the situation as he saw it, but there was onecharacteristic omission which, being entirely personal, he hadnot mentioned. It was his own position in the matter.

In the course of his life he had made many mistakes, butunder-estimating his adversary had never been one of them. AndDrummond was under no delusions in this case. Whatever might havebeen his position relative to Standish at the time of theconversation overheard by Daphne Frensham, the events of thenight had altered things considerably. He was now more ofa menace to the other side, because he had seen Demonico andStandish had not. In any event, Standish for the time being haddisappeared and was therefore safe, whilst Drummond had returnedto his usual haunts in London.

He was so accustomed to taking his life in his hands that thethought did not worry him unduly. At the same time he had arooted objection to being scuppered without getting a run for hismoney. And therein lay the danger. Given a large, well-disciplined, and absolutely unscrupulous gang it was notdifficult to dispose of a man in. London with complete safety.And as he saw it, getting him out of the way was so vital to themthat they would not even worry about the complete safety. It wasessential to Demonico that he should be silenced, and silencedbefore the inquest.

He grinned faintly, and lit another cigarette: this was likeold times. And then the grin faded: there was one big differencethat he had forgotten. If Standish was right there was more inthis show than in those previous ones: there was a definitethreat to the country. As against that Standish was free, and ifanything happened to him Standish could carry on. But for allthat nothing was going to happen to him if he could possiblyavoid it.

The trouble was that he was moving in the dark: he did notknow from what direction danger was going to come. It would notbe from Demonico himself, or even from Pendleton: some underlingwould be deputed for the job. And that underling would knowDrummond whilst Drummond would not know the underling. Dare hetherefore run the risk of being killed before passing on hisinformation to Scotland Yard? What about ringing them up now andasking them to send round one of their big men? If he said it wasconcerned with the Sanderson affair someone would be bound tocome. And his finger was actually on the dial when a sudden soundbehind him made him swing round.

Standing between the curtains was a man. He was tall andclean-shaven, and he was apparently unarmed, for both his handswere thrust in his trouser pockets.

"Good evening, Captain Drummond," he said quietly. "May I havea short talk with you?"

"How the devil did you get in?" demanded Drummond, staring athim.

"Through the open window," answered the other with a faintsmile. "I thought it would attract less attention than ringingthe bell and disturbing the house."

"You seem," said Drummond, "a moderately cool customer. Whatdo you want to talk to me about?"

"The Sanderson affair, of course. Do you mind if I sit down?"In silence Drummond pointed to a chair.

"If you've got anything of interest to say," he remarkedcurtly, "I am prepared to listen. Otherwise you'll leave by theway you entered, and the first thing that hits the pavement willbe your ear."

"I think you will find it quite interesting," said thestranger, "I have come to tell you the name of the man who killedhim."

CHAPTER VII

DRUMMOND eyed him dispassionately. The manappeared to be a gentleman, and seemed perfectly at ease. He hadcrossed his legs, and was calmly leaning back in his chair as ifhis unusual mode of entry and his last remark were the mostordinary things in the world.

"That," agreed Drummond, "will undoubtedly prove interesting.But may I first ask why it is I who am thus honoured and not thepolice, and secondly, why you should choose this ungodlyhour?"

"Certainly," said the other. "My reason for not going to thepolice is a very simple one. The police have no idea that I am inEngland at present, and to be quite candid, I prefer that stateof affairs to continue. I have come to you because your name wasin all the papers, and there is only one Captain Drummond in thetelephone book, whereas there are several Standishes. Lastly, theungodly hour is due to causes beyond my control. I couldn't comebefore, and it would have been dangerous for you if I hadpostponed my visit a moment longer than necessary."

"Dangerous for me!" echoed Drummond. "Why?"

"Because," said his visitor gravely, "a rat surrounded byterriers is a far healthier insurance proposition than you areunless you vanish and stay put. In fact, it was to make yourealise that, almost as much as to tell you the other thing, thatdecided me to come and see you."

"Deuced kind of you," remarked Drummond. "And your simile ismost edifying. You propose, I take it, to blow the gaff, anoperation not unattended with danger to yourself. Why thistouching solicitude for my safety?"

"Because there has been quite enough murder done," said theother. "I came into this show, for reasons into which we need notenter, but I did not bargain for wholesale killing. And you'rethe next on the list after tonight's effort down in Sussex."

"I confess," murmured Drummond, "that some such idea hasalready occurred to me. But before we go any farther, since weare having this heart-to-heart talk, what is this show into whichyou came?"

"All in due course," said the visitor, "though I will be asbrief as I can. I've got to be away from here before it is lightto ensure my own safety. Now, in the first place are you awarethat the members of this gang communicate with one another bycipher?"

"I am," answered Drummond. "Do you know the key?"

"Of course I do," said the other, rising and going over to thedesk. "If I may take a piece of paper I'll put you wise. Comeover here, Captain Drummond, and you shall see for yourself. It'ssimple, but at the same time unless you know the trick it iswell-nigh impossible to discover it."

He drew a fountain-pen from his pocket.

"Is that the Sporting Life over there? That will do:thank you."

He opened the paper out on the desk.

"Now take any pencil or pen," he continued, "provided thepencil has a sharp point. The first thing you have to do is tolook along it, as I'm doing now, selecting the left-hand columnof the centre page. Now use this pen of mine—I'll hold itfor you—and look. Get your eye quite close to it."

And then occurred an amazing interruption, which left evenDrummond gaping stupidly. He was just bending down to focus hiseye to the pen, when the pen disappeared and his visitor, cursingdreadfully, leaped to his feet, wringing a hand from which bloodwas spouting freely.

"What the devil is it?" cried Drummond. "What's happened toyour hand?"

But the other, like a man bereft of his senses, was staring atthe pen lying on the carpet.

"I don't understand," he muttered. "I don't understand." Andat that moment there came from the pavement outside the sound ofa laugh.

Drummond swung round and dashed to the window: a man wasrunning up the street.

"Hi! you," he shouted, but the man took no notice and vanishedround a corner.

"So," he said, coming back into the room, "it would seem thatyour visit here has been found out. And it strikes me, my friend,that you now join me in the rat and terrier parallel. Somebodygot you through the open window."

The other did not answer: he was watching Drummond with terrorin his eyes.

"Pull yourself together, man," went on Drummondcontemptuously. "You've only been plugged through the hand. I'llget something to bind it up with: you're ruining my carpet. Stopover in that corner: you're quite safe. I'll have a look out ofone of the other rooms and see if anyone else is there."

He crossed the hall, and going into the dining-room peeredcautiously out of the window: the street was empty. Then, stillmarvelling at the extraordinary incident, he went upstairs foriodine and some clean handkerchiefs. Presumably the man had beenfollowed, and had been shot as a traitor with one of the silentguns such as Standish and he had captured the previous afternoon.Luckily for him the firer had not killed him, but had only givenhim a very painful wound in the hand. It undoubtedly showed,however, that things wanted watching: there was a rapidity ofaction about the other side which was distinctlydisconcerting.

"Here we are," he said, opening the study door, only onceagain to stand staring foolishly. For the room was empty: hisvisitor had gone.

"Well, I'm blowed," muttered Drummond to himself. "Have Idreamed the bally thing? Why's the blighter hopped it?"

But the question remained unanswered. A trail of blood leadingto the window showed that he had left by the same way that he hadcome, but except for that no trace remained of his mysteriousvisitor. Even the pen with which he had been demonstrating thecipher had disappeared.

Drummond closed the window thoughtfully: the whole thing wasbeyond him. What on earth could have induced the man, knowingthere was danger outside, to go and run his head into itdeliberately? Had his terror temporarily unhinged his brain?Nothing else could account for such an act of suicidal folly.Just as things were becoming interesting, too.

However, it could not be helped. The man had gone, all hissecrets untold: there seemed to be nothing for it now but tofollow everyone else's example and go to bed. And his hand wasactually on the switch of the light when the telephone bell beganto ring. He picked up the receiver: was it his late visitorcalling him up to explain his sudden departure? It was not: tohis surprise he heard Standish's voice at the other end of thewire.

"Cuckoo," it came, "just to dispel any doubts. Standishspeaking. I want you to obey me implicitly. Leave the house assoon as you can, and it is absolutely essential that you shouldshake off any watcher who may be there. You must not befollowed. Make arrangements to remain away for at least aweek, probably more. Get your servant to tell Darrell what hashappened, in case we want to get in touch with him, so that hewill be on the look-out. Got me so far?"

"I have," said Drummond.

"When you leave," continued Standish, "make your way to theMarble Arch, and walk along Oxford Street on the south side. Itwill be light by then, and you will see a stationary car facingwest. Number ZZ 234: make, Bugatti; I'll be waiting for youinside. And, for God's sake, old boy, watch your step."

He rang off, and Drummond replaced the receiver. This wasaction such as he liked, but what was he to do about DaphneFrensham? She complicated matters to a certain extent, but thecomplication had to be faced, and faced quickly. He switched offthe light: he would have to speak to her.

He went rapidly to Denny's quarters and beat him up.

"Denny," he said, "get your wife out of bed, and ask her to goand wake Miss Frensham. I don't want lights going on all over thehouse, so she'd better take a candle. She is to tell MissFrensham that I want a few words with her. I'll be in mydressing-room. Tell your wife and then come upstairs to me.

"Now," he continued, when Denny rejoined him, "pay attention.I am disappearing for at least a week. Either get Mr Darrellround here and tell him, or go and see him yourself. Do not writeit, or speak over the telephone to him. Do you follow?"

"Yes, sir. Any address, sir?"

"I can't tell you, for I don't know. Ah! there she is."

A knock had come on the door and Drummond opened it. DaphneFrensham was standing there with Mrs Denny behind her.

"A thousand apologies, my dear," said Drummond, "for pullingyou out of bed like this, but further developments have takenplace. I've got to leave here, and so you will have to do yourget-away on your own this morning. Now it has suddenly dawned onme that it is Sunday: things have moved so hectically these lastfew hours that I'd forgotten the fact. I suppose you don't go toMiss Moxton on the Sabbath, do you?"

"No," said the girl. "I don't."

"Splendid: that makes it easy. In the first place you can haveyour sleep out. Then I want Mrs Denny to rig you up in some togswhich will make you look as if you were the housemaid going forher day out. Can you do that, Mrs Denny?"

"Yes, sir; I can manage that."

"Your own clothes," continued Drummond, "can be done up in aparcel and posted to you on Monday by Denny. But you must appearto be one of the maidservants when you leave this house: that isessential. Another point arises. You are almost certain to beaccosted by a man when you start off: at least, I shall be verymuch surprised if you are not. Do not be angry with him, or givehim a clip on the jaw. Far from it: encourage him. And when he,as he will do, leads the conversation round to me, let himunderstand that, so far as you know, I have left suddenly for theContinent. Then shake him off—if he thinks you're one ofthe servants, he won't follow you—and make your way back toyour own flat by a round-about route. Is that all clear?"

"Quite. But where are you going?"

"I don't know myself," said Drummond with a smile. "Nowthere's one thing more. If you find out anything in the course ofthe next week pass it on to Peter Darrell. Good night, bless you:sleep well. Things are moving."

He watched her cross the passage and go back to her own rooms;then he turned once more to Denny.

"Don't forget that: I've gone to Paris, except to Mr Darrell.Give me my razor and toothbrush, and I must be off."

Drummond took his revolver from the drawer and loaded it: thenhe changed rapidly into a rougher suit.

"And don't forget another thing, Denny. No telephone messagepurporting to come from me will be genuine unless you hear theword—Cuckoo."

He slipped the gun into his pocket and crammed a cap on hishead.

"I'm going out the back way: lock up after me."

The passage led into some mews, and for a time Drummond stoodin the shadow, reconnoitring. It was just dawn, and in the cold,grey light the place seemed deserted. After a while, skirtingalong under cover of the wall, he reached the street. Still hesaw no one, and at length he decided that everything was allright. He turned and started briskly for the Marble Arch.

The morning was chilly, and he turned up the collar of hiscoat. So far as he could see he had made the arrangementsfoolproof at his end. Provided that Daphne Frensham played up andacted her part well, she was safe. No one would worry over a maidon her Sunday out. Peter was fixed; Denny was fixed; everything,in fact, was all right except for that confounded interruptionwhich had cost him the key to the cipher.

He swung into Oxford Street: a hundred yards ahead of him hesaw the car. And immediately afterwards Standish got out of itand beckoned to him to hurry.

"I think it's OK," he said as Drummond came up, "but I shan'tfeel safe until we're well out of Town. Keep an eye skinnedbehind to make sure we're not followed."

They drove all out till they reached the Great West By-pass,and then Drummond gave the all clear: there was no sign ofanything in sight.

"Where are we bound for?" he enquired.

"There is a pub I know in the New Forest," said Standish,"where the cooking is excellent and the port passing fair. Alsoit's not too far from London."

"Sounds good to me," said Drummond. "Well, well, old lad, I'mdeuced relieved to see you. I was afraid they'd got you at theOld Hall."

"They darned nearly did," remarked Standish. "But nothing likeas near as you ran it."

"What do you know about that?" said Drummond in some surprise."You couldn't see what happened in the squash court."

"I'm not alluding to what happened in the squash court,"answered Standish, "though I'd like to hear about that later. I'malluding to what happened in your study not an hour ago. Sorry Icouldn't stop when you shouted after me."

"What the blazes are you talking about?" cried Drummond,staring at him in amazement.

"Only that in another half-second Number Four would have gotyou just as he got Sanderson. By Gad! old boy, it was a closething."

"But," Drummond positively stuttered, "was it you who shot himthrough the hand just as he was going to give me the key to thecipher?"

"Cipher my foot," said Standish with a short laugh. "I don'tblame you a bit, Drummond: that's the way he must have caughtSanderson. Some clever conjurer's patter to get you to put youreye to the end of that so-called fountain-pen, which is reallyone of the most diabolical weapons that has ever beenconstructed. The ink on Sanderson's desk ought to have put mewise to it, because I've heard of this contrivance before. It'san American invention, and is, when you boil down to it,extremely simple. It looks exactly like a fountain-pen: it has anib, and it can be written with. But instead of the ink reservoirthere is a hollow steel tube covered at one end by a thin plug tomake it appear solid. At the other end is a tiny cartridge andbullet, and the bullet is fired by operating the lever which in agenuine pen one uses for filling purposes. It is, in short, atiny gun, but amply powerful enough to penetrate through a softthing like an eye into the brain."

"My sainted aunt!" said Drummond slowly. "It would seem then,old boy, that I have to thank you for my jolly old wellbeing andall that sort of tripe."

"You have to thank the fact that I happened to be carryingthat spring gun, and remembered about the pen just in time.Didn't you see how amazed he looked after I'd hit him, when hesaw that the pen was still intact? The first thought that hadnaturally come into his head was that something had gone wrongwith the mechanism of his beastly contraption, and that it hadburst in his hand. Then he saw it hadn't, heard me laugh, andknew he'd been shot from outside."

"Great Scott!" cried Drummond, "that explains what waspuzzling me. I thought he'd been hit by one of his own gang, andI couldn't understand why, that being the case, I found he'dbolted when I came down with handkerchiefs and iodine. Of course,he knew the shot had not been fired by his own people. Buttell me, old boy, why didn't you shout out to me? I'd havenobbled the swine."

"I'll tell you frankly," said Standish gravely. "I wasfrightened."

"Frightened!" echoed Drummond. "What of?"

"Our not being able to disappear and hide. I'll go into thatmore fully later, but that was the reason. I dared not plug himthrough the head and kill him, though he richly deserved it, andwith that weapon in his hand nothing would have been said if Ihad. But it would have entailed our remaining in London, andgetting in touch with the police. The same objection applied if Icalled out to you, and we'd held him prisoner. Again, the policewould have had to be called in, and we should have been detainedin Town. And I didn't dare risk it. We'll get the swine later,but at present there are far more important things to tackle, andyou and I have got to tackle 'em. And to do so successfully we'vegot to lie hidden for a time. For I tell you, Drummond, speakingwith all seriousness, our lives at the present moment are notworth the snap of a finger. We have butted into an enormous coup.What that coup is I don't know, but we've got to find out. Andit's coming off within the next week, so we haven't too muchtime."

"How do you know that?" demanded Drummond.

"From the scraps of conversation I overheard from my captors,while waiting my turn in the squash court," said Standish with agrin. "After you'd gone into the house I remained where you leftme for a considerable time, until I began to get really uneasy.So I decided to go and investigate, and as luck would have it Iran full tilt into a whole bunch of them. It was hopeless fromthe word 'go,' but I gave a shout so as to let you know."

"I heard you," said Drummond, "but I was locked in and coulddo nothing."

"There was nothing to be done in any case, old boy: there musthave been at least twenty of 'em. They trussed me up and gaggedme, and chucked me into an outhouse, where three or four of themmounted guard. And it was from remarks they made that I gatheredthey none of them expected to be in England more than another tendays, which shows that the coup, whatever it is, is comingshortly. From their accents and conversation generally I put themdown as American and Irish gunmen, and quite obviously they werea bunch of toughs who would stick at nothing. Every now and thena new one would drift in: your late visitor—NumberFour—came in two or three times.

"About twenty minutes after they'd got me something occurredwhich evidently surprised them. Did any woman appear on thescene?"

"Corinne Moxton and dear Richard," said Drummond.

"I wondered if it was her. In any case her arrival caused achange of plan as far as you were concerned."

"Bless her kindly heart," said Drummond grimly.

"Something spicy was to be staged for her, apparently in thesquash court. And what was more, as they were at pains to informme, when you were disposed of I was to be the next item on theprogramme. What happened to you in there?"

Briefly Drummond told him and Standish whistled.

"A merry little piece of work—our Corinne," he exclaimedas Drummond finished. "What an extraordinary kink for a woman tohave. However, the rest you know. I heard Peter and the boysarrive, and for a time there was some deliberation as to whetherthey should have a pitched battle or not. But orders must havecome through from the boss, because the whole lot just vanished.Whether they scattered and lay doggo in the grounds, or what theydid, I don't know: I was having a whole-time job trying to getfree. Then I heard you shouting my name, so I knew that you hadsurvived the entertainment in the squash court. But I was stillgagged and couldn't answer. And then when at last I did get freeyou had all gone. Providentially, however, I found that a car hadbeen overlooked by the opponents in their hurried departure, andgetting into it I trod on the gas, stopping only to retrieve thegun which I had left in the bushes. Then I came round to see youand fortunately arrived in the nick of time. But what has beenpuzzling me is what was the reason of Peter's opportunearrival?"

"That had me guessing too," said Drummond, and then he toldStandish of Daphne Frensham.

"Are you sure she is to be trusted?" remarked Standish when hefinished.

"As sure as one can be over anything in a show of this sort,"answered Drummond. "And the fact remains that but for her gettinginto touch with Peter neither you nor I would be sitting in thiscar at the present moment."

"That's true," agreed Standish.

"There's another thing too," went on Drummond. "She doesn'tknow where I'm going to: I didn't know myself when I left. Butshe's all right, old boy: I'm certain of it. And she should provean invaluable ally sitting, as she will be, right in the heart ofthe enemies' country."

"This man Demonico—you say he was bald."

"As a billiard ball. With repulsive hands manicured like awoman's."

"I'm trying to tape him," said Standish thoughtfully. "I'vegot a fairly extensive acquaintance with international crooks,but he seems a new one on me."

"A dangerous customer, if I'm any judge," remarkedDrummond.

"My dear fellow, they're a dangerous gang. I think you'reperfectly right about Corinne Moxton: she's in it simply togratify her sad*stic tendencies, and is, in reality, the leastdangerous, even if the most unpleasant, of the whole bunch.Pendleton is on a different footing. He—if what MissFrensham told you is correct—is obviously mixed up in theirbigger schemes. In fact, that was clear when they drugged me. Iwouldn't be surprised if he isn't second-in-command, with thisman Demonico the boss. But what is agitating my grey matter atthe moment is what sort of a coup they can be proposing to pulloff that necessitates keeping a young army of low-class riff-raffabout the place. If one could only get a line on the type ofthing they've got in view. It can't be high-class burglary: allthose men are capable of is smash-and-grab or a hold-up in ashop. If it's political, as poor old Sanderson said, what do theywant 'em all for? They're not the slightest use for any delicatework."

"I suppose it couldn't be a question of abducting someone:kidnapping him, and holding him prisoner," said Drummondthoughtfully.

"That's certainly a possibility. There are quite a number ofpeople who would like to see the Prime Minister out of the way,and Legrange and Daly are two of them. At the same time, even ifthey were planning such a fantastic scheme as kidnapping Dermot,what can they want that number of men for? There's another thingtoo that I gathered from their remarks: a lot of them have onlyjust arrived in the country. Recently arrived: leaving in a week.It all points, old boy, to some very big coup for which theseruffians have been specially brought over. And the devil of it isI can't even begin to imagine what it can be."

"We've got to solve that cipher somehow," said Drummond. "Bythe way, did I tell you that Daphne Frensham has a hunch that itmay be something to do with the day of the week. ApparentlyPendleton... Great Scott!"

He broke off suddenly, and Standish glanced at him. "What'sstung you?" he asked.

"Do you remember," answered Drummond slowly, "that bit ofpaper we found in Sanderson's desk? Wait a minute: I'm trying toget it exactly. 'Day of the week backwards. If two, omit first.'That was it, wasn't it?"

"As near as makes no odds," agreed Standish. "What aboutit?"

"Only that that also points to the key being dependent on theday of the week. Pendleton's annoyance when he found he'd beentrying to solve a Wednesday message under the impression it wasTuesday: the fact that we made complete gibberish of yesterday'smessage, which was Saturday, simply and solely because we wereusing letters obtained from Friday's code; and last but notleast, that apparently nonsensical sentence in Sanderson'sdesk—surely those three things taken together make italmost a certainty."

"I believe you're right, old boy," said Standish thoughtfully."It undoubtedly supplies a meaning to what you say was anonsensical sentence. At the same time I don't know that it putsus much forrader."

"I know," said Drummond gloomily. "That's what Peter said.Still, it's something to be on the right lines: it might helpyou. Personally I'm hopeless. The simplest crossword sends meinto a muck sweat, and a child can outwit me with the mostfootling riddle. But a brainy feller like you ought to be able tocough up something."

"I'll have a shot," said Standish, "but I won't promiseanything. And if I can't make it out I know a bloke in London whoprobably can. The devil of it is, you see, that the messages willalmost certainly be short ones. Further, since the majority ofthe members of the gang have only recently arrived, not many arelikely to have been sent. And so, even if we got a lot of backpapers, you would be lucky if you found more than two Tuesdaycodes, or two Fridays. Which is awkward. For though it is quitetrue that any cipher invented by man can be solved by man, it isessential to have a lot of it to work on. And that is just whatwe shan't get. Still—we can but have a dip at it."

They drove in silence for some miles. A watery sun that gaveno heat gleamed fitfully through the flying clouds, and a strongdesire for breakfast grew in both men.

"Eggs and bacon, laddie," said Drummond cheerfully. "Lots ofcoffee, and then little Willie proposes to hit the hay."

"Only about another twenty miles," cried Standish. "And I cando with a bit of shut-eye myself. Do you think you killed thatblighter in the squash court?"

Drummond grinned happily.

"I'm afraid I did," he said, "because I should very much liketo have had a further chat with him. I wonder whose great brainthought of those spikes. Demonico's presumably. By the way, didyou hear any gup about Gulliver? Why did they do him in?"

Standish shook his head.

"No: I didn't hear his name mentioned. Talking out of histurn, I suppose, or a small token of their respect and esteem forletting me get away."

"There's another point that arises," said Drummond after awhile. "What about this inquest tomorrow? We are two of theprincipal witnesses."

"Leave that to me, old boy. I'll fix it with McIver and Co.:the police can be very discreet when they want to. Tomorrow'saffair will be merely a matter of form, and then an adjournmentfor a week. I shall tell 'em about the Old Hall, of course, andyour pal Demonico."

"What about that swab Pendleton and Corinne?"

"I think it's best to put all the cards on the table: they canbe trusted not to act precipitately. We must do it, old boy: itwould be unpardonable if these swine pulled their game offbecause we said nothing about them."

"As a matter of fact," said Drummond, "I was on the point ofringing them up myself just as Number Four arrived."

"I shall tell McIver that you and I are going to lie doggo fora while. And I'll tell him why. He's a sensible chap, and if Igive him the situation from our point of view he'll see it atonce."

"It goes against the grain running away from that bunch oftoughs," said Drummond gloomily.

"I agree: it does. But it would go a darned sight more againstthe grain to get plugged from behind by some unknown man. Andthat, old lad, would have been our portion for a certainty ifwe'd stopped on in London."

And it is not too much to say that the sum of ten thousandpounds would willingly have been paid by the occupants of a roomin Sir Richard Pendleton's Harley Street residence for theinformation contained in Drummond's last few sentences. It wasthe doctor's consulting room, and Sir Richard himself was seatedat his desk. Opposite him Number Four, his hand bound up,sprawled sullenly in a chair: whilst, huddled over the fire,crouched a figure whose completely bald head proclaimed him asDemonico. And the prevalent atmosphere was one of tension.

"It's no good putting that stuff over on me." Number Four wasspeaking. "I tell you I had that sucker as stone cold as I hadSanderson. He was just putting his eye to it when that pal of hisgot me through the window."

"You've said all that before," snarled Demonico. "The plainfact remains that you bungled the thing hopelessly."

"I bungled, did I?" answered the other, white with anger."What about you down at the Old Hall? That was a pretty piece ofwork, wasn't it? A howling success, I should say. You had 'emboth for the asking, and then you let 'em get away, just becauseyou wanted to put up a peep-show for that blasted woman."

Pendleton's fist crashed on the desk.

"If you make another remark like that," he said thickly, "I'llsmash your face in."

"Will you indeed, Sir Richard Sawbones?" snarled Number Four."I agree it's about all you are capable of—hitting a manwith one arm. I tell you—I'm fed up with this. Who has doneall the dangerous work up to date? I have. And what have youdone, you damned pill pusher? Gone messing round the place tolittle parties and things with that tow-haired..."

"Stop!"

Demonico's imperious command rang out, and the two furious menpulled themselves together.

"This is no time for childish squabbles," he went on sternly."The stakes are altogether too great. We must co-operate—not fight."

"Sorry, Doctor," said Number Four sheepishly. "I didn't meanto hurt your feelings."

Pendleton accepted the apology with a curt nod.

"Now," continued Demonico, "let's get back to the beginning.Who is this man Standish that Sanderson should have telephoned tohim particularly?"

"I can tell you that," said Pendleton, "for I've been makingenquiries. He was a friend of Sanderson's, and is apparently asort of amateur dabbler in crime with very distinct detectiveability."

"That's right," said Number Four. "That's what Sanderson said.Miss Moxton and I had been codding him up about thecipher—the same as I did Drummond, and he suddenly decidedto ring up Standish. And I couldn't miss the opportunity. Hishead was steady: he suspected nothing when I pretended to fillthe pen."

"So much for him," continued Demonico. "Now what aboutDrummond?"

"As far as I can make out he's a friend of Standish," saidPendleton. "He and the other two were playing bridge whenSanderson telephoned. But to my mind Drummond is the mostdangerous of the lot. He's immensely powerful, as we have foundout to our cost, and he knows you."

"He won't the next time we meet," said Demonico quietly. "Thatis, if there is a next time. The point is not, however, whetherhe knows me, but whether he knows anything of our plans."

"He knows we use a cipher, boss," remarked Number Four, "buthe doesn't know what it is."

"It might be advisable to change it," said Pendletonuneasily.

"Impossible, so late as this," answered Demonico decisively."It would result in hopeless confusion. Besides, no one can solveit without the key."

"What's got me stung," said Number Four, "is that whoever itwas who shot me—and I can't think who it can have beenexcept Standish—must have known about the pen. If hedidn't, why did he aim for my hand?"

"That weapon has served its purpose," said Demonico, "though Iadmit it's very disconcerting. It shows knowledge on their partwhich is not reassuring. You think it was Standish?"

"Who else could it have been? Darrell and that guy with aneyeglass were both shadowed to their flats: Leyton hasn't lefthis rooms at all: it can't have been the police. So it must havebeen Standish."

"Then one wonders excessively why, having incapacitated you,they didn't make you a prisoner."

"Exactly, boss. I haven't stopped wondering about that sinceit happened. They had me cold, and with the pen found on me Ishould have been taped direct for Sanderson."

Demonico rose and began pacing up and down the room, whilstthe others watched him anxiously. That he was worried was clear,though his voice when he spoke was quite calm. "You say thatStandish has not returned to his rooms?"

"Not when the last report came in an hour ago," said

Pendleton, and at that moment the telephone rang on hisdesk.

He picked up the receiver.

"Yes. Sir Richard Pendleton speaking."

The others waited in silence: the message was obviouslysurprising the listener. At length he replaced the instrument."An unexpected development," he said. "Drummond left early thismorning for Paris."

"Who was that speaking?" asked Demonico.

"Spackman. Apparently he picked up one of the maids who washaving her day out and she told him."

"What can have caused that?" said Demonico thoughtfully.

"Possibly he found that things were getting too warm,"remarked Pendleton. "So he came to the conclusion that discretionwas the better part of valour."

Demonico shook his head decidedly.

"That is not my valuation of Captain Drummond at all," hesaid. "In fact, I should not be at all surprised if it isn'ttrue. He may have said he was going to Paris for the benefit ofhis household staff and possible callers, whereas in reality hehas done nothing of the sort. In any event, for the time we mustregard both him and Standish as lost and make our plansaccordingly. To start with, neither of them has an inkling thatyou are involved, Pendleton?"

"So far as I know it's impossible that they should," said thedoctor. "They were both unconscious when I saw them in Standish'srooms. And yet I must confess that the tone of the few remarksDrummond made to me at a co*cktail party where we met yesterdaygave me to think a bit."

Demonico shrugged his shoulders.

"We must chance it. Now that the Old Hall is useless, I shallhave to stay in London. It won't be for long: I had absoluteconfirmation last night that it will be Tuesday week. Your yachtwill be ready by then?"

"She's ready now," answered the doctor. "Who did you get yourconfirmation from?"

"One of the chief cashiers," said Demonico, "whom I'vebought."

"A difficult thing to do," said Pendleton dubiously. Demonicolaughed cynically.

"Not if you're prepared to pay big enough," he said. "How canhe be so certain?" persisted Pendleton.

"He knows the liner that the stuff is consigned to," answeredDemonico. "But if by chance there should be a change he will letme know at once. I had two other interesting visitors yesterdayevening," he continued. "Legrange and Daly."

"Good Lord! they know nothing about it, do they?"

"No; though Daly wouldn't mind if he did. I've met some Irish-Americans who are rabid against England, but he wins in a canter.However, don't alarm yourself—they know nothing about ourlittle coup. But they do know a lot about the financial conditionof this country, and I was amazed at what they told me. If youwant to pick up a packet for the asking—sell sterlingshort."

Pendleton stared at him.

"Why?" he demanded.

"Because England has either got to go bankrupt or get off thegold standard. That's what they tell me and they shouldknow."

"Well, I'll be damned," said Pendleton. "As bad as that, isit? But why the deuce did they bother to tell you?"

Demonico gave a thin smile.

"It is not the first time I have had dealings with those twogentlemen," he said. "We understand each other—admirably.And our schemes are going to help things a lot. However, toreturn to more pressing matters—Drummond and Standish havegot to be found, and when they are found there must be no furthermistake. The more I think of it, the less likely does it strikeme that Drummond has gone to Paris. What possible reason could hehave for suddenly going there on a Sunday morning? He istherefore either still in his house, in which case he must have apeculiar sort of staff if he can get a maid to say he's left forParis; or, and this is far more probable, he has left Town and ishiding somewhere."

"In that case it's going to be a pretty impossible propositionto find him," said Pendleton. "In any event, he will have passedon to the police by now all that he knows."

"But what does he know? He knows that he was druggedwith Standish the night before last by the people who wereconcerned in Sanderson's death. All the world will know thatafter the inquest tomorrow. He knows me as I am now, but not asI. shall be in half an hour's time. He knows about the Old Hall:that is now empty. He knows that he fought for his life in thesquash court, but since he didn't kill his assailant and onlystunned him, there will be no evidence to produce there. My dearPendleton, Sanderson's very necessary death has turned this caseinto a cause cilhbre already: anything further thatDrummond or Standish may say matters but little. Because they donot know what we are here for: they do not know where Iam, nor, now that the men are scattered, where any of them are.And, last but not least, they do not know, nor will theyever know, the solution of our cipher. Furthermore, ourarrangements are cut and dried, and we are only going to be inthe country for a few more days. That is the position as I seeit, though I frankly admit that I should feel happier if theywere both out of the way. And, when they are found, they must beput out of the way, as I said before. Men who can call on a gangof friends to follow up their movements, as those two apparentlycan, are far more to be feared than the police."

"I wish I felt as confident about it as you do," saidPendleton uneasily.

"Not losing your nerve, are you?" remarked Demonico with aslight sneer. "What is worrying you?"

"The conversation I had with Drummond at that party," said theother. "I can't get out of my mind the feeling that he had hissuspicions about me."

"Nonsense," cried Demonico. "How could he have? He could notpossibly have seen you in the squash court, and anyway, that wasafter your party. And when you saw him in Standish's rooms he wasdrugged and unconscious. As a medical man you could be certain ofthat."

"He was drugged all right," agreed Pendleton. "For all that Idon't feel sure."

"Another thing," put in Demonico. "If he'd had any suspicionsof you, is it not more than likely he would have said somethingwhen he was in the squash court? He must have known that two menand a woman were looking on, and one of those men he knew was me,because I spoke to him. Surely, if he suspected you, he wouldhave called out."

"Perhaps you're right," said Pendleton. "Anyway, we willproceed on the assumption that he doesn't. And if he doesn't,Standish doesn't either."

"There is still another point which to my mind conclusivelyproves it," went on Demonico. "If your surmise that he suspectedyou at the time of this co*cktail party is correct, thosesuspicions must have been aroused before the party took place. Sothat even if he said nothing to you in the squash court he wouldsurely have said something then."

"Unless he's playing a very deep game," said Pendleton.

"Good God! man," cried Demonico contemptuously, "what'shappened to you? If I'm not worrying, why should you? You mightjust see that the way is clear for me to get upstairs without anyof your servants seeing me: I want to make a few radicalalterations in my appearance. Then I, too, shall followDrummond's example, and—go to Paris."

"All clear," said Pendleton, returning from the door, andDemonico, after one swift glance round the hall, went rapidlyupstairs.

"I didn't quite get what he meant by selling sterling short,"said Number Four as the door closed behind him.

"That's easy," said Pendleton briefly. "If this country gotinto serious difficulties, and couldn't pay her way, the value ofthe pound is going to fall abroad. Say it goes down to fifteenshillings. So that if I sell a pound now I get twenty shillingsfor it, but when I have to deliver it on settling day I only haveto pay fifteen shillings. Clear gain of five shillings per pound,and you can work out what that comes to on a hundredthousand."

"But supposing it doesn't go down?"

"Doesn't matter: I can't lose anything except brokerage. Itcan't go up above twenty shillings: I can't have to pay more forit than I sell out at. Jove! it's interesting. I knew thingsweren't too good: I didn't know they were as rocky as theyevidently are. For Legrange doesn't make many mistakes. And if hehasn't made one this time, there are going to be a good manyfortunes waiting to be picked up."

He sat down at his desk, and began glancing through somepapers, whilst the other watched him curiously.

"You're an extraordinary bloke, Doctor," said Number Fourafter a long silence. "You draw a fat income chopping up people'sinsides: you can live in peace and quiet and the odour ofsanctity, and yet you mix yourself up in these sorts of games.Why the devil do you do it?"

"Love of excitement," answered Pendleton at once. "It takes usall in one way or another. To see a horse-race leaves me cold,and I wouldn't cross the road to watch a game of football. Butthis—this is life. I wouldn't miss next Tuesday or therehearsal this week for any sum of money you could give me.Hullo! madam, what on earth are you doing here?"

The door had opened, and an elderly woman had entered. Herhair under a fashionable hat was grey: her clothes, toPendleton's discriminating eye, were exactly right in a woman ofher age. And for a space she surveyed him throughlorgnettes, while he continued to stand by his deskfeeling increasingly surprised at this unexpected intrusion.

"Sir Richard Pendleton?" she asked, her survey concluded. Hervoice was musical and cultured, and the doctor bowed.

"That is my name," he said. "You wish to consult me?"

"Only to the extent, my dear Pendleton, of asking you to placethe trousers I have left upstairs, along with the other malegarments, in some safe hiding-place."

The voice was still that of a woman, and for a moment or twoPendleton stared at her blankly. Then the truth dawned on him,and he sat down limply.

"Well, I'm damned," he cried. "Demonico, I congratulate you.It is the most marvellous disguise I've ever seen. Noone—no one—would ever recognise you. It ismagnificent."

Demonico smiled slightly.

"Nor even Drummond."

CHAPTER VIII

TO Daphne Frensham the whole thing seemed like anightmare. As Drummond had predicted, she had been accosted onleaving his house, and she had carried out his instructions tothe letter. A natural actress, she had had no difficulty inplaying the part of a parlourmaid out for the day, and she wasconvinced that she had completely deceived the man. Moreover, sheknew that she had not been followed: the bus going west that shehad boarded in Piccadilly had been empty save for herself, andwhen two hours later she had let herself into her tiny flat thestreet outside was deserted.

She found her employer in a trying mood when she arrived ather usual time on Monday morning. And there was no doubt that hadher devoted following of film fans seen the beautiful Miss Moxtonthat day they would have received a severe shock. A programmethat includes one successful and one unsuccessful murder on twoconsecutive evenings is not conducive to mental calm, and herfeatures indicated as much.

But it was not the past that chiefly worried Corinne Moxton:it was the immediate future. She lunched with Sir Richard theprevious day, and his misgivings had communicated themselves toher. How much did Drummond know? No good to argue that he couldknow nothing—no good to argue that unless he had positiveproof he could say nothing: people with guilty consciences wantsomething more substantial than that. How much did he know, andwhat was he going to say at the inquest?

Like Demonico she was convinced that he had not gone to Paris.There seemed to her to be no conceivable reason why he shouldleave the country early on a Sunday morning to go to France. Andif that was so, the very fact that he had put up a blind made himthe more dangerous. Why should he have bothered to do so?

Corinne Moxton was true to type in that she was utterly andabsolutely selfish. So long as no shadow of suspicion rested onher the others might go to the devil. Even for Sir Richard shecared not one whit, except for the fact that if he was dragged inshe might be involved also. And although she had not actuallyheard the conversation between him and Drummond at the co*cktailparty, it had left a bad impression on his mind.

"Your letters, Miss Moxton."

Daphne Frensham brought them to the side of the bed. "What arethey?" she cried irritably.

"The usual autograph ones," said the secretary, resisting astrong impulse to add that her employer had better write"Murderess" after her signature. "Two luncheons; a line from thepublicity agent, and a request that you will say you use DoctorSpeedworthy's Purple Ointment for removing blackheads in returnfor half a dozen tubes of it."

She held the letters out, and the film star snatched them fromher hand. What did Drummond know? What was he going to say at theinquest? Damn him. Damn that fool Pendleton. Damn that miserablebungler Number Four for having failed to kill him.

"Say—how do you hold inquests in this one-horseplace?"

Daphne Frensham's face registered just the right amount ofsurprise at such an apparently unusual question: so that was thelie of the land, was it?

"I'm afraid I don't really know, Miss Moxton," she said. "I'venever attended one. I believe they have a man called a coroner,and a jury, and then they find a verdict. Why do you ask?"

"Can the public get in?"

"I believe so. I think the proceedings are always open."

"Find out where they're going to sit around on that guy whowas killed on Friday night, and his house burned down."

"You mean Mr Sanderson?"

For the life of her Daphne Frensham could not keep a slighttremor out of her voice: there in the bed in front of her was, ifnot the actual perpetrator of the crime, the woman who had stoodby while it was done. And now she was calmly asking about theinquest: proposing to attend it.

"For the land's sake don't stand there gaping, Miss Frensham.Of course I mean Sanderson."

The secretary left the room, and with a vicious movementCorinne Moxton flung the letters on to the floor. Then she sprangout of bed. What did that big guy Drummond know? What was hegoing to say?

"It is being held in the hall attached to the mortuary inHampstead," said Daphne Frensham, returning. "At eleven-thirty."

Corinne Moxton glanced at the clock: ten-thirty now. Then shelooked at her complexion in the glass: at least three-quarters ofan hour's hard work was necessary there. So it could not bedone.

"All right," she snapped. "Pick up the mail, and answer asusual."

It was better so, she reflected, snatching a pot of face creamfrom the dressing-table. It would have looked very curious forCorinne Moxton, the famous film star, to attend an inquest.Almost as if she was interested in it—in the dead man. Andsuddenly a look of gloating ecstasy came into her eyes: NumberFour had not bungled that time. She saw again that deadly penthat was not a pen; she heard again that quick hiss, sawSanderson crumple in his chair, his head crashforward—dead. If only they could have got him before he hadrung up: it was that that had caused the trouble. But he was toowily. Number Four had no chance; she admitted that. And one thingat any rate was certain: Sanderson had said nothing incriminatingover the telephone.

Her thoughts automatically turned to Standish: where did hecome in? She had never seen him: he meant nothing to her, but itwas him that Sanderson had rung up. A sort of detective, so SirRichard said; moreover, the man who had shot Number Four. But hecould know no more than Drummond, and once again her mind wentback to that large individual. What was he going to say at theinquest?

She finished dressing, and went into the sitting-room, whereDaphne Frensham was awaiting her with the answers to her letters.Twenty-past eleven: the thing was just going to begin.

"Sign them for me," she said. "I can't be bothered."

"But I can't sign the ones asking for your autograph,"protested the other.

"Then throw them in the fire," screamed Corinne Moxton.

What a maddening girl! Couldn't the fool understand that hernerves were all on edge? That she did not want to be worriedsigning trashy letters to idiots. And then she pulled herselftogether; Daphne Frensham was looking at her in a very strangeway. She must be careful: never do to let her secretary suspectanything. Not that she would, of course: the only person who knewshe had been present when Sanderson was murdered was Number Four,and his mouth was effectively shut. And Sir Richard, but he didnot count.

"I guess my nerves are a bit on the jag this morning, MissFrensham," she forced herself to say. "Give me the letters andI'll do them now."

She scrawled her signature at the foot of each, not evenbothering to read them through. The clock showed eleven-thirty:the inquest was starting.

"I shan't want you any more today, Miss Frensham," she said."You can have it to yourself."

"Thank you," said the other. "But I've got two or three hours'work filing your press cuttings which I'd like to do before Igo."

Corinne Moxton, as she watched Daphne Frensham methodicallygathering the letters together, checked a strong desire to tellher to clear out of the flat: she must be careful. Damnthe fool woman: could the idiot not understand that she wanted tobe alone—that unless she could know something definite soonshe would scream? At last the secretary left the room, andCorinne Moxton began pacing up and down.

A quarter to twelve: it had begun. At that very moment thewords might have been spoken which would end her career, wouldbrand her in the eyes of the world, would... Great God! she hadnot thought of that.

"Miss Frensham," she called loudly. "Miss Frensham." Thesecretary appeared.

"Say, Miss Frensham," she cried, "what would happen in thiscountry if—if, well, if say someone was murdered by someoneand someone else was present at the time?"

Daphne Frensham's face was quite expressionless.

"I suppose you mean, what would happen to the someone else,"she said with maddening deliberation, and Corinne Moxton felt shecould hit her. Was the girl completely daft this morning? Whatelse could she have meant? And what was that the fool was saying?The someone else would be hanged!

"Even if she had nothing to do with it?" cried the film starshrilly.

"She!" Daphne Frensham raised her eyebrows. "Your someone elseis a woman, is it? It makes no difference, Miss Moxton: women arehanged in England just the same as men. And, you see," shecontinued, "she must have had something to do with it, otherwiseshe'd have told the police at once, wouldn't she?"

Corinne Moxton bit her lip, and her nails cut into the palmsof her hand. She must be careful what she said: there wasno doubt whatever that her secretary was now looking at her moststrangely.

"Thank you, Miss Frensham," she said. "The point comes up in anew film I'm thinking of. Don't let me keep you any more."

Hanged! Great heavens, what a fool she had been to go! Why hadnot that miserable cur Pendleton told her that she would behanged? It was not possible; it was not justice: she could not behanged. She had not done it: you cannot hang a person merely forwatching someone being killed.

A frenzy of panic seized her, and rushing into her bedroom shebegan hurling things into her dressing-case. She must get away:leave the country while there was still time. Hanged! Taken outin the early morning with a rope round one's neck and hanged.

"Are you going away, Miss Moxton?"

Daphne Frensham was standing in the door and with a superhumaneffort Corinne Moxton pulled herself together. If only someoccult force had struck her secretary dead on the spot she wouldhave danced with joy on the body. But it did not: she continuedstanding by the door, watching her employer out of a pair ofwondering blue eyes.

"I thought you said you were filing press cuttings, MissFrensham," she cried furiously. "It seems to me, I guess, you'respending most of the morning fooling around the passages."

"I'm sorry, Miss Moxton," said Daphne Frensham sweetly. "Thefiling is not urgent, and I thought perhaps I could help youpack. Does that come into the film, too?"

She left the room, leaving Corinne Moxton motionless. What didthe girl mean? Did she suspect? Impossible: utterly impossible.No one could suspect—yet. No one could know anything aboutit at all. Unless... God! unless Drummond had said something atthe inquest. But what could he have said—be saying now?

A quarter-past twelve: was it over? Anyway, it was too latenow to bolt: the police watched the boats, she had been told, incases like that. Hanged! Hanged! Like that film of Mata Hari inwhich she had played a small part before she became a star. OnlyMata Hari was shot. With snow on the ground.

She bit her thumb to prevent herself shrieking. She had seen aplay once—a Grand Guignol play—"Eight O'clock." Thelast half-hour of a man's life before he was hanged. He hadprayed with the chaplain: the sole of one of his boots had had apatch in it—she remembered noticing that as he knelt by thebed. And then suddenly the whole cell had been full of people,and a thin-lipped man in a sort of uniform had come swiftly up tothe murderer, and pinioned his arms, and half pushed, halfcarried him up some stairs behind the cell. Screaming; screaming.And then a dull thud, and silence.

Hanged! That had been acting: in her case it would not be. Itwould be reality. She would be awakened in the morning, if shehad ever gone to sleep. And men would come in and drag her out,and there would be that dull thud, and—silence. But shewould not be there to realise there was silence. She would bedead.

The front-door bell rang shrilly. And when a few moments laterSir Richard Pendleton entered he was met by Daphne Frensham.

"I don't think, Sir Richard," she said, "that Miss Moxton isvery well this morning. She has just fainted."

"Fainted," he cried. "I'll go to her at once. When did ithappen?"

"Just after the bell rang," she said, and as he hurried intothe bedroom a little smile twitched round her lips. "I don'tthink she was expecting you."

And if there was a slight emphasis on the last word, SirRichard did not notice it: was not the lovely Corinne Moxtonunconscious on the bed and in need of professional attention?

"My dear," he said solicitously when she opened her eyes,"what made you do that?"

For a while she stared at him blankly: then she sat up andclutched his wrist.

"Has he said anything?" she cried.

Sir Richard frowned, putting a warning finger to his lips, andCorinne Moxton saw that her secretary was just behind him.

"That will do, thank you, Miss Frensham," she said. "Sorry tohave given you the trouble: I suddenly felt queer. Now I want totalk to Sir Richard."

She waited till the door had shut; then she turned on himfeverishly.

"Well," she cried, "what has happened?"

"Absolutely nothing," said the doctor gravely.

"Drummond hasn't split?"

"Drummond wasn't there."

"Is the inquest over?"

Sir Richard nodded.

"Yes. A purely formal affair with a formal verdict. And Idon't like it."

But Corinne Moxton was paying no attention. The inquest wasover and Drummond had said nothing. All her fears weregroundless, and she jumped up gaily.

"And to think that I've been worrying myself sick," she cried,"wondering if he was going to say something about you and me.That's what made me faint: when the bell rang I thought it wasthe police."

"Don't talk too loud, Corinne," he said. "That girl of yoursis in the next room. No; he said nothing, for the very goodreason that he wasn't there. Nor was Standish. And what I amwondering is, why they neither of them were there. I don't likeit, my dear: I don't like it at all."

She stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"What's stung you now?" she cried. "You surely didn't want himto say anything."

"Not about you and me naturally," he answered. "But I can'tunderstand why no mention has been made of other things connectedwith the case. And I can't understand why two of the principalwitnesses have not been called. It looks very suspicious tome."

But Corinne Moxton was in no mood for gloom: the reactionafter her previous fears was too wonderful.

"Gee, Richard, your face would turn the butter rancid. Go andshake a co*cktail, and then take me out to lunch."

He went into the next room obediently, but he was stilllooking worried when she joined him.

"Number Nine was present," he said, closing the door. "I'vejust seen him. And what you don't seem to grasp, my dear, is thata formal verdict such as the coroner instructed the jury to bringin is only possible at the instigation of the police. It meansthey've got something up their sleeves."

"As long as they haven't got me," she cried. "I guess they cankeep what they like there."

"It's not quite so easy as that, Corinne," he remarked,handing her a drink. "Why has no mention been made of the OldHall? Why has nothing been said about the drugging of Standishand Drummond? They are lying low at the moment, and I should feela great deal happier if we had a few more of their cards on thetable. The fact that no mention was made of those things ratherdiscounts the value to us that no mention was made of you andme."

She put down her glass.

"You mean," she said slowly, "that they still may know we wereinvolved."

"Precisely," he answered. "If some of those points had beenalluded to, and nothing had been said about us, I should feelabsolutely safe. As it is I don't."

"Well, what are you going to do about it?"

Her voice was shrill: all the old terrors were returning.

"There is nothing to do about it," he said. "All we can do isto hope for the best. It may be all my imagination: Drummondprobably suspects nothing at all. But"—he shrugged hisshoulders—"I wish I could be certain. Anyway," he continuedreassuringly, "I don't think it possible that anyone can have aninkling of the fact that you were present when Sanderson waskilled."

Her spirits revived: that was really all that mattered.

"It was very unwise of you to go, as I've told you before," hewent on, "and had I had the slightest idea that you proposed to Ishould have forbidden it. But it's done and there is no more tobe said about it. What we've got to do now is to concentrate onthe future."

He paused and stood listening: then stepping swiftly acrossthe room he flung open the door, almost colliding as he did sowith Daphne Frensham, who was just outside.

"Good gracious, Sir Richard," she said calmly, "how youstartled me. There's one letter I forgot to give you, MissMoxton: will you sign it now?"

Sir Richard watched her closely as she crossed the room. Hadshe been listening outside? If so, it was a superb piece ofacting. Not by the quiver of an eyelid had she given herselfaway.

He waited until she had again left the room: then he swunground to Corinne Moxton.

"Is that secretary of yours all right?" he said in a lowvoice. "I could have sworn I heard a sound outside just before Iopened the door."

"I guess I was a little indiscreet this morning," sheanswered, quite humbly for her. "I kind of got nervous, Richard:I kept on thinking over what you said yesterday about Drummond.And I suddenly began to wonder what would happen to me if theydid find out I was there when Sanderson was killed."

"My God! Corinne, you didn't say anything about it to her?" hecried, aghast.

"No, honey, no. I just put a sort of hypothetical case."

"Well, if you take my advice, you won't put any more. We'vebitten off quite enough already, without adding anything else.And we don't want that young woman butting into things.Now—I've got an appointment which I can't get out of, butI'll meet you at the Ritz for lunch at one-thirty. And don'tforget: no more hypothetical cases."

Corinne Moxton watched him go: then she mixed herself anotherco*cktail. She had been indiscreet: she knew it. Especially thatinsane moment of panic when she had started to pack her dressing-case. Just blind, unreasoning fear had driven her, and now shecursed herself for a fool. But if only they could know forcertain.

Suddenly an idea struck her. It could do no harm, and it mightsettle matters once and for all. She picked up the telephone bookand looked up Drummond's number. She would ring up the house, andask him round for a drink that night. If Paris was a blind; if hewas either stopping quietly in his own house or was somewhere inEngland, she might be able to get at him.

A man's voice answered—Captain Drummond's butler.

"I am sorry, madam, but Captain Drummond is in Paris; I cannotsay where. I do not know when he is returning. Can I give him anymessage from madam? To have a drink with you some evening afterhe returns. Very good, madam."

She replaced the receiver: whether it was the truth or not,the story was evidently being stuck to. And after a while, when athird co*cktail had followed in the wake of its predecessors, lifebegan to look a little better. It must have been Sir Richard'simagination over his talk with Drummond: she was perfectly safe.And even if the doctor was suspected, there was no reason why sheshould be. Just because she had been about with him a good dealsince she had been in London was no justification for the policeto get at her. They might question her, but she was quite capableof dealing with questions. In fact, if she handled the thingproperly it might prove a good advertisem*nt.

One thing, however, would be a good thing to do: get rid ofDaphne Frensham. The girl must have suspected something thatmorning, even if she was not wise to the truth. And it would beas well to get her out of the flat before the night. Therehearsal did not matter, so if she gave her secretary a week'snotice it would just be right: she would be leaving on the Mondayand it was booked for Tuesday. And it would seem more naturalthan giving her the sack on the spot.

"Say, Miss Frensham," she said, stopping on the way to herbedroom, "I guess it's customary in this country to give notice,the same as in mine. Wal, I'm quitting early next week, and goingto Berlin. So I shan't be requiring you after Monday next. I hopethat is convenient to you."

"Quite, thank you, Miss Moxton," said Daphne Frensham. "Itwill give you time to look around for another situation, and ofcourse I'll give you a first-class reference."

She went on into her room: that was all right. The girl hadtaken it quite normally and evinced no surprise, and as sherepassed the room on her way to the front door she saw her withher head bent low over the table absorbed in her work.

Daphne Frensham waited until she heard the front door close;then pushing back her chair she lit a cigarette. She was frowninga little; being given the sack was not going to help matters. Hadshe played her part badly that morning: was that the reason? Shedid not see how else she could have played it. To have remainedquite unsurprised at such an exhibition of nerves would in itselfhave been suspicious. Or was the woman really going toBerlin?

After a while she went into the other room and rang up PeterDarrell.

"Would you like to give me a spot of lunch today?" she asked."You bet I would," he said. "Where and when would suit?"

"As soon as you like," she answered. "And somewherequiet."

They fixed on a small place off Wardour Street, and a quarterof an hour later she found him there waiting for her.

"I've been followed," he said, as they shook hands, "but thatis nothing new during the past few days. My attendant is thatnasty-looking mess eating spaghetti in the corner.Well—what news?"

"I've been sacked," she answered as they took a table as farremoved from the follower as possible. "Given a week's noticethis morning."

"The devil you have," he remarked, staring at her. "However, Idon't think it matters: a week will be enough. I've been incommunication with Hugh Drummond and a fellow called Standishthis morning early, and they think that whatever is going tohappen is coming shortly. But why did you get the boot?"

She told him briefly what had happened and he listened insilence.

"The nuisance is," she concluded, "that I've so far found outnothing new, and what is worse, that man Pendleton now suspectsme. I only just straightened up in time when he flung the dooropen."

"Probably it's that that got you the bullet," said Darrellthoughtfully. "For Heaven's sake be careful, my dear: this isn'ta bunch to play any monkey tricks with."

"Where is Captain Drummond?" she asked.

"Falconbridge Arms in the New Forest," he answered in a lowvoice. "They are battling with that cipher, and also lying lowfor a few days. You see, Bill Leyton and I don't count: we'reonly the small fry. It's those two the other crowd want."

"What happened at the inquest?" she asked.

"The whole thing was over in about ten minutes," he said."Bill and I said our little piece, and the coroner literally shutus up if there was any question of us talking out of our turn.The whole thing was run by the police."

"That's what is making Sir Richard uneasy," she remarked. "Icould just hear enough to realise that this morning."

"By the way," he said suddenly, "there's no danger, is there,of any of their underlings recognising you?"

She shook her head.

"None of them have ever been near the flat," she told him."Sir Richard would, of course, but no one else."

"And he doesn't know me," said Darrell, relieved. "And sincethere is only one of them here, and he's my portion, you can getback all right. But don't forget Drummond's address in case youwant him urgently. His telephone number is Brockenhurst 028. Butbe careful where you 'phone him from."

"How long is he going to stay there?"

Darrell grinned.

"From what I know of him not long," he said. "Vegetating inthe country is not his line at all. And it's only Ronald Standishwho has persuaded him to do it."

"He struck me as being a very determined individual," sheremarked.

Darrell laughed.

"He is, as several people in the past have found to theircost. And he is one of the few beings I have ever met who doesnot know what the word fear means. That is why Standish must havebrought some heavy guns to bear to get him to go and hide,because when all is said and done that is what they aredoing."

"That reminds me," she said suddenly. "I'd quite forgotten.That woman rang him up this morning."

"What's that?" he cried. "But she doesn't know where heis."

"His London house," she explained. "And it must have been thatdear old thing Denny who answered."

"He won't give anything away," said Darrell, relieved. "Hedoesn't even know where Hugh is himself."

"She was evidently asking him to come round and have aco*cktail," she continued. "I heard her say, 'Give him my messagewhen he returns.'"

"Rather amusing that," said Darrell. "I wonder what sheproposes to do with him when she gets him there—ask thedear doctor to poison him?"

"She'd love that," remarked the girl. "It would be a newsensation for her."

"She must be a unique case," said Darrell thoughtfully,holding out his cigarette-case. "Think of having her lying aboutthe house permanently."

"My temporary experience is quite enough, thank you," sheanswered. "She's inconceivably and utterly vile, and I simplyhugged myself this morning when I realised that she was in acomplete panic."

"She must have been to faint," he said.

"She thought she was going to be arrested, of course," went onDaphne Frensham. "And since I'd pitched it in good and heartyabout the hanging part of the business she simply blew up.

"I hope to Heaven they don't think you know," he saidanxiously.

"No need to worry about that," she answered decidedly.

"They think that quite naturally I am curious over her strangebehaviour this morning. I was worried myself to start with, butnow I've thought it over I'm sure that's how it stands. You see,to anyone who didn't know the truth she would have seemed like amad-woman."

"You know," said Darrell earnestly, "we're being mostindiscreet."

"How do you mean?" she asked, surprised.

"Well, I can see the follower," he explained, "and he'sfinished his second plate of spaghetti. Which shows that we'vebeen here some time. Now, don't you realise that he must bewondering what we're talking about."

"He can't hear what we've said."

"True, most adorable of your sex. But he can see our faces.And I ask you—what have our faces registered? Earnestness:grim resolve. Hence our indiscretion. We have made him curious.Why should any man register grim resolve who is lunching withyou?"

Her lips began to twitch.

"What are we going to do about it?" she said.

"Well, I have a suggestion to make," he answered gravely."Supposing—you will, of course, realise that it is onlymade to deceive our spaghetti eater—supposing you movedyour left knee a little nearer my right knee, they wouldcertainly connect. And he would see the deed, and would thinkthat our conversation, which had evidently been concerned withlove, was beginning to reach a successful conclusion."

She pressed out her cigarette.

"Conclusion?" she murmured.

"Good God! no," he cried, aghast. "Merely the opening gambitfor the next half-hour. The conclusion I alluded to was that ofthe grim-resolve period."

"And what do our expressions register during the knee-touchingspasm?"

"That, Daphne, I leave entirely to you. But don't forget,we've got to allay spaghetti's doubts."

He grinned suddenly.

"You're the most adorable girl," he went on, "and you mustnever forget one thing, for I never can." His voice had grownserious again. "You saved the life of the man who is my greatestfriend—Hugh Drummond."

"Rot," she answered with a smile. "You saved him, Peter. Andif you really think we ought to put spaghetti out of his misery,we'd better get on with it, because I must be off soon."

"But you said you'd got a day off," he protested.

"I'm not going to take it," she said. "I might find outsomething. And after next Monday I shan't be so busy."

"You topper," cried Peter. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing much," she answered. "But you're a very conscientiousactor, aren't you?"

"Spaghetti has an eye like a lynx, darling," he said happily."He'd know at once if we were faking things."

"And is 'darling' included in your part?"

"You bet it is. Spaghetti is a lip reader. But if you prefersweetheart I have no objection."

"It strikes me, Mr Darrell, that you're a pretty rapidmover."

"Only in times of stress like this," he assured her. "Atothers I'm a lay preacher."

With which monstrous reflection on a worthy body of citizensPeter Darrell proceeded to concentrate on the matter in hand tosuch purpose that closing hours for drink passedunnoticed—a state of affairs that speaks for itself.

"I think we ought to meet every day, don't you?" he said asthey finally rose from their table. "Just to report progress, youknow. Anyway, give me your private address, so that if I feelnervous I can come round and hold your hand."

He scribbled it down in his note-book, and put her into ataxi.

"I'll tell him to drive to Selfridges," he whispered throughthe window. "You can put him wise when you've started. So long,you angel."

He watched her drive away: then with a courteous smile heturned to the consumer of the spaghetti, who had just emergedfrom the restaurant.

"Now, sir," he remarked, "I am completely at your service. Letus talk of this and that for a while, and then with your kindlypermission I propose to go to my club. You prefer not to? Well,well; as you please. In that case, I will leave you. I shall bedressing for dinner about seven-thirty."

And it was at that hour precisely that the telephone rang inhis flat, and he heard Daphne Frensham at the other end."Darling," he said. "This is too wonderful."

"Listen, Peter," came her voice a little urgently. "There havebeen developments this afternoon. I must see you at once. Wherecan we meet?"

He thought for a moment or two.

"Look here, dear," he said quietly, "the last thing we want todo is to give away where you live. On the other hand, they allknow where I live. If I come round and see you I shall befollowed: do you mind coming here to my flat?"

"Of course not, my dear," she answered. "I'll come atonce."

He put down the receiver thoughtfully: developments, werethere? And then for a while he forgot such minor matters in thevery much more important question of Daphne Frensham. What anabsolute fizzer she was, and where would they all have beenwithout her? But when she arrived a quarter of an hour later hesaw at once by her face that something serious had happened.

"Peter, dear," she said without any preamble, "I'm desperatelyafraid that I've given away Captain Drummond's address."

He whistled under his breath.

"That's a pity," he said. "How did it happen, darling?"

He pulled off her cloak and pulled a chair up to the fire.

"I'd better start at the beginning," she said. "When I gotback this afternoon the flat was empty, so I went on with the jobof filing her rotten press cuttings to fill in the time till theyreturned. They didn't get back till nearly five, and they wentstraight into the drawing-room and shut the door. I'd heard theirvoices in the hall, and it was pretty obvious that that beastPendleton was feeling amorous. And as the last thing I wanted tolisten to was the pig making love, I stayed on where I was.

"Suddenly I heard the telephone go, and I crept along thepassage. He was answering it, and of course I had no idea whatwas being said at the other end. Then I heard him say—'Iget you. Ardington: tonight—four o'clock.' That was all Igot; in fact, that was all he said, but its effect was remarkableon her.

"She jumped to her feet the instant he'd rung off, and rushedto him.

"'Tonight,' she cried, and there was a sort of ecstasy in hervoice. 'Say, Richard, that's too marvellous.'

"'Earlier than I expected,' he said. 'It was to have been nextThursday. Is that damned secretary of yours still in theflat?'

"That was my cue, and I was safely back in my own room beforehe opened the door. Two collisions in the same day would havebeen asking for trouble.

"'You really are a model secretary,' he said in that foul,sneering voice of his. 'I thought Miss Moxton had given you theafternoon off.'

"'I'm badly in arrears with this work, Sir Richard,' Ianswered, wielding a pretty scissor. 'And I prefer to get up todate, thank you.'

"He went back to the other room, and I heard the murmur oftheir voices. It wasn't safe to do the keyhole act again, so Icontrolled my curiosity and went on pasting the wretched noticesin a book. What on earth did it mean? I'd never heard ofArdington: I didn't even know if it was the name of a man or aplace. What could there be to make that woman get in a flat spinabout?

"Then she came along the passage to talk to me, and I took onelook at her face. You know I told you, Peter, about the time shesaw that street accident, and the episode of the dog. Well, thesame expression was in her eyes as she stood by the table, thoughher voice was under perfect control.

"'Thank you, Miss Frensham,' she said, 'it's good of you tofinish them up. But I guess I'd sooner you didn't come till afterlunch tomorrow: I feel like a long morning in. So stay on now,and take your time off tomorrow instead.'

"'Certainly, Miss Moxton,' I answered, and she went back toPendleton. Again I didn't dare to try to listen, and there I satfuming, unable to hear a word of what they were saying. At lastthe door opened, and they came out, on their way to a co*cktailparty.

"'We'd better go, or we'll be late,' said Sir Richard. 'I toldParker to wait.'

"'But you won't take him tonight,' she cried.

"'Good God! no,' he answered. 'I'll drive myself.'

"Then the front door shut, and they were gone, leaving me morepuzzled than ever. Parker is Sir Richard's chauffeur, and ifthere is one thing the doctor loathes doing it is driving hiscar. So why should he be so emphatic in saying that he was goingto do so himself tonight? Evidently something is going to happenwhich Parker mustn't see. Don't you think so, Peter?"

"Sounds like it, my dear, I must say," said Darrell. "But howdid you give Hugh away?"

"I'm coming to that," she continued. "I went on racking mybrains as to what it could mean, and after a while I rang you up.There was no reply, and I didn't know what your club was. And so,like an idiot, I put through a call to Captain Drummond. The flatwas empty, and I knew they wouldn't be returning for an hour atleast. I got through to the Falconbridge Arms after a bit ofdelay, and asked for him. And as I was waiting while they went tosee if he was in I happened to look round: standing in thedoorway was a woman.

"For a moment or two I stared at her in complete bewilderment:I couldn't imagine where she had sprung from. She was middle-aged, with grey hair and very well dressed, and I was on thepoint of asking her who she was and what she wanted when CaptainDrummond came to the telephone.

"I should think he must have thought me an absolute idiot.

"'Is that you, Mr Johnson?' I said, taking the first name Icould think of.

"'Hullo! Miss Frensham,' he answered, 'I recognise your voice.What's the great idea?'

"'Sorry,' I cried. 'Wrong number,' and rang off.

"'How annoying it is when that happens, isn't it?' said thewoman, coming into the room.

"'May I ask you who you are and how you got in?' I cried.

"'You must be dear Corinne's secretary, I suppose,' she said,without answering my question. 'She told me you were verycharming.'"

"First good point I've heard about Corinne," said Darrell witha grin.

"Shut up, Peter: this is serious. We went on talking for awhile, and at last I discovered that she was a Mrs Merridick, whohad known the Moxton woman for years, and had a key to the flat.Which in itself struck me as being very extraordinary. If she wassuch an intimate friend as all that, why had she never used thekey before? To my certain knowledge it was the first time she hadbeen in the flat, at any rate during the day, since I'd been inthe job.

"However, I am bound to admit that she was very nice: asked meabout my prospects, where I lived..."

"Which I hope you did not tell her," interrupted Darrellanxiously.

"Of course not, bless you: I just said with my mother. But tocut it short, Peter, I didn't hear her open the front door, andso I don't know when she came in. And so I can't be sure how longshe had been standing there. Did she hear me ask for CaptainDrummond, and did she hear me mention the Falconbridge Arms? Nota muscle in her face moved when I said Mr Johnson, but that meansnothing."

"It does not," agreed Darrell. "And there is no doubt whateverthat Hugh must be warned at once. I'll get through to himnow."

"Wait a minute, Peter: we must try and think what thisArdington business means. At first, as I told you, I couldn'tmake out if it was a man or a place or what it was. Now if it's aman why four o'clock? And why shouldn't Parker drive? Of course,Sir Richard may not want to keep him up so long, but I've neverknown him show any consideration before."

"Is there a place called Ardington?" asked Darrell.

"Yes, there is. I looked it up in the AA book. It's a tinyvillage with two hundred and fifty inhabitants somewhere up inthe Midlands, and it's one hundred and thirty-three miles fromLondon."

"Old Cow Hotel; 13 brms.; unlic.; I know the sort of notice,"said Darrell with a grin. "But, my dear," he went on seriously,"what under the sun can be taking 'em to a spot like that at theungodly hour of four in the morning?"

"Ask me another, Peter: I can't tell you."

"You're sure you got the name right?"

"Absolutely positive."

Darrell shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, I'm beat. But the first thing to do is to ring up Hughand put him wise to the possibility of his hiding-place havingbeen discovered. Then we'll think about this Ardington businesslater."

He was walking towards the telephone when she put a hand onhis arm.

"Peter," she said, "I've got a hunch. Don't 'phone: let's godown ourselves."

"That's an idea, by Jove!" he cried. "I'll guarantee to getaway from any car spaghetti can get hold of."

"Doesn't matter if you can't. I'm certain in my own mind thatMrs Merridick heard, so their address is known. I've tried to kidmyself that she didn't, but in my heart of hearts I know she did.Let's go down and tell them: you can't make it clear over thetelephone. Let's start at once."

He grinned at her.

"Right, angel; we will. I'll ring up my garage and tell 'em tohave the bus ready in ten minutes. Then we'll step on thejuice."

CHAPTER IX

THEY arrived at Falconbridge at ten-thirty, andstopped in the village to ask the way to the hotel.

"First on the left, sir," said the local constable, "but ifyou and the lady are looking for rooms I doubt if you'll get themthere tonight. There's been a terrible accident not half an hourago."

"What's that?" cried Darrell, a sudden fear clutching at hisheart.

"Half the hotel blown up," said the policeman, and pausedaggrieved as the car shot away like a mad thing: he was justgetting into his stride.

"What's happened, Peter?" cried the girl in a frightenedvoice.

"God knows, my dear," he answered grimly. "But we'll soon findout. Hotels don't blow up without some good reason. Great Scott!look there."

The Falconbridge Arms had just come into sight, and though itwas obvious that the policeman had exaggerated, something wasclearly amiss. Numbers of men with lanterns were moving about,and by their light it was possible to see a great jagged hole inthe wall nearest them.

"Mind out, sir," came a warning voice. "The whole of the driveis covered with broken glass."

"Is anybody hurt?" cried Darrell anxiously.

"Two gentlemen, sir, who were in the room where the explosiontook place."

"Are they dead?"

He forced the question out and waited, sick with anxiety, forthe reply.

"No, sir, but how they escaped is a miracle. They're bothunconscious."

"Stay in the car, dear," said Darrell, "while I go and makesome enquiries. There's been some devilry here."

He made his way through the gaping crowd of curious villagersto the front entrance of the hotel, where a man, who wasobviously the manager, was in close conversation with twopolicemen.

"Excuse me," he said, breaking in without apology, "but whatare the names of the two injured men?"

"Captain Drummond and Mr Standish," answered the manager. "Doyou know them?"

"Intimately," answered Darrell. "In fact, it was to see themthat I have just motored down from London."

"Then perhaps you can throw some light on this extraordinaryaffair," said the other quickly.

"First I should like to hear exactly what happened."

"I can only tell you what we all heard. It took place aboutthree-quarters of an hour ago. I was in my office, and severalpeople were sitting in the lounge. Suddenly there was a deafeningexplosion which shook the entire hotel. It came from the privatesitting-room which your two friends had. The hall porter at oncedashed in to find the whole place blown to pieces. All thewindows had gone, and there was a huge hole in the wall. MrStandish was lying in a corner quite unconscious: CaptainDrummond had been hurled clean through the window and was foundon the drive outside. May I ask, sir, if they were experimentingwith some new form of explosive?"

"Not that I'm aware of," said Darrell. "Where are theynow?"

"In their bedrooms. The doctor has seen both of them. Ah! herehe is."

Darrell turned on him eagerly.

"What news of your patients, Doctor?"

"This gentleman is a friend of theirs," explained themanager.

"They're both alive," said the doctor, "though how theyescaped being blown to pieces is more than I can tell you. Stillmore amazing, they don't seem to have broken anything. Whetherthey are damaged internally or not I cannot at the moment say.The bigger man of the two, who was found in the drive, is the onewho got off lightest. He's cut his face a bit—probably thathit the gravel first. But I should think that he will recoverconsciousness before the other."

"And how long will it be before he does?" asked Darrell. Thedoctor shrugged his shoulders.

"My dear sir, it is impossible to say. Cases have been knownwhere people have remained unconscious for weeks. But luckily forthem they are both of them extremely powerful men withmagnificent constitutions, and I hope that that will not be sowith them. Has anyone got any idea what caused theexplosion?"

"No one," said the manager. "It must have been some form ofbomb, I should think. You're quite sure, sir"—he turned toDarrell—"that they were not carrying out anyexperiments?"

"One can never be quite sure of anything," saidDarrell, "but I think it most unlikely. What I would like to knowis, whether they had any visitors tonight."

"I'll send for the hail porter," said the manager. "Now,Dean," he went on, as the man arrived, "did any visitor go intoNumber Three this evening?"

"Not that I know of, sir," answered the man. "There ain't beenno one come to the hotel at all except the lady after dinner whattook a room."

"A lady came after dinner, did she?" said Darrell quietly."What sort of a lady?"

"Middle-aged lady, sir, with grey hair."

"Is she in the hotel now?"

"I suppose so, sir: she took a room."

"Presumably after that explosion she wouldn't have remained init. Is she in the lounge?"

"What's the idea, sir?" said the manager.

"Only that I'd rather like to have a look at her," answeredDarrell.

"That's easy. Let's go inside. Now, Dean, where is the lady?"The hall porter looked around: then he shook his head. "She's notin here, sir. Shall I go up to Seventeen and see if she'sthere?"

The manager looked questioningly at Darrell, who nodded.

"Make some excuse about hot water," he said to the hallporter. "Now, sir," he continued to Darrell, "it's obvious youknow something."

"Let's wait until Dean comes back," said Darrell. "I may bequite wrong."

A few minutes later the hall porter returned, looking puzzled."She's not there, sir. And I've made enquiries outside and hercar has gone."

"What name did she register under?" asked Darrell. "We canfind that out in the office, sir."

They crossed the lounge, and turned up the book. "EveMatthews: London" was the entry, and the reception clerk suppliedsome further information.

"Lady said she was terrified by the explosion and would notstay. So she paid her bill and cleared out."

"Well, I may be wrong," said Darrell, "but I believe that ifwe could lay our hands on Eve Matthews of London we should catchthe perpetrator of this little outrage."

"But what on earth was the object of it?" cried the manager."Had she a grudge against them? Was it a love affair?"

"I assure you not that," said Darrell with a grim smile. "No:the reasons behind it are very simple. Captain Drummond and MrStandish were mixed up in the Sanderson murder case which youmust all have read about. And they are not at all popular withthe gang of criminals who killed him. This was an effort to putthem out of the way."

"But we can get hold of this 'ere Mrs Matthews," put in one ofthe constables.

"I doubt it very much," said Darrell quietly. "She will neverbe seen again, and even if she is, we've got no shadow of proof.No one saw her go into the sitting-room, and the fact that sheleft the hotel after the explosion means nothing. Many ladies ontheir own would do the same thing. Hullo! my dear."

"I got tired of sitting in the car, Peter," said DaphneFrensham as she joined them. "How are they?"

"I'm going up to see them in a moment," said Darrell. "They'reboth unconscious."

He drew her away, and they sat down in a corner of thelounge.

"I'm afraid your fears were justified, darling," he said in alow voice. "I haven't said anything to those warriors, but I'mconvinced Mrs Merridick did this. A middle-aged, grey-hairedwoman calling herself Mrs Matthews arrived here after dinner andleft again after the explosion. Said she was too frightened tostay."

"Peter—I'll never forgive myself," she cried miserably."What induced me to be such an awful fool?"

"My dear, you couldn't help it. It was just one of thoseunfortunate accidents that might happen to anyone. And they'renot dead: only knocked out. Hugh is not as bad as Ronald,according to the doctor."

"Oughtn't we to tell them about Mrs Merridick?"

"What's the good, dear? We've not got an atom of proof. We'vegot very strong suspicions but no more. And there's no usegetting a couple of village policemen unduly excited when itcan't do any good. Now you sit here while I go up and look at thetwo invalids."

He found Drummond tossing and moaning on his bed. His face wasbandaged up and so was one hand, whilst every now and then hebabbled incoherently. Standish lay quite motionless: only hisfaint breathing proclaimed that he was alive. And it was while hewas with him that the doctor came in to say that the ambulancewas at the door.

"They will be far better in hospital," he said. "In fact, itis essential they should be in a place where they can get skillednursing."

"Far better," agreed Darrell.

From other points of view beside nursing, he reflected. Whenit was found that they were not dead it was more than likely thatanother attempt would be made to finish them off. And then anidea struck him.

"Look here, Doctor," he said, "I'd be very much obliged ifyou'd do something for me. You said downstairs that you had noidea when they would recover consciousness, didn't you? Well, Iwish you'd pile that on as thick as you can when the reportersbegin to get busy. Say that you think it may be a question ofweeks. We're moving in deep waters, and if the bunch who did thisshow tonight think that even though they're not dead, they'resafely out of the way for some time, it'll be healthier for allconcerned."

The doctor nodded.

"Certainly," he said. "And in doing so I shall not bestretching the truth at all. For it is my candid opinion that itwill be a question of weeks, certainly in the case of MrStandish. Are you going to remain here?"

"For tonight at any rate," answered Darrell. "And tomorrowmorning I'll come round to the hospital to see how they are."

He waited till the two men had been placed in the ambulance;then he rejoined Daphne Frensham in the lounge. A reporter whohad arrived on the scene made a bee line for him, but Darrellwaved him aside curtly.

"Look here, dear," he said, "we've got to think what we'regoing to do. If, as I believe, it was the woman who calledherself Mrs Merridick who did this, one thing is very clear. Youcan't go back to Corinne Moxton, for they now know that you're intouch with Drummond. Further, you won't be safe in your own flat,for I assume she knows your address."

"No she doesn't, Peter. She's never asked me and I've nevertold her."

"Well, that's one good thing, anyway. We must chance yourbeing safe there. But about tonight. I suggest that we shouldtake rooms here in the hope that Hugh may recover consciousnesstomorrow. Then if he doesn't, you go back to London and lie low,whilst I get Bill Leyton down here to look after Ronald."

"What are you going to do, Peter?"

"Stay here, darling," he said promptly. "Or perhaps go to anhotel in Bournemouth. I must be on hand the instant Hugh comesto, because there may be something to be done which he won't befit to tackle. And you see, the doctor can't give me any idea howlong he's likely to remain like this. So I'll go and book tworooms, and then I vote for a spot of bed. But for Heaven's sake,my dear, lock your door: with this bunch you never know. I don'tthink we'll have any of 'em down here tonight, but one can't besure. Tomorrow, when it's in all the papers, and they know thatHugh and Ronald aren't dead, it will be a different matter. Andthat's why I think I may go to Bournemouth with Bill Leyton."

"Peter," she cried suddenly. "What about Ardington?"

"Good Lord!" he said. "I'd forgotten all about it. Anyway, mydear, it's too late to get there now. We'll have to let Ardingtontake care of itself. Now, you pop off to bed: we'll see what luckwe have tomorrow with old Hugh."

But they had none, and when they left in the afternoon he wasstill babbling incoherently.

"It's hell," said Darrell gloomily. "Supposing they have foundout something, and don't come round before it is too late. What'sthe matter, dear?"

For the girl had suddenly laid a hand on his arm.

"Stop, Peter, and go back to that paper shop." Her voice wasurgent, and he glanced at her curiously. "There was a posteroutside, and I'm sure I saw something."

He backed the car obediently, and then for a while they bothsat staring at the placard in silence.

 GHASTLY TRAINACCIDENT AT ARDINGTON HUGE DEATH ROLL 

"Get a paper, Peter," she said in a low voice.

He bought two copies of the Evening Mail, and handedher one. And in flaming headlines they read the news.

"APPALLING ACCIDENT TO EXPRESS
TRAIN LEAVESRAILS WHEN TRAVELLING AT
SIXTY MILES AN HOUR

HEAVYLOSS OF LIFE

"One of the most dreadful railway accidentsof modern times occurred last night near the little village ofArdington, which for sheer majesty of horror as a spectacle canonly have been equalled by the tragic loss of the ill-fated R101when she crashed near Beauvais on her maiden trip to India. And afurther parallel between the two disasters is that in both casesonly one person appears to have seen it actually happen. I havejust left the spectator of last night's accident, and he is stillalmost dazed by what he saw. He is Mr Herbert, of Plumtree Farm,where he has lived for the last twenty years.

"'I hadbeen up all night with a sick cow,' he told me, 'and was justleaving her to go back to bed when I heard the expressapproaching. It was coming through the cutting half a mile away,and I waited to see it pass. After the cutting there is anembankment on a bit of a curve, and the train came roaring roundit. And then suddenly it happened. The engine seemed to leap intothe air, and rush down the side of the embankment, followed byall the coaches. There was a crash such as I had never heard:everything seemed to pile up in a heap, and then there wassilence for a moment or two. But not for long: such a pandemoniumof screams and yells broke out as I wouldn't have believedpossible. The lights were still on, though some of the carriagesseemed to be telescoped, and I could see the passengers climbingout of windows—those that weren't dead. It was terrible: Ishall never get it out of my head.'

"So much for theonly eye-witness' account: now for some further details. Thetrain was the night express from Scotland to London. It wastravelling at full speed, but, according to the guard, JohnHarrison of Bexley, who is lying seriously injured in aneighbouring cottage, no faster than usual on that stretch ofline. They were up to time, in fact a minute ahead of it, so thatthe accident took place about 4.15 a.m. And then the inexplicablething occurred. The wheels of the engine left the rails, and thelocomotive, owing to the curve, plunged down the embankment atsixty miles an hour, dragging the heavy train behind it. Thedriver and fireman were both killed, and up to date there is adeath roll of thirty-five with seventy-one injured, several ofthem very seriously. Unfortunately, these figures by no meansrepresent the total loss. A breakdown gang is at work, butseveral hours must elapse before some of the coaches can belifted free of others into which they have been telescoped, andit is a regrettable certainty that when this is done many morecasualties will be discovered.

"I had a talk with WalterMarton, the attendant in the sleeping-car, who, by somemiraculous stroke of luck, escaped with nothing worse than ashaking.

"'I was sitting in my seat reading,' he said.'She was running as smoothly as usual, when suddenly she gave aterrific lurch, and I got flung into a heap of soiled linen. Andthe next thing I knew was that the coach was upside down. Iclimbed out through one of the windows.'

"And that isone of the things which increases the horror of the spectacle:almost the whole of the train is upside down at the foot of theslope. Only the two rear coaches, one of which was the guard'svan, are still standing on their wheels, and in these no one waskilled, though several passengers sustained fractures, and theguard himself was hurled from one end of his van to theother."

LATER.

"The death roll in this ghastlytragedy has now reached forty-nine, and two coaches still remaintelescoped. It is feared that the final count will number betweensixty and seventy, since no one can possibly be alive in thosetwo carriages. The gruesome task of identifying the victims isbeing carried out in the little concert hall of Ardington."

"But, Peter," said the girl, and her face was as white as asheet, "it's unbelievable; it's inconceivable. How did they knowthat this was going to happen?"

He stared at her.

"Know it was going to happen," he repeated foolishly. "Theycan't have known an accident was going to happen."

"But was it an accident, Peter?"

"My God!" he muttered. "My God!" And fell silent, stillstaring at her dazedly.

"What was the object, Daphne?" he said at length. "What canhave been the object? My dear, you must be wrong. It wasan accident."

"So that was why Parker wasn't to drive," she went on, as ifhe had not spoken. "What are we going to do about it, Peter?"

"What can we do about it?" he said heavily, as he got backinto the car. "A sentence heard through a keyhole isn't much togo on. Their answer would be a flat denial that the words wereever spoken, or that they ever went there. And it's impossible toprove that they did."

They drove on in silence, each busy with their own thoughts.Unbelievable; inconceivable, as she had said; and yet it wastrue. Right from the beginning she had mentioned Ardington: itwas not as if she had not been sure and had thought of it afterseeing the account in the paper. Even the time fitted in. It wastrue. For some diabolical reason the Scotch express had beenwrecked, and Corinne Moxton and Pendleton had known it was goingto happen and had been spectators.

"Don't say anything, Daphne dear," he said, as they drew up ather flat. "You'll do no good by speaking too soon. Our onlychance is to let them think they're not suspected. Then we maycatch them."

He went round to his club, and the first thing that caught hiseye was a headline in a later edition of the EveningMail.

"SENSATIONAL DEVELOPMENT IN ARDINGTON DISASTER
EVIDENCE OF FARM LABOURER

"A sensational development hastaken place in the Ardington disaster, where Colonel Mayhew, ofthe Home Office, has already opened the preliminaryinvestigation. It appears that Mr Herbert was not the only eye-witness of the accident, but that George Streeter, a farmlabourer employed at the neighbouring village of Bilsington, alsosaw it. He states that he was returning after a late dance to thecottage in which he lives, and was walking along the mainTowchester road as the train left the cutting. This would meanthat he was about two hundred yards from the actual scene of thedisaster. And he affirms most positively that just before theengine left the rails, he saw what he describes as a sort offlash right in front of the wheels. Pressed by Colonel Mayhew tobe more explicit, he said that it looked like a big yellow spark,and that it happened when the engine was four or five yards away.He heard nothing, but that is not surprising in view of the noiseof the train and the direction of the wind. Too much importanceshould not be attached to his story, though when I interviewedhim he struck me as being a reliable and unimaginative man. Atthe same time the possibilities that are opened up, should hisstatement be correct, are so inconceivably monstrous that itwould be well to await further evidence before jumping to anyconclusion. That anything in the nature of a bomb outrage shouldhappen in this country seems utterly incredible. Unfortunately,the permanent way is so badly ploughed up for nearly a hundredyards that some considerable time must inevitably elapse beforethe final examination is concluded."

He laid down the paper: there was the proof. Naturally thereporter sounded a note of warning over believing such anincredible thing, but he did not know all the facts. Nobody didexcept Daphne and himself. And ceaselessly the question hammeredat his brain—what ought he to do? Then another one took itsplace: what had been the object of such an apparently senselessoutrage? Surely there was no man living, not even Pendleton, whowould have done such a monstrous thing merely to gratify CorinneMoxton's craving for cruelty and excitement.

"Hullo! Peter. Seen the latest about the Ardingtonaccident?"

He looked up: Tim Maguire, a Major in the Royal Engineers, wasstanding by his chair.

"You're a Sapper, Tim," he said. "How could a thing like thatbe done?"

"Easy as falling off a log," answered Maguire, "if anyonewanted to. You've only got to wedge a slab of gun-cotton or anyother high explosive up against one of the rails and then fire itby electricity just before the train reaches the spot. By thatmeans you cut the rail. But surely you don't believe thislabourer's evidence, do you? The thing is preposterous."

He strolled away: just so—the thing was preposterous.And that is what everyone else would say if he told them what heknew.

After a while he left the club, and getting into a taxi hewent round to see Bill Leyton. He had ceased to care by nowwhether he was followed or not: everything, even the bomb outrageat the Falconbridge Arms, seemed to pale into insignificancebeside this crowning infamy.

He found Leyton in, and plunged into the story at once. "Whatought one to do: that's what has got to be decided," heconcluded.

Leyton pushed over the whisky decanter.

"I think what you told Miss Frensham is right, Darrell," hesaid. "I don't see that you can do anything merely on thestrength of what she heard through the keyhole. Besides, it'spretty obvious that even though they were spectators they werenot the actual perpetrators of the crime."

"No; but they probably know who they were."

"More than likely; but they're not going to give it away. Theywill simply say that they haven't an idea what you are talkingabout, and that you must be mad. And if you persist, or go to thepolice, they will run you for libel. You see, all yourinformation is second-hand; that's the devil of it. We may knowthat it is true; but so long as Drummond and Standish areunconscious our hands are tied."

"I suppose you're right," said Darrell moodily. "Well, are youon for coming down to Bournemouth with me so as to be on the spotthe instant we're wanted?"

"Sure: I'll throw some kit into a bag now."

And that night found them installed at an hotel in the pinewoods, where the average age of the clientele appeared to be inthe early eighties. The period of weary waiting had begun. Threetimes daily did Darrell ring up the nursing-home for everyevening he got through to Daphne to make sure she was still allright. And with incredible slowness the days dragged by, with NoChange the invariable bulletin.

The papers had unanimously discounted George Streeter'sstatement, and since no confirmatory evidence appeared to beforthcoming from the examination of the debris, the Ardingtondisaster was universally regarded as simply being the mostappalling accident of the century. The death roll had beenpublished, and had reached the ghastly total of eighty-four, withseven more not expected to live.

"And what beats me," said Darrell, "is that they're allabsolutely unknown people. Hugh, I know, had an idea that theremight be some political significance behind these swine'sactivities, and it would be within the realms of comprehension ifthey had wrecked the train to kill one big man, regardless of theothers. But there wasn't a big man on the train: if there hadbeen, and he had escaped, we should have heard all about it. Butall these poor devils are just common or garden birds like youand me."

"I know," said Leyton. "That point had occurred to me. Andthere's another thing too: if it was a terrorist action done byCommunists or people of that sort to further their own ends, itfails in its entire object if the public believe it was only anaccident. So surely, by some means or other, without givingthemselves away, the men who did it would have let it be knownthat it was deliberate.

"Which brings us back to our old starting-point, that thewhole thing seems utterly and absolutely senseless."

It was Sunday morning, and they were sitting disconsolately inthe lounge. Five wasted days, and nothing to show for them. Andthen, as so often happens, everything changed when they leastexpected it. A page-boy came up to them with a message thatDarrell was wanted on the telephone by the Falconbridge hospital.And a minute later he was back.

"Hugh's conscious," he said briefly. "Let's get a move on."They were met by the doctor.

"Captain Drummond came to about an hour ago," he said, "and isseemingly none the worse for it. But go easy with him."

They found Drummond sitting up in bed. He looked pale anddrawn, but he grinned cheerfully when he saw them.

"Hullo! chaps," he said, "that was a close shave."

"How are you feeling, old boy?" cried Darrell.

"Damned sore," said Drummond. "And it hurts like hell tolaugh. I gather my jaw took the drive first. But I'm stillabsolutely in the dark as to what happened. All I know is that Iwas standing by the open window, and there was suddenly aterrific explosion behind me. After that little Willie passedout."

"There's a lot to tell you, Hugh, but before I begin I've gotone question to ask. Did a grey-haired, middle-aged woman comeinto the sitting-room any time during the evening?"

Drummond frowned thoughtfully.

"Now you come to mention it, Peter, one did. Came in, satdown, and when we mildly pointed out it was a private room sheapologised profusely and withdrew. Why do you ask?"

"She's the girl friend who did it," said Darrell. "She musthave left a bomb behind her. Don't look so surprised, old man:lots of funny things have taken place since we last met. Do youfeel fit to listen?"

"Fire ahead, boy. I'm fine."

He listened in silence whilst Darrell told him everything thathad happened: then without a word he got out of bed and rang thebell. He was still shaky on his legs, but on his face was thelook of grim determination that Darrell knew well of old.

"Sister darling," he said as the nurse came in, "would youbring your baby boy his trousers, please?"

"But you aren't going to get up," she cried aghast.

"Not only that, my poppet, but I'm going to London. And I feelI shall attract less attention if I'm wearing my trousers."

"But it is madness, Captain Drummond," she said. "I'm sure thedoctor will never allow it."

Drummond smiled cheerfully as she left the room.

"Is it wise, old lad?" said Darrell anxiously. "I don't quitesee what you are going to do when you get there."

"I am going to have a heart-to-heart talk with Sir RichardPendleton," answered Drummond quietly. "And what I've got to sayto him will give that gentleman to think pretty furiously."

"What's this I hear, Captain Drummond? You say you're going toLondon?"

The doctor had come bustling in.

"That's correct, Doc.," said Drummond. "In a nice fast motor-car. Now, it's no good saying I mustn't, my dear fellow, becauseI'm going—with or without trousers. There aretimes—and this is one of them—when triflingconsiderations of health simply do not come into the picture. Bythe way, how is my fellow sufferer?"

"Just the same," answered the doctor. "Well, I suppose I can'tkeep you here by force, so you'd better get his clothes,Nurse."

"Haven't got such a thing as a spot of ale about the premises,have you?" said Drummond hopefully, and the doctor laughed.

"You're a hopeless case," he cried. "I'll see whether there isany."

"If only that damn bomb had gone off five minutes later," saidDrummond, as the doctor left the room. "You realise Standish hadsolved the cipher."

"The devil he had," said Darrell. "That should help."

"Unfortunately it doesn't. He was just going to explain it tome, when up she went. And so until he comes to we're no betteroff than we were before. Thank you, light of my eye."

"You idiot," laughed the nurse, putting his clothes on thebed. "And matron is sending up some beer in a minute."

"What a woman," said Drummond. "I like it by the quart. Yes,"he continued as she left the room, "he'd just said to me 'I'vegot it' when that blasted bomb burst."

"There haven't been any more messages so far as I know,"said

Darrell. "None at any rate that have appeared in thepapers."

"By the way, Peter, are they watching this hospital?"

"I don't know," said Darrell, "this is the first time we'veactually been over here: we've rung up every day."

"The betting is five to one on," remarked Drummondthoughtfully. "Sister, dear," he said, as she returned with thebeer, "is there a way out by the back?"

"There is. Why?"

"Because, darling, I want to use it. I feel tolerably certainthat these kindly people in London who take such an interest inmy welfare have got someone watching this place."

"Funny you should say that. A strange man has been loiteringabout these last few days. Look—there he is now."

"Don't go to the window, my dear," said Drummond quickly."Where is he? I see. Peter, do you spot him? When you and Leytongo, make sure he hears you discuss my condition in voices chokedwith tears. And, Sister, you pass it around the staff that I hada brief moment of consciousness, and have now become completelygaga again. I want that bird to think I'm still here. Then I'lljoin you, Peter, somewhere down the road."

"We'll just have to pop over to Bournemouth and pay the bill,"said Darrell.

"I think I'll stop on there," said Leyton. "Ronald may come tojust as unexpectedly as Drummond did, in which case I'd like tobe close at hand."

"Not a bad notion," remarked Drummond. "And if he does, get intouch with us at once. Now then—are we ready? If so, let'sget a move on."

They went downstairs, and ten minutes later Drummond joinedthem in the car out of sight of the hospital.

"I don't think he suspected anything," said Darrell. "We lefthim still standing about the place."

"Good!" cried Drummond. "Because I have an idea that the sweetCorinne is more likely to be at home if she doesn't know I'mcoming."

"I should think that the chances are that she may be genuinelyout on a Sunday," said Leyton.

"Then I'll wait till she's genuinely in," said Drummondquietly. "And that lantern-jawed swine of a saw-bones."

Leaving Leyton in Bournemouth, and stopping on the way forlunch, they reached London at four o'clock, and Drummond wentstraight to his house.

"I'd like you to come with me, Peter," he said, "but Ishouldn't think there is much good arriving before aboutsix."

And it was then that Denny gave him Corinne Moxton'smessage.

"I heard about that and forgot to tell you," said Darrell.

"Shall we ring her up or not?" remarked Drummond thoughtfully."Taking everything into account, I think it would be better if wearrived unexpectedly."

"Are you all right again, sir?" asked Denny anxiously.

"Fit as an army mule, old soldier," said Drummond. "I onlyfeel as if I'd been trodden all over by an elephant. Now,Peter—a slight change of apparel, and then we must decideon what line we are going to take at the interview. Also, Isuggest that anything we want we have before we go. She'dprobably adore to see someone die of a poisoned drink."

At six o'clock they left: point-blank accusation was to be theorder of the evening. Only two things had they decided to leaveout. The first was any mention of Daphne Frensham, which ruledout the Ardington disaster; the other was the fact that Standishhad solved the cipher.

"He may come to soon, Peter," said Drummond, "and ifso, we don't want him to have another one to solve. And now isluck going to be in?"

It was: they found Corinne Moxton and Sir Richard Pendleton inthe drawing-room. And the doctor's violent start and the suddenblanching of the woman's cheeks under the rouge did not escapeDrummond's notice. But it was only instantaneous: whatever elseshe might be she was an actress.

"Why, Captain Drummond," she said, rising and coming towardshim with hand outstretched, "this is bully. I'd heard you'd hadan accident."

"You heard perfectly correctly, madam," answered Drummond,folding his arms. "And it is about that accident and one or twoother things that Mr Darrell and I have come to talk to you.Moreover, it is very fortunate that Penholder, or whatever hisname is, is here. Saves the necessity of sending for him."

"What the devil do you mean, sir?" cried the doctor angrily."You know perfectly well that my name is not Penholder. Are youtrying to be gratuitously offensive?"

"Is it possible to be offensive to carrion like you?" askedDrummond languidly. "Great pity I didn't throttle you that night,Penwiper. If I'd known who you were, and one or two other thingswhich I subsequently discovered about your character, I shouldhave done."

Sir Richard lit a cigarette with ostentatiousdeliberation.

"I saw in the papers, Captain Drummond," he said, "that youhad recently been blown up, and sustained concussion. I can onlycome to the charitable conclusion that you are still sufferingfrom it."

"That you would take that line was fairly obvious from theword 'go,'" said Drummond. "The spot of bother as far as you areconcerned, however, is that I was not suffering from concussionon the night Sanderson was murdered by that engaging individualwith the fountain-pen, so ably assisted by Miss Moxton's admiringplaudits."

But this time she was ready, and her laughter was admirablynatural.

"My dear man," she cried merrily, "you must have been worsethan was reported in the papers. Richard, ain't he cute?"

"Cute or not cute: sane or not sane," said Pendletonfuriously, "his statement is absolutely monstrous."

"Oh! yeah," Drummond drawled. "Pity I drank beer that night inStandish's room, isn't it? You hadn't doped the beer." For amoment or two there was dead silence.

"I fear you're a bit of an ass, Penworthy," Drummondcontinued. "How anybody in their senses can employ you as asurgeon, Heaven alone knows. Incidentally, I don't think manypeople will by the time I've done with you. And your marketvalue, madam, isn't going to soar through the roof."

"Say, Richard, isn't there some law in this country to preventthis man insulting me?"

Her voice was shrill with anger.

"None; until he does it outside these four walls. Then he'llsoon find out one or two truths. I suppose, Captain Drummond,that even you are capable of realising the disgraceful cowardiceof coming to a lady's flat and then advancing these preposterousthreats. Why, if you are suffering from these delusions, have younot been to the police?"

"I have," said Drummond calmly. "So put that in the oldmeerschaum and set fire to it, Penturtle."

"And they, I imagine, treated your demented ravings with thecontempt they deserve," said the doctor, but to Drummond's keenear there was fear in his voice.

"But I wasn't demented," explained Drummond cheerfully."Scotland Yard has known all about you two for a week."

Corinne Moxton caught her breath with a sharp hiss.

"I don't believe you," said Pendleton contemptuously. "If youhad really gone with these incredible stories to the police, MissMoxton and I would have heard from them by now."

"Not of necessity," remarked Drummond. "Rightly or wrongly,Standish and I came to the conclusion that you and Miss Moxtonwere very small beer. In fact, except for your repulsive habits,you cut no ice at all. The man we want to lay our hands on isthat strange individual with a head like a pumpkin, whoapparently answers to the name of Demonico, and who I last hadthe pleasure of meeting at the squash-court entertainment. By theway, I hope you enjoyed it: you had excellent seats."

Pendleton turned to Corinne Moxton.

"It's all right, my dear," he said reassuringly. "I have metcases like this before, though this is a very remarkable one. Idon't know what hospital he has been in, but the doctor in chargedeserves the gravest censure for allowing him out so soon. And Iwarn you seriously, Mr Darrell I believe your name is, thatunless you take the greatest care of him his reason may beirreparably impaired. As you see for yourself, the poor fellow istalking gibberish."

"My fee is three guineas," remarked Drummond. "Stick to alight diet of porterhouse steak and onions, and don't trip overthe mat as you go. No, Pendleton, it won't do: I'm as sane as youare, and you know it."

"May I have a word with you in private, Mr Darrell?" said SirRichard, ignoring Drummond completely.

"You may not," said Darrell decidedly.

"Then I must say it in front of him. The symptoms are clearlydefined, but if proper care is taken of him there is no reasonwhy in a month, or perhaps less, he should not make a completerecovery, and these delusions, which are the direct outcome ofhis concussion, will disappear like the morning mist. But I againemphasise—proper care. You must get him home, keep him veryquiet, and get his doctor to see him. And for everybody's sake,in view of the bent his particular delusions have taken, it wouldbe as well if he saw as few people as possible."

"Peter, hasn't he got a charming bedside manner?" saidDrummond admiringly. "A voice at once soothing and firm. Well,Pendleton, as I said before, I thought it probable you would takeup this line: when one comes to think of it, it would beimpossible for you to take up any other. And yet I am quiteprepared to admit that, as far as other people are concerned,it's a very good one. To them it would seem more likely that Iwas suffering from delusions than that a celebrated surgeon and awell-known film star are a pair of devils incarnate. But I warnyou that you are in very dangerous waters, because, as I havealready told you, there can be no question of my having had thejimjams at the time when the police were notified that you werein Standish's room on the night of Sanderson's murder. I was notdrugged, though you thought I was, and I saw you there."

"And you expect the police to believe such a preposterousstatement on your uncorroborated word? I'd never heard ofStandish in my life till I saw his name mentioned with yours inconnection with the bomb outrage. And I haven't an idea where hisrooms are. If you thought you saw me there it was a case ofmistaken identity."

"This is beginning to bore me," said Drummond. "So I willdeliver my ultimatum, Pendleton, and then go. I have the best ofreasons for knowing that some big crime is planned early thiscoming week. What it is I don't know. But unless the police areinformed anonymously as to what it is going to be, in time forthem to prevent it, my depositions to them with regard to youwill stand. And since they connect you intimately with the gangwho murdered Sanderson they will not do you much good. If,however, the police are informed, it is conceivable that I mightcome to the conclusion that it was a case of mistaken identity.So choose, you damned swine—choose. Come on, Peter."

The front door closed behind them, and then the tensionbroke.

"Richard," screamed Corinne Moxton, "ring up Scotland Yard nowand tell them. It's our only hope."

"Hush, my dear, hush: I must think." His face was grey: hishands were shaking. "God! how did they find out?"

"Find out what?"

Mrs Merridick was standing by the door.

"Drummond has been here, and he knows all about us," saidPendleton. "He wasn't drugged at all that night, and he sawme."

"My dear Sir Richard, for a doctor that seems singularlystupid of you. What do you propose to do about it? Did I hearCorinne say something about ringing up Scotland Yard?"

She bit her lip, as Pendleton flashed her a warningglance.

"No, no," she cried. "Of course not."

"Let us all have a drink and consider the matter carefully,"said Mrs Merridick, going to the sideboard, and picking up theco*cktail shaker. "You say that Drummond knows all about us. Idon't think he can know much about me."

"Perhaps not," said Pendleton. "But there are other peoplebesides you in the world. And he knows that something is going tohappen early this week."

"Something. So he doesn't know what that something is?"

"No; he doesn't know that."

"Then am I right in supposing that the object of his visithere was to try to threaten you into telling him what itwas?"

"More or less."

"Naturally you didn't."

"Of course not," said Pendleton. "How could you imagine such athing for an instant?"

A faint smile twitched round Mrs Merridick's mouth; then sheturned round with three drinks on a tray.

"Then I don't think we need worry," she remarked. "Let usdrink a toast to the successful issue of our plans."

They all drained their glasses, and Mrs Merridick lit acigarette. And then, quite suddenly it happened. Sir Richard, hisface convulsed with agony, clutched at his side.

"You devil," he croaked. "You've poisoned us."

On the floor writhed Corinne Moxton, and Mrs Merridick watchedthem in silence.

"I have," she said at length. "Your intentions with regard toScotland Yard did not appeal to me."

A few moments later, without a backward glance at the twomotionless figures, she left the room. And it was only when herhand was on the latch of the front door that she rememberedsomething and went back. Into her bag she placed her own glass:to stage what would inevitably be taken for a suicide pact threeglasses would be a mistake. Then once again the door closedbehind her, and Mrs Merridick went downstairs to her waitingcar.

CHAPTER X

WITH a frown Hugh Drummond lit a cigarette: thenhe picked up his morning paper from the floor where he had thrownit. Not that they really deserved any other fate: it was thecomplete unexpectedness of the thing that had upset him for themoment.

 TRAGEDY IN WEST-END FLAT DEATH OF WELL-KNOWNSURGEON AND FILM STAR 

"A shocking tragedy occurred last night at Number 4A BartonMews, the charming residence of the beautiful film star CorinneMoxton. The discovery was made by her chauffeur, who had beenordered to call for her at seven o'clock. When he had waited tilleight he began to fear that something was amiss, since he couldsee the light shining from her sitting-room. At nine o'clock hedecided to summon a policeman, and between them they forced thefront door. To their horror they discovered the actress lyingdead on the floor, and by her side was the body of a man, alsodead. This man the chauffeur at once recognised as Sir RichardPendleton, the celebrated Harley Street surgeon. Their faces wereconvulsed with agony, showing that they had died in greatpain.

"A doctor was at once summoned, who gave it as his opinionthat they had been dead between two and three hours. It appearsthat two empty glasses were on the table; also a co*cktail shakerhalf-filled with liquid. The contents were immediately analysed,and were found to contain a high percentage of a very rare anddeadly poison, barely known outside the medical profession. Theinquest will be held today."

Drummond put the paper down: so they had taken that way out.And he was just finishing his coffee when the door opened andPeter Darrell came in.

"Morning, Hugh. I didn't think they'd do that, did you?"

"I didn't, Peter. Certainly not her. He must have gone awayand got this poison, and then put it in the drink."

"Well, old boy, I don't think you need feel any guilt on thematter," said Darrell.

"I don't. If ever a couple richly deserved to die, they did.But it's a bit of a shock all the same."

"Have you seen the other thing in the paper?"

"No. Anything interesting?"

Darrell turned to the front page, and pointed half-way downthe agony column.

 AOYSLKEJSSCQOOIEHORJKQSCAHOSDCVKQSCXJEJOLISTORNY XDKYDCQOYQATSKJOXYDCSH XEJBKMMVOXIKTSC.

"A long one," said Drummond. "Hell! if only Standish wasconscious!"

"You can make nothing out of it?" asked Darrell.

"Not a letter, old boy. He hadn't time even to give me a hint.And you know what a hopeless fool I am at anything likethat."

"We might be able to find someone in London who could do it,"said Darrell. "If Ronald could solve the bally thing, there mustbe someone else who can."

"We'll have a dart at it," agreed Drummond. "But who the deucedoes one go to? Is there a cipher department at ScotlandYard?"

"Must be, I should think. Let's go and find out. The sooner wegive it in the better."

But the expert they eventually ran to ground held out butlittle hope. Having at last persuaded him that it was not abetting code, but something really serious, he consented to dohis best if he had time. And at that they had to leave it,returning to their club to kick their heels and get through timeas best they could.

The late evening papers contained the result of the inquest.Evidence was given to show that the two deceased persons had beenon unusually friendly terms, and that Sir Richard Pendleton hadfrequently visited her in her flat, and not leaving till theearly hours of the morning. Further, the chauffeur stated that onthe very night of the tragedy his orders had been to take themboth out to dinner at a house not far from Henley.

"It is almost certain," said the Coroner in his summing-up,"that the poison must have been obtained by Sir Richard, as adrug of such a rare kind would be hardly procurable by a woman.It is therefore clear that it was he who was primarilyresponsible for the tragedy. Indeed, we have no evidence beforeus to show whether the deceased woman knew that the drug had beenadded to the co*cktail ingredients, a point the jury must bear inmind when arriving at their verdict."

Which when given and reduced to plain English was to theeffect that Sir Richard Pendleton had committed suicide whiletemporarily insane; and that Corinne Moxton had either done thesame or been murdered by him. But the motives for such an amazingcrime were naturally a profound mystery.

"And will doubtless always remain so," said Drummond. "Whatabout ringing up this wench of yours, Peter, and getting herround for a bite of food? She'll be interested to know thetruth."

And though it was not the truth, she was: profoundlyinterested.

"I've been puzzling my brains the whole day, CaptainDrummond," she said, "as to what could have made them do it. Andeven now it is almost incredible, because from what you say youpromised them they would get off if they told the police."

"Incredible or not, they did it, and I don't think I shalllose an hour's sleep over the fact. Two nasty pieces of work.Well, I'll join you after dinner. Peter's expression indicateseither indigestion or suppressed love, and I can't run any risksafter that recent round of mine with a bomb."

He left them in the ladies' side of the club and went into thesmoking-room. The conversation was confined almost exclusively tothe Pendleton affair, and as he listened to all sorts offantastic theories being advanced he smiled cynically to himself.And then he suddenly heard a phrase which caught hisattention.

"Undoubtedly Pendleton was one of the syndicate."

Hervey, a stockbroker whom he knew slightly, was talking totwo or three other men, and Drummond joined the group. "And it'sa damned dangerous syndicate too," Hervey continued, "as far asthis country is concerned. They've been selling sterling short bythe million abroad this last week."

"Do you know who the others are?" asked. Drummond. "Hullo! oldboy," said Hervey. "I heard you'd been blown to bits in the NewForest. Are you all right again?"

"Quite," said Drummond. "Feel a bit stiff still, but otherwiseno harm done. But this syndicate Pendleton was in—was it abig one?"

"Did you know the man?"

"Slightly," answered Drummond with a faint smile.

"Never had a vestige of use for him myself, though I believehe was a very fine surgeon. And as far as I know, he was the onlyEnglishman in this crowd. Daly is an Irish-American, Legrange isa Frenchman, and there's another somewhat mysterious individualin it who no one seems to have ever seen. Calls himself Demonico,and I should imagine he might be a Greek. But whoever he is, he'sin with this bunch, and if they go on as they have been doing andthe country's credit drops they'll get a packet."

Drummond strolled away: would it be possible, he wondered, toget at Demonico through Daly or Legrange? He could almostcertainly get their addresses from Scotland Yard, and he was justpondering on the advisability of ringing up McIver and puttingthe matter to him when another man he knew came up and spoke tohim. He was an eccentric individual named Jellaby, whose littlepeculiarity was that he was always in possession of some secretwhich had just been passed on to him by some highly placedofficial, and which only he knew. He had always heard it instrict confidence: with equal regularity he ran round the clubimparting it to everyone in even stricter confidence. GenerallyDrummond avoided him like the plague, but on this occasion he wasfairly and squarely buttonholed, and escape was impossible.

"Heard a most amazing thing this afternoon, Drummond."Jellaby's voice sank to a hoarse whisper. "Straight from thehorse's mouth. For Heaven's sake don't pass it on: it's aprofound secret. It's about the Ardington train disaster."

Drummond's half-suppressed yawn ceased abruptly.

"You remember the evidence given by that labourer, GeorgeStreeter, to the effect that he had seen a yellow flash in frontof the engine wheels?" Jellaby rarely waited for any answer tohis questions. "Now I am in a position to tell youdefinitely—I got it direct from one of Colonel Mayhew'sstaff—that that evidence was correct. After exhaustiveexamination of the torn-up rails, they have discovered one placewhere the break, according to the experts, must have been causedby an explosive. The disaster therefore was not an accident atall, but a deliberately planned outrage."

"With what object?" said Drummond.

"The very question I myself at once asked," said Jellaby, hisvoice becoming even more confidential. "And the answer was anamazing one. This country, as you know, is going through a verysevere financial crisis, and anything which might help to spreadthe idea abroad that our reputation for law and order no longerheld good would tend to increase the gravity of that crisis. Ifthen it was thought that the condition in England had become suchthat train wrecking was taking place, confidence abroad would bestill further reduced, a state of affairs which would be mostadvantageous to certain speculators."

"I get you," said Drummond. "Is this new development going toappear in the newspapers?"

"Not at present, at any rate," said Jellaby. "Sooner or laterI suppose it will have to, but just at the moment it would beplaying straight into their hands. Don't forget—not a wordto a soul."

Drummond smiled faintly as he watched Jellaby stalk his nextvictim: then he lit a cigarette thoughtfully. Things werebecoming clearer: what had seemed to Peter Darrell so amazingbecause of its senselessness had taken to itself a meaning. Hewent back to the ladies' side of the club and found them stillover their co*cktails.

"I've been hearing things, souls," he said, "things which havethrown considerable light on matters. And I can summarise themfor you in a nutshell."

"So now it is proved that it wasn't an accident," said thegirl as he finished.

"According to my friend Jellaby it is," answered Drummond."It's almost incredible," said Darrell.

"Not so incredible, Peter, as it was before. Then, if youlike, it was unbelievable that anyone who wasn't a maniac shouldhave derailed an express for the fun of it. But now we have got areason."

"But would a thing like that affect us abroad?" asked thegirl. Drummond shrugged his shoulders.

"On matters of international finance I'm an infant," he said."But I do know that it's a very delicately balanced affair, and Isuppose as Jellaby said that it isn't going to help a country ifits neighbours come to the conclusion, rightly or wrongly, thatit's got into such a condition of lawlessness that train wreckingis taking place. At any rate it is clear that that is what didhappen, and the point now arises as to what we are going to do.Because, as I see things, we, at the present moment, are the onlypeople who are in a position to link things up. Hervey and othersin the City know that Demonico's gang of financiers are sellingsterling short, and that it is to their advantage to force downour credit abroad. The Home Office, according to Jellaby, knowthat the Ardington accident was a case of train wrecking. Butliterally the only thing that could connect and does connect thetwo together is that Miss Frensham heard what she did through thekeyhole. And now the speaker has killed himself."

"I think Scotland Yard should be told all we know," saidDarrell decidedly. "I quite see that they can't act on Daphne'sunsupported statement, and we haven't a vestige of proof beyondthat that Pendleton and that woman ever went near Ardington orknew anything about it. And since they're both dead we can neverfind out. But in view of the fact that we know some crime ispremeditated early this week, we should be grossly to blame if wedidn't pass on to the police that vital piece of informationwhich, as you say, Hugh, links up the two things."

"Right," said Drummond. "I'll go down myself at once. Waithere till I get back."

He returned an hour later.

"It's electrified 'em all right," he remarked. "As wesurmised, they can't take any action, though Daly and Legrangefrom now on are marked men. But the trouble is that thoughthey've been combing the country since our information of a weekago for Demonico he has completely disappeared. Another thing Igathered was this: they do not think that Legrange, at any rate,would lend himself to such an abominable crime as the Ardingtonone. Of Daly they're not quite so sure, but it is Demonico theybelieve is responsible."

"So they accepted Daphne's evidence," said Darrell.

"Absolutely: they saw the vital importance of the fact thatshe mentioned Ardington to you and the time, before ithappened. By the way, Miss Frensham, they may want to hear itdirect from you: if so, they'll let you know."

"I can go at any time they want," said the girl.

"And in the meantime they seem to think there is nothing moreto be done. To cross-examine Legrange or Daly would be useless:even with your evidence, my dear, there is nothing to connecteither of them with the accident. They were all members of thesame syndicate—true—but that's not an offence. So,for the present, the order of the day is wait and see, and allone can hope is that we shan't see some other ghastly crime likeArdington. Are you looking for me, boy?"

A page came up to the table.

"Captain Drummond, sir?"

"That's me," said Drummond.

"Wanted on the telephone, sir: either you or Mr Darrell.Gentleman name of Mr Leyton."

Drummond jumped to his feet, his eyes gleaming.

"By Jove! Peter, it might be news of Standish."

He returned a few minutes later, not quite so jubilant.

"He recovered consciousness for a few moments about an hourago, and seemed to recognise Leyton. He didn't say anything, buthe gave a faint smile. Leyton spoke to him, but he didn't answer,though he seemed to try to. And now he's relapsed again. Butapparently the doctor thinks he may come to properly at any timenow, and Leyton suggests we should go down there at once in casehe does."

"I'm with you, old boy," said Darrell.

"Even if he still can't speak he might be able to decode thatmessage," cried Drummond. "I think we ought to push offimmediately, Peter. Will you be all right, my dear?"

"My good man, you don't imagine I'm going to be out of thishunt, do you? I'm coming too. I won't be in the way, I promise."The two men grinned.

"Emphatically one of us, Peter," said Drummond. "Come along,bless you."

Midnight found them at the hospital, where Bill Leyton metthem.

"No luck so far," he said, "though the doctor says that hiscondition now is more nearly natural sleep than it was. But heholds out no hopes for the near future."

They waited all that night, taking it in turns to sit by thebedside. They waited all the next day, walking feverishly aboutthe room whilst Standish lay there, his eyes closed, breathingeasily and quietly.

"Under no circ*mstances must any attempt be made to awakenhim."

Those were the doctor's strict orders, and Drummond, gnawinghis fingers, stood by the window watching the daylight graduallyfade. In the room Darrell and Leyton were pretending to playpiquet, but any devotee of that magnificent game might well havefailed to recognise it. And then quite suddenly the girl who waswatching Standish spoke.

"Peter, he's awake."

In an instant the three men were by the bed. That Standishknew them was obvious: he looked at each of them in turn andgrinned feebly.

"How are you feeling, old man?" said Drummond.

But though the sick man's lips moved no sound came fromthem.

"Can you hear what we say, Ronald?" asked Leyton.

The other gave a barely perceptible nod.

"Listen, Standish," said Drummond quietly. "I wouldn't worryyou, old son, but it's urgent. If I got you a pencil and paper doyou think you could decode a message in that cipher?"

Gradually, like a very old man, Standish moved his right armas if to try it: then he nodded. It took him some time to get thepencil in his hand, but at last he succeeded and with the blockin front of him he began to write.

"Here's the message," said Drummond, but Standish shook hishead, and the three men crowded round him. It was hardly possibleto read what he had written, but at last they managed to.

"What is the day of the week?"

"Tuesday," cried Drummond, and Standish nodded again, and oncemore began to write. And they saw that with infinite difficultyhe was writing out the alphabet.

ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ

They waited breathlessly: he had begun to write another lineof letters underneath it.

YADSEUTBCFGHIJKLMNOPQRVWXZ

"By Jove!" cried Drummond suddenly. "I see. The day of theweek backwards comes at the beginning, and if there are two A'sin it like Saturday you leave out the first. Now the message, oldman: here it is."

He put it on the bed beside Standish, who again began towrite, putting the correct letter under the code one:

AOYSLKEJ BSADPOEN 

Standish paused, staring at it, and sick with anxiety theothers watched him. He had got it wrong somehow: the translationwas gibberish.

"My God!" said Drummond heavily, "they must have altered thecode."

And still worse was to come. Suddenly the pencil slipped fromStandish's fingers, and he fell back on the pillow: he wasunconscious once more.

For a while no one spoke: to have got so near, and then tofail was a bit of cruel luck.

"The devils must have altered the code," repeated Drummond."What an infernal piece of bad joss."

He picked up the piece of paper and studied it.

"You see, the old lad had got the other one: found it out fromthat clue we discovered in Sanderson's desk. What's stung you, mydear?"

For the girl, her eyes shining with excitement, had grippedhis arm.

"Captain Drummond," she cried, "it's Tuesday today, but thatcame out of yesterday's paper. Let's try Monday."

"You fizzer," shouted Drummond.

Feverishly he seized a pencil and wrote out the new code.

 ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ YADNOMBCEFGHIJKLPQRSTUVWXZ

"Now then—where's the message?"

He laid it in front of him and started to translate.

AOYSLKEJSSCQOOIEHORJKQSC AHOSDCVKQSCXJEJOLISTORNYXDKYDCQOYQATSKJOXYDCSHX EJBKMMVOXIKTSC BEATPOINTTHREEMILESNORTHBLETCHWORTHYNINEPMTUES DAYCOACHREARBUTONEYACHT LYINGOFFWEYMOUTH

"'Be at point three miles north Bletchworthy nine p.m.Tuesday. Coach rear but one. Yacht lying off Weymouth,'" he readout slowly. "That's tonight."

"Coach rear but one," said Leyton. "Merciful Heavens, youfellows, it can't be another train outrage, can it?"

"That," remarked Drummond grimly, "is what we now propose tofind out. Come on, both of you, we'll have to drive like hell.Get hold of Standish's torch, and his gun. Also that compressed-air rifle. That was a brainstorm of yours, Daphne, but this time,my dear, you cannot come. Sorry, but it's out of thequestion."

"Easy for a moment, old boy," said Darrell. "We ought to ringup the station-master at Bletchworthy."

"That's true," said Drummond. "But it means delay, Peter.Daphne can do it—can't you, my dear? Ring up thestationmaster at Bletchworthy and tell him to have the line threemiles north of the station patrolled at once. Tell him there is apossibility of an attempt to derail some train—I don't knowwhich—tonight round about nine o'clock."

They dashed out of the hospital and fell into the car. Andthen began a race against time which Bill Leyton, seated in theback, will never forget to his dying day. Drummond drove all out,with Darrell map reading with the help of a torch beside him. Itwas a cross-country run which hindered them, and once Darrellmade a mistake which took them three miles out of their way. Butthey did it: the clock showed ten minutes to nine as they roaredthrough the tiny village of Bletchworthy.

And now Drummond went cautiously: it was clear from the mapthat the road and the railway ran close together at the pointthey were making for.

"Almost certain to have cars in the neighbourhood," he said,"and we don't want to be spotted."

It was a narrow road, and after they had gone about two milesthey saw the red lights of the signals gleaming on their right.As at Ardington, the line was on an embankment, and as they drovealong a train roared past above them, going towards London.

Suddenly Drummond checked and switched off his headlights: hisquick eyes had picked up two cars standing in the shadow of sometrees in front of them.

"We'll stop here," he said, "and get on to the line. Here's aFanny for you, Leyton: use it in preference to a gun."

And Leyton found a heavy loaded stick pressed into his hand.Then scrambling up the embankment he followed the other two. Theypaused at the top: two hundred yards away was a signal box. Thesignalman's head and shoulders could clearly be seen, andsuddenly Drummond started to race towards it. For the door hadbeen opened, and a man with his arm upraised was silhouetted fora moment against the light. The signalman sprang round, even asthe arm descended, and they could almost hear the crash as hefell. And a moment later a red light in the distance turned togreen.

Drummond stopped, his eyes searching the darkness feverishly.And then to the surprise of the other two he began to run in theopposite direction.

"I see 'em," he muttered. "Half a dozen at least on the track.Into 'em, boys: shoot, kill, murder 'em."

He let out a bellow of fury, and Leyton for the first time inhis life had a glimpse of Hugh Drummond going berserk. He splitone man's head open like a rotten pumpkin: lifted another withhis fist clean over the edge of the embankment, and then waded inon the other four. Revolver shots rang out, and one trainwrecker, screaming like a stuck pig, rolled over and over till hereached the ditch below. Then they were alone: the others hadbolted. And from far off they heard the rumble of an oncomingtrain.

Drummond flashed his torch on the line, and a bullet spat pasthim into the night. Off went his torch: they had seen all theywanted to. Lashed to the inside of the rail was a packet fromwhich protruded two wires stretching right across the permanentway and disappearing into the darkness.

"Cut one of them," said Drummond between his teeth, and justcoming into sight saw the lights of the train.

The wire was insulated and stout, but Drummond that nightwould have split a steel rope with his hands. And his knife wentthrough the lead as if it had been string. Came a whistle, androcking and swaying slightly the heavy train roared past them andwas gone. And as Bill Leyton watched the red tail-lamp vanish inthe distance he found his forehead was wet with sweat.

"A close shave," said Drummond briefly, and as he spoke theyheard the engines of the two cars in the road start up.

"Let 'em go," he continued. "We're after bigger game than thatscum. Only we must do something first about that signalman, andthis little packet of trouble."

The cars had gone, and he flashed his torch on the bomb, whichwas lashed to the rail with string.

"Cut it loose, Peter, and we'll throw it into that pond wepassed a short way back. I'm going to the signal box."

He found the signalman looking dazed and sick, sitting on thefloor.

"Well, my lad," he said, "you got a nasty one, didn't you? Howare you feeling now?"

"What 'appened?" mumbled the man.

"An attempt was made to derail that train that has just goneby," said Drummond. "And before doing so they knocked you on thehead."

"Derail the Northern Flier," muttered the signalman foolishly."Gaw lumme! Wot did they want to do that for?" He scratched hishead. "So that's why Bletchworthy rung up to say as 'ow I was tokeep my eyes skinned."

"Well, are you all right now?" said Drummond. "I can guaranteethat the people who did it won't come back."

"I'm all right now, sir," said the man. "My 'ead's a bitsore—that's all. I'll get on the telephone to Bletchworthyand tell 'em what's took place. Derail the Northern Flier! Well,I'm danged. And she had gold aboard too."

Drummond paused in the door and stared at him.

"Gold!" he said. "How do you know that?"

"Thought everyone did, sir," answered the signalman. "Themthere repeyrations to America was on her. Bars and bars of gold,they says, with an armed guard. Lumme! I wonder if that was whythey wanted to wreck her."

"I wouldn't be surprised," said Drummond quietly. "I supposeyou don't happen to know which coach the gold was in."

"Why—yes, sir. It's allus the same. The rear coach butone: next the guard's van."

A grim smile flickered round Drummond's lips as he left thebox and went back to the car. And it was still there when heanswered Darrell's question—"What now, Hugh?" with the oneword "Weymouth."

"This thing is going to be finished one way or the other,Peter," he said after they had turned the car. "This globe isn'tbig enough for Demonico and me. And he and I will have a finalsettlement tonight. There's the pond: bung that damned bombin."

The moon had risen, and by its light they watched the infernalcontrivance sink: then with their noses turned south they startedon the last lap of the hunt. To Leyton it seemed nothing short ofmadness to seek the man out in his own yacht, surrounded by hisown people, but he realised the futility of saying so toDrummond. If Darrell and he did not go, Drummond would go alone,and that was unthinkable. But when four hours later they drovealong the deserted front, and saw the yacht riding at anchor aquarter of a mile out, he sincerely wished that the last sentencehad not been added to the cipher message.

Moored alongside the jetty was a motorboat, and as the cardrove up a man stepped out of the shadow of a shed.

"Are you for the yacht?" he said.

"We are," answered Drummond.

"Where are the others?"

"They will be some time yet," said Drummond calmly. "We willgo off now. That saves a lot of bother," he whispered to Darrellas they followed the man down the steps of the boat.

They got in, and then for the first time the man took a goodlook at them.

"Good God!" he muttered. "Who are you?"

"A point of academic interest, laddie," said Drummondpleasantly, catching him by the collar. "Cold, I fear, forbathing, especially in these chill northern waters, but you won'thave to swim far."

He flung him into the sea and turned to Darrell.

"Start her up, Peter, and let's hope the blighter canswim."

They shot out from the landing-stage and made for the yacht.Her decks were deserted, but lights were shining in a big saloonaft, towards which they made their way. And reaching the entrancethey paused: seated at the table was a middle-aged, grey-hairedwoman who stared at them with fear in her eyes.

"So, madam," said Drummond at length, "we meet again. MrsMatthews, I think, was the name under which you registered at theFalconbridge Arms, and your other alias I understand isMrs Merridick."

The woman had recovered herself.

"Presumably you have some idea what you are talking about,sir," she answered coldly, "but I have none. Nor do I wish tohave. What is the meaning of this monstrous piece ofimpertinence?"

"Shall we cut all that out," said Drummond languidly. "Let useven pass over your kindly attention to my friend Standish andmyself with that bomb. The hour is late, and I am weary. Where isthat swine Demonico?"

"This is intolerable," she cried, rising to her feet."Demonico! Who on earth is Demonico? I have never heard of theman in my life."

"You lie, madam," said Drummond quietly. "You are in with him,as you were with Pendleton and Corinne Moxton. And I intend topay my score with him tonight. If he isn't on board now he willbe soon. For there are some crimes which are so utterly beyondthe pale that they cannot be judged or punished by ordinarystandards. And wrecking that train at Ardington was one ofthem."

"I can only assume that you are insane," she remarked. "Butwhether you are or not I find your presence hereinsufferable."

"Fortunately, we were able to frustrate the attempt on theNorthern Flier tonight," continued Drummond, "though that doesnot mitigate the monstrous criminality which caused that attemptto be made."

And then he paused suddenly and his eyes dilated.

"My God! Peter," he shouted, "look at her hands."

For a moment there was silence: then two shots rang outtogether, while Darrell and Leyton looked on dazedly. They sawDrummond stagger and then recover himself: they saw Mrs Merridickcollapse and pitch forward on her face.

"The hands, Peter," repeated Drummond. "There couldn't be twopeople with those nails and those rings in the world."

He bent down and seized the dead woman's hair: then he gave atug. And as the wig came away a gleaming, hairless head shonewhite in the electric light.

"Demonico himself," said Drummond, and suddenly leant againstthe table.

"What's up, old man?" cried Darrell anxiously.

So ended the hunt, in a manner very different to itsconclusion had Ronald Standish not had that brief interlude ofconsciousness. And possibly the only other point worth recordingis Drummond's remark to him three weeks later as they sat doing amutual convalescence at Bournemouth.

"This excitement is driving me mad, old boy. Peter is sickwith love, and the wench aids and abets him. Bill Leyton has nowtold me five times how he got a birdie at the fourth. And thehour being what it is, we cannot obtain ale. Let's hire two bathchairs and have a race."

THE END

Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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