When Dan left Mrs. Jarsell he was very well pleased with the promise she had given concerning the safety of Lillian. He fully believed that she, in her role of Queen Beelzebub, would keep that promise faithfully, if only because her own interests demanded such honesty. The fact that the confession of Penn was in the hands of a third party to be made use of should anything happen to Miss Moon, prevented the Society of Flies from carrying out the threat made to him at the secret meeting. To save their own lives the members would be forced — much against their will no doubt — to spare those of Lillian and himself. Dan chuckled at the way in which he had circumvented the deadly organisation. But he had only scotched the snake, he had not killed it, and until he did so there was always the chance that it would strike when able to do so with safety. But while Penn’s confession remained in Laurance’s hands, all was well.

One thing struck Halliday as strange, and that was the persistence with which Mrs. Jarsell kept up the comedy of having-nothing-to-do-with-the-matter during so confidential a conversation. She knew that Penn had been a doubtful member of her gang; she knew that he had been despatched — as Dan truly believed — because he was not to be trusted, and now she knew that he had left a confession behind him, which was in the hands of her enemies. Also, she was aware that the man who spoke to her had read the confession and must have guessed that her name, as Queen Beelzebub, was mentioned therein. This being the case, it was to be presumed that she would speak freely, but in place of doing so, she had pretended ignorance, and for his own ends he had humoured her feigning. Either she doubted that such a confession existed or she guessed in whose possession it was, and intended to regain it.

“Queen Beelzebub knows well enough that Freddy is my best friend,” thought Dan, as he returned to The Peacock Hotel, “and it would be reasonable for her to believe that he had Penn’s confession, which is certainly the case. I should not be at all surprised if Freddy was inveigled into a trap as I was, so that he might be forced to surrender the document or rather what remains of it. If that were managed, Queen Beelzebub would revenge herself on Lillian and on me, since there would be nothing left to shielf us from her spite. And in any case Freddy is in danger, as I am certain she guesses that he holds the confession.” He mused for a few moments, and then added, aloud, “I shall return to town at once and see him.”

The more he thought the more he saw the necessity of doing this. Mrs. Jarsell’s first move to counterplot him would be to seek out Lord Curberry and learn all she could, relative to what Penn had left behind him. Certainly Curberry would assure her that he had burnt the confession, in which case Queen Beelzebub would think that she would be free to act. But Halliday believed she was of too suspicious a nature to be quite convinced that he had only bluffed. Before taking any steps she would decidedly ascertain for certain — although in what way it was difficult to say — if there really was any compromising document in Laurance’s hands. To do so, she would, as Dan had thought a few minutes before, set a trap for him, and brow-beat him into stating what he knew and what he held. Therefore, for Freddy’s sake, it was necessary to go to London, and report in detail the conversation on the moor. Then the two could arrange what was best to be done. They were dealing with a coterie of daring scoundrels, who would stop at nothing to secure their own safety, and it behoved them to move warily. “We are walking on a volcano,” was Halliday’s concluding reflection.

Of course, as it was useless to alarm the ladies, Dan said nothing of his meeting with Queen Beelzebub on the moor. However, on being questioned, he confessed the sudden thought which had sent him out of doors, and both Lillian and Mrs. Bolstreath agreed that it was entirely probable that Mrs. Jarsell did travel in up-to-date aeroplanes, like a mischief-making fairy. Then in turn, they told him that Mildred had stayed for quite a long time and was altogether more charming on each occasion she appeared. She suggested many trips and Mrs. Bolstreath was inclined to stay at Sheepeak longer than she intended in spite of the near menace of Queen Beelzebub. Lillian was delighted with the lovely scenery, so gracious after the drab hues of London.

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t get a house here after we are married,” she said to her lover, “one of those delicious old manor houses of faded yellow stone. I could live quietly with Mrs. Bolstreath, while you ran up to business on your aeroplane.”

“And all the time you would be fretting lest any harm came to him,” said the chaperon, shaking her head; “besides, my dear, when you are married, you won’t want me to be with you.”

“Dear Bolly, I shall always want you, and so will Dan.”

“Nonsense!” said Mrs. Bolstreath, briskly, “two’s company and three’s none.”

“Well,” remarked Halliday, leisurely, “we can settle the matter when we are married, Lillian. Remember, before your uncle will consent, I shall have to discover who murdered your father.”

“You have discovered who murdered him. It was the false Mrs. Brown, who is Mrs. Jarsell, who is Queen Beelzebub.”

“So I believe, but I have to prove my case,” said Dan, drily, “and, moreover, I won’t find it easy to place the woman in the dock when she has this accursed society at the back of her.”

“You don’t think there is danger?” asked Lillian, hastily.

“No, no, no! Things are safer than ever, my dear. I go to town this evening and can leave you here with the certainty that all is well.”

“You go to town this evening?” said Mrs. Bolstreath, anxiously; “isn’t that a very sudden resolution?”

“Oh, I think not,” answered Dan, in an easy way, “I came down here only to settle you and Lillian. By the way, Sir John —”

“I wired our address, and he wrote me,” interrupted Mrs. Bolstreath; “he is quite pleased that we are away. I rather think,” the lady added, thoughtfully, “that Sir John is not ill-pleased we are away. At his age the constant presence of two women in his house is rather disconcerting. Finding we had left town, he returned there to enjoy having his own house to himself.”

“In that case,” said Dan, cheerfully, “he will be glad to see Lillian married.”

“But to Lord Curberry, not to you.”

“I would die rather than marry Lord Curberry,” said Lillian, decisively, and with her chin in the air.

“You won’t be asked to do either one or the other, my dear,” replied Dan, in his calmest tone. “We shall marry right enough whatever opposition Sir John may make. As to Lord Curberry,” he hesitated.

“Well?” asked Mrs. Bolstreath, impatiently.

“I intend to see him when I return to town.”

“I think it will be as well. Better have a complete understanding with him so that he will not worry Lillian any more.”

“He won’t,” answered Dan, grimly, “and now I shall have to get away. I see Mrs. Pelgrin has had the trap brought round. Take care of Lillian.”

Lillian kissed her lover and followed him to the door of the sitting-room with a gay laugh. “Lillian can look after herself,” she said lightly, “I am not afraid of Mrs. Jarsell or of any one else. But you take care, Dan. I fear much more for you than for myself.”

“I’m all right!” Dan, with an Englishman’s dislike for an emotional scene, kissed the girl again and slipped out of the door. They saw him drive away in the gloom of the evening, and then settled to make themselves comfortable. Neither Lillian nor Mrs. Bolstreath would admit as much, but both felt rather downcast at Dan’s sudden departure. Luckily, as he had been so cool and composed, they did not connect it with any fresh development likely to give trouble. In some vague way Mrs. Bolstreath guessed that Dan had spiked the guns of the enemy under which they were encamped, and her certainty of safety being infectious, Lillian also felt quite at her ease.

Meanwhile, Dan reached the Beswick station in the ramshackle trap and was lucky enough to catch the ingoing train to Thawley, just as it started to glide past the platform. The fortunate connection enabled him to board the 7.20 p.m. express to London, where he hoped to arrive shortly before eleven that same evening. Knowing that Laurance’s work kept him up late at night, he wired from Thawley, asking him to come to St. Pancras Station. Important as was Freddy’s time, Dan knew that he would respond to the call at once, guessing what large issues would be the outcome of the present situation. Therefore, as the train dropped south, Halliday felt quite comfortable, as he had done all he could to arrange matters for the moment. Indeed, so assured did he feel that he had taken all possible precautions, that he did not even trouble to think over the matter, but fell asleep and refreshed his weary brain and body. Only when the train arrived at St. Pancras did he tumble out, sleepy still, to catch a sight of his faithful friend on the platform.

“Nothing wrong?” asked Laurance, hurrying up.

“Nothing wrong,” responded Dan, with a yawn, “but I have much to talk to you about. Get a four-wheeler.”

“A taxi, you mean.”

“I don’t mean. I wish to travel as slowly as possible, so as to explain matters. Tell the man to drive to ‘The Moment’ office. There I can drop you and go on to my rooms.”

Thus understanding the situation, Freddy selected a shaky old cab, drawn by a shaky old horse, and the rate at which it progressed through the brilliantly-lighted streets was so slow that they were a very long time arriving at ‘The Moment’ office in Fleet Street. In the damp-smelling interior of this antique conveyance, Halliday, now quite alert and clear-headed, gave his friend a full account of all that had happened, particularly emphasising the interview with Mrs. Jarsell.

“H’m,” commented Freddy, when he ended, “so she didn’t give herself away?”

“No. And very wisely too, I think. She didn’t know how much I knew, and wasn’t keen on giving me rope to hang her.”

“But she knows you have read Penn’s confession — what there is of it.”

“I didn’t tell her that I had anything else than the full confession, old son. She may think I have the whole document intact, or — and this I fancy is probable — she may believe that there isn’t any confession in existence.”

“Curberry may have written to her, telling her that he burnt the confession.”

“No,” said Dan, after a pause, “I really don’t think he has done that. Mrs. Jarsell went dead white when I mentioned a confession.”

“Then she believes that you spoke the truth,” persisted Laurance, hopefully.

“She may, or she may not, as I said before,” retorted Halliday, “anyhow, as she can’t be sure if I’m in jest or earnest, she will delay proceedings until she sees Curberry. If he swears that he burnt the confession, Mrs. Jarsell may act; therefore I want you to send him an unsigned telegram, containing these three words, “All is discovered!””

“What will that do?”

“Put the fear of God into Curberry, into Queen Beelzebub, and into the Society of Flies as a whole. The warning will be so vague that they won’t know who will strike the blow.”

“They will suspect you, Dan.”

“In that case,” replied Halliday, promptly, “Queen Beelzebub will leave Lillian alone, and my object will be obtained. I want to gain time, and can only do so with safety to Lillian by keeping these beasts in a state of uncertainty as to how much or how little is known.”

“I see,” Laurance thought the plan a good one; “since you say that you have the confession and Curberry will say that he destroyed it, Queen Beelzebub wil............