There was a slight struggle, the sharp click of steel, and before Sir Mark could find words to express his rage and astonishment, Barron was being hurried out of the hall by two of the men who had made the unceremonious entry, while the two policemen there for another purpose, in answer to some freemasonry of the force, opened the cab door, and saw the vehicle driven off.

Sir Mark had meantime made an effort to follow, but the man who had spoken barred his way.

“You scoundrel! Who are you?” roared the admiral. “What does this mean?”

“Superintendent Abingdon, Great Scotland Yard, sir,” was the quiet reply. “It means, sir, that I’ve saved the young lady from a painful scene, and you from a terrible mishap.”

“But, oh, there is some horrible blunder! That is my friend, my son-in-law, Mr Barron.”

“No, sir, an alias. James Dale, whom we have wanted for months. Dodged us by keeping abroad. Couldn’t run him to earth before—stayed on the Continent; and he was off abroad again, but we were just in time.”

“I tell you,” thundered Sir Mark, “it is a horrible mistake. Here, Guest—the carriage: we must follow them at once. Ladies, some of you—oh, here is my sister. Rebecca, go up to Myra and keep her in her room. A little mistake; Barron has been called away—a business mistake. Tell her to be calm. Now, sir,” he cried sternly to the officer, “you do not leave my side. Mr Guest, come with us.”

“Where to, Sir Mark?” said the man quietly.

“To Scotland Yard.”

“Excuse me, sir; it is no mistake. I’ll go with you, of course, but you will thank me one of those days for being so prompt. You have been imposed upon by one of the cleverest scoundrels of his time. James Dale is—”

“Mr James Barron, man.”

“No, Sir Mark; James Dale, charged with swindling the Russian government of a tremendous sum by the issuing of forged rouble notes.”

“What?”

“And just off to Buenos Ayres.”

“To the West Indies, man—to his estate.”

“Yes, sir,” said the man dryly; “he’s going to his estate, but it isn’t there.”

Sir Mark looked wildly round at the crowd of friends who were drawing away, and without another word accompanied the officer to the carriage, where, as soon as they were started, the latter addressed himself to Guest, the admiral having sunk back in one corner, trying to collect his thoughts, but only to begin listening intently.

“No mistake, sir,” said the officer. “I wish for the gentleman’s sake there was. The prisoner has been carrying on the game for a long time with a copper-plate printer, a man named Henderson—Samuel Henderson. We took him an hour ago, and it was through a letter we found in his pocket that we knew what was going on here, and arrived just in time for the young lady.”

Guest glanced at Sir Mark and met his eyes.

“Quite the gentleman, our friend Dale,” continued the officer. “Schoolmaster once, I found. Speaks languages, plays, and sings. Great yachting man. Deceive anybody; but his game’s up now. Couldn’t live in England as it was. Where did he say he was going—West Indies, sir?”

Guest nodded.

“Well, he was going on farther south. He had taken tickets for the River Plate.”

Sir Mark started violently.

There was silence for a few moments, and Guest’s resentment against Myra died out as he thought of the poor girl in the power of a scoundrel thousands of miles from home.

“Lady has money, I suppose?” whispered the officer from behind his hand.

Guest gave a short, sharp nod, and then felt annoyed with himself, but the officer took no heed and went on:

“Of course she would have, sir. Well, my gentleman will not be able to touch that, and I suppose there will be no difficulty about getting a divorce.”

At those words a flood of thought flashed through Guest’s brain, and he recalled conversations held with Edie respecting the marriage, and the girl’s boldly expressed belief that her cousin would gladly have drawn back but for her promise and her pride.

He would have hurried off to Benchers’ Inn with the information, but he was bound to go on to the police office and see the matter through with Sir Mark; and in due time they reached Scotland Yard, to find Barron, or Dale, in a kind of desk, listening carelessly to the evidence given by the officers who had helped to execute the warrant.

But the man’s whole aspect changed as he saw Sir Mark and Guest enter.

“Hah!” he cried; “at last. Now, Mr Inspector, or whatever you are, this is Admiral Sir Mark Jerrold, my father-in-law. The whole affair is one of mistaken identity. For Heaven’s sake, my dear sir, satisfy these people as to my responsibility, and act as bail for my reappearance. Of course there will be no Southampton to-day. How does Myra bear the shock?”

Sir Mark’s opinion veered toward the speaker directly, and turning to the officer who had been his companion from the house, he found him smiling.

“There, sir, I told you it was all a mistake.”

“Yes, Sir Mark, you did,” said the man respectfully; and then to a couple of policemen: “Bring them in.”

“The luggage?” cried Guest as he saw what was being borne in by the men.

“Yes, sir,” said the officer. “I stepped back to give instructions to our men to bring on everything from the carriage, and the trunks sent on to Waterloo. They must be searched for incriminating evidence. The lady’s luggage will be sent back to Bourne Square at once.”

“The insolence of the scoundrels!” cried Barron. “My dear Sir Mark, pray get this wretched business finished.”

“I can save the gentleman a good deal of trouble, Dale,” said the inspector in charge.

“Are you addressing me, sir?” said the prisoner haughtily.

“Won’t do, Dale; the game’s up,” said............