The next morning a businesslike looking man, giving his name as Bedford, called at the offices of Messrs. Howard and Jones, estate agents, Gresham Street, City, to make enquiries about some premises he had heard they had to let in Curtain Lane.

He was at once informed that the premises could only be leased for a period of nine months, as at the expiration of that time the building was going to be pulled down.

The man intimated that he had heard that already and it was the main reason why he was applying to their firm. He wanted accommodation for only a few months, when other premises would be available for him. He represented a firm of Fleming leather merchants; and it was really a place for temporary storage of goods that he wanted. If the premises were suitable, he would take them for six months.

Then he asked for the loan of the key for twenty-four hours. He said he was expecting his partner to arrive during the day from the Midlands, but the latter might not be free to go over the building until late afternoon, or, indeed, it might be the early evening. He referred them to the manager of the Regent Street branch of the Consolidated Bank, who would vouch for his respectability.

The estate agents thereupon rang up the bank; and the reference being found satisfactory, the key was handed over. Larose noted it was a Warren one and evidently belonged to a lock of quite modern make.

So that afternoon soon after four o’clock, when he had seen the three members of the Malaga Wine and Spirit firm start back upon their way home, he let himself into the building in Curtain Lane and proceeded to walk up to the upper floors. He was carrying a small bag, containing some tools.

The agent had told him that he would find the rooms in a very bad state of repair, and, upon gaining the first floor, he found the warning fully justified. In many places the plaster from the ceilings had fallen down in big patches, the plaster upon the walls was also crumbling away, and the floor boards seemed in a very unsafe condition.

“Exactly,” smiled Larose, as he looked round, “and there should be no difficulty at all in getting up some of these boards and obtaining a good view of the ventilators opening into the rooms of those beauties below. Then I’ll not only be able to hear, but also, with any luck, to see a bit as well.”

An hour later he was quite satisfied with what he had done. He had exposed eight ventilators, four on either side of the rooms below, and had obtained quite a good idea of the layout of the offices of the Malaga Wine and Spirit Company. Indeed, from one ventilator which was partly broken away, he could get a clear and uninterrupted view of the inner office where, judging by the big table desk, the ledgers upon a shelf and a small safe in the comer, he was sure any confidential business of the firm would be carried on.

Quickly replacing all the floorboards, but in such a manner that they could be very easily raised next time, he removed all signs of his work, and left the building.

His next visit was to a locksmith in Commercial road; and, producing the key of the front door of the warehouse, he asked that a duplicate he made at once.

“And I want it by ten o’clock tonight,” he said, “and I’ll pay you at double rates if you have it done to the minute.”

The locksmith was a superior looking man, with an honest, open face, and he eyed Larose suspiciously. “But this belongs to a Warren lock,” he said sharply, “and you can get a duplicate at once from the firm by its number. Why don’t you go direct to their place in Hoxton? They don’t shut until six.” He spoke dryly. “It’s only a tuppenny bus ride, and they’ll be able to tell you then to whom the lock was first sold. They keep a strict register.”

In a lightning flash Larose realised the very awkward position he was in. He had not given a thought to the possibility of the Warren lockmakers being so close at hand, and now — this man had only to give them a ring, and, in a few minutes, machinery would be put in motion which would speedily acquaint the estate agents with what was gong on.

He put a bold face on the matter. “Exactly, my friend,” he said sternly; “but it happens I have no wish that anyone should know a duplicate is being made.” He shook his head. “No, I’m not one of the criminal classes. Indeed, I used once to be an Inspector in Scotland Yard myself. My name is Larose, Gilbert Larose. You may have heard of me.” He laughed lightly. “In my time, I’ve handcuffed quite a few gentlemen in this part of the East End.”

The locksmith stared hard. “You say you are Gilbert Larose?” he asked. “Then it was you who got L’Anson, the Mile End road murderer!”

“Yes,” nodded Larose, “L’Anson, the painter, who killed the old woman in the little paper shop. I ran him down when he was hiding in a barge off Limehouse Causeway. He was hanged ten weeks later.”

“Who tried him?” asked the locksmith very slowly.

“Lord Harding,” replied Larose promptly, “and the trial lasted five days. L’Anson’s counsel put him in the box, and he nearly got off, as he’d left no fingermarks behind him. Happily, however, he’d taken some cough lozenges the old woman was known to have bought at a chemist’s in Tile Street, and I had found them on him. He lied clumsily, in trying to explain where he’d got them and that settled it. The jury didn’t believe him.”

The locksmith’s face broke into a smile. “But I believe you, sir,” he said. “You are Mr. Larose, all right, to be able to remember all those details.” He nodded. “I was particularly interested in the trial, because the chemist who sold the cough drops to the old woman happened to be my brother.” He looked at his watch. “Well, I’ll make the key for you. Come back at ten.”

So that night Larose posted back the original key to the estate agents, with a covering letter intimating that the premises were not suitable, and long before nine o’clock the next morning was on watch above the rooms occupied by the Malaga Wine and Spirit Company.

He had taken up floor-boards again to expose the ventilators below and, wearing rubber-soled shoes, was ready to dart from place to place as occasion might require.

Royne appeared at the warehouse first and then came Rising, but Pellew did not arrive until after ten.

“I’ve got them all right,” announced the latter gaily. “Come into the office and we’ll have a good look at them,” and in a few seconds Larose was stretched prone upon the flooring above the inner room below. His face was thrust down close to the ventilators and the three men were well in view.

Then, to his amazement, he saw Pellew take a small cardboard box from his back pocket, and, upon a sheet of paper spread on the desk, empty quite a large number of good-sized diamonds and emeralds.

“But I had to pay that brute ￡50 for the job,” scowled Pellew, “and besides I know he’s sneaked two of the diamonds. He made out there were two less than we counted. I’ll never go to him again. He’s not to be trusted; and, if he dared, I’m sure he’d tip us off to the police.”

Larose watched them pore gloatingly over the precious stones, appraising their value and considering what they would get for them when later Pellew took them abroad to sell.

But suddenly a bell tinkled, and Royne and Rising left the office, while Pellew replaced the precious stones in his pocket.

Royne came back almost at once. “A gentleman to see you, sir,” he announced loudly, and then he whispered grinningly. “They’ve bitten. It’s a little Jap.”

A few moments later a spick-and-span, well-dressed gentleman, of whose nationality there could be not the slightest doubt, entered the room.

“Mr. Pellew?” he asked and, when Pellew had bowed in assent, and the door was closed, he went on very quietly. “You are the gentleman who sent a certain letter somewhere asking for an interview to discuss a very important matter?”

“I write a good many letters,” admitted Pellew cautiously. “It might have been that I wrote that I had some very good sherry to sell.”

“But it might not have been,” said the other with a snap. He spoke testily. “See here, Mr. Pellew, I never believe in wasting time. There are no witnesses and we can speak quite freely. My name is Miski, and I come from the Japanese Embassy. You wrote us last week that you were in the position of being able to sell a photographic copy of the plans of the new R8 submarine they are building on the Mersey.” He frowned. “Now, what made you write to us?”

“Because I know you have been trying to get hold of these plans for some time,” replied Pellew boldly. “Last month, an agent of yours approached one of the workers in the submarine sheds on the Mersey, a man by the name of Duke, and offered him ￡500 if he could obtain them for you.”

The Japanese shook his head. “That is news to me.”

Pellew went on imperturbably. “He agreed to do so but, being caught with a camera upon him, broke down and confessed. The authorities, however, let him go as a decoy, hoping to catch your agent through him. But you had been shadowing this man Duke, and were able to warn your agent in time. Incidentally, the name your agent passes under is McHenry, and he speaks English perfectly, with a Scotch accent. His real name, however, is Bohme, and he was born in Munich.”

“Oh,” exclaimed his visitor sarcastically, “you imagine you are well informed!”

“I know I am,” laughed Pellew, “and, from what I have just told you, you must certainly realise it, too. A man in my pay in the submarine sheds has been an amused spectator of all that has been going on!”

The Japanese was silent for a few moments. Then he asked, “And you say you have a copy of these plans to sell?” His voice hardened grimly. “But please understand, straightaway, that you will not be able to deceive us. I may tell you that I am myself an expert in submarine construction, and so shall know instantly if the plans are bona fide ones.” He nodded significantly. “Apart from that, I have means of determining at a glance if the plans are the final ones passed by the Admiralty, so, of course, I shall want to examine them before any money is passed over.”

“Naturally, you will!” exclaimed Pellew heartily. “I quite understand that.” He spoke emphatically. “Still, I am absolutely certain these plans are the ones being used. The man I got them from dare not deceive me.”

“Then have you offered them to anyone else?” asked the Japanese, eyeing him very hard.

“Certainly not!” lied Pellew indignantly. His face broke into a cunning smile. “In these days of multiple alliances against Britain, it is quite reasonable to suppose that many secrets are being pooled, and I shouldn’t want to get caught out trying to sell the plans in several quarters.”

“Hum!” remarked the Japanese. “And how much are you asking for them?”

“Two thousand pounds,” replied Pellew.

“Much too much!” exclaimed the Japanese instantly. “Our limit would be ￡500!”

Pellew made a contemptuous gesture. “Then you won’t get them from me, that’s certain!” He appeared incredulous. “Why, I have agreed to pay the man who got them for me a thousand.” His eyes glared. “Do you think we are going to risk getting ten or fifteen years’ penal servitude for ￡250 apiece?”

The Japanese considered and then, as if subconsciously, looked round the room. “Have you got the plans here?” he asked.

Pellew seemed amused. “Certainly not! I don’t run risks like that, and nothing will ever be found on me or in any house I am living in.” He spoke in business-like tones. “No, if you are willing to buy these plans, you will arrange to meet me here one morning, and I’ll drive in my own car to where they are hidden. No one will be able to follow us without our being aware of it, for I shall take you into the country.” He nodded. “So, we can both be quite sure that we shall be safe.”

“Then do you think we are likely to give you away?” asked the Japanese scornfully.

“No, I don’t, sir,” replied Pellew emphatically, “but I am guarding against it being found out I have got hold of these plans. In a matter like this I can trust no one absolutely; and I have a very profound respect for the British Secret Service. The man who is working for me says they are very active just now.”

The Japanese regarded him curiously. “But how does it happen that you, as a wine merchant, have come into possession of these plans?”

Pellew scowled melodramatically. “Partly chance and partly because I want my revenge.” He spoke with an assumption of great candour. “I was in the Government service myself once, but was dismissed, most unjustly, for something I had not done. That is the revenge part. The other part is that once, when staying in Liverpool, I made the acquaintance of a man who works in a certain shipyard on the Mersey. One night we got drunk together and he spilled a lot of secret information which he should not have done. When we were sober again, I remembered what he had said, and he was very frightened when I referred to it. However, I thought I saw a way of earning some money, and soon talked him into agreeing with me.” He smiled and bowed. “That is how I come to be talking now to a gentleman whom I am quite sure must be a distinguished son of his great and progressive country.”

The Japanese made no comment, and a long silence followed. Then Pellew said. “Well, you think it over and let me know. I won’t approach anyone else in the meantime.”

“Two thousand pounds is a large sum,” said the Japanese thoughtfully, “and we shall have to consider whether the plans are worth that amount to us. We shall have to wait, too, until a particular member of our staff comes back from a short journey.” He nodded. “Yes. I’ll let you know in about ten days, say Monday week.”

“And please understand it will be for an appointment if you do,” said Pellew. “I’ll name a time for you to come here, and then I’ll drive you to a certain place where you can be quite sure we shan’t be seen. There you can examine the plans at your leisure. Oh, one thing more, please. The money must be all in notes not higher than ￡10, and they must be ones that have already been in circulation and in no sequence of numbers. You understand, don’t you?”

The Japanese nodded, and Pellew proceeded to show him out of the building. Then, the moment he had gone, all three members of the wine firm went at once into the private office.

“I think I’ve clicked,” announced Pellew, “but we shan’t know for certain until he phones up. He’s an unpleasant little beast, and very distrustful. He gave me a nasty, suspicious look when he asked me if I’d sold them to any Power, and it’s quite likely he may ask that Baltic crowd if I’ve been to them.”

“Damnation!” swore Royne. “If he finds out you have it’s quite likely he may tip you off to those Secret Service devils out of spite.”

“I thought of that instantly,” said Pellew, “and told him I never kept the plans near me. I said if he bought them I’d give them to him somewhere right out in the country where we could not be followed.” He frowned. “Now there is one thing which is damned annoying. This fellow is not like that conceited fop from the Baltic Embassy; and he says he is an expert in submarine construction. So he may notice at once that those measurements of the amid-ship balance tanks are missing, and, if he does, I’m certain he won’t buy the plans. He’ll want every ounce of his pound of flesh.”

“But we may get the measurements before he comes here again,” said Royne. “They should be sent off in a few days.”

However, any further speculation on that point was cut short, for the telephone upon the desk rang sharply and Pellew picked up the receiver.

“Oh, that you, Mr. Menns?”

“Yes, it’s Mr. Pellew himself speaking.. .. Certainly. I’ve considered the matter and am quite prepared to deliver the two lots of sherry at the price quoted! . . . Oh, you want to see me about, it? . . . Yes, I’m free this evening.. .. Yes, yes!. .. Where?. .. Oh, I’m to look out for you!. .. All right, sir, I’ll be there. Good-bye.”

He put back the receiver and turned to the others. “He’ll be at the Marble Arch tonight on the tick of seven, and I’m to follow him. He wants more assurances from me, but, as he doesn’t know the exact date yet, only that it must be before the twelfth of next month. I don’t suppose he’ll be passing over any cash tonight.” He smiled dryly. “Really, what with selling precious stones, our dealings with the Embassies, our dope smuggling, and now the job of bumping off, we shall have our hands quite full for the next three weeks. After that I think we ought to take a holiday.”

“And so you shall, my friend,” murmured Larose savagely, with his eyes glued to the ventilator, “you and the other two blackguards as well.” He drew in a deep breath. “Gosh, what a nest of crime I’ve found! Thieves and spies already, and murderers within about three weeks!”

An hour and longer passed by and then, there being nothing more of particular interest going on in the rooms below, Larose rose stiffly from his recumbent position upon the floor and proceeded to regale himself with the sandwiches and fruit he had come provided with in his bag.

Royne had a sleep after the heavy lunch he had eaten. Rising read the newspapers, and Pellew practised hard at some sleight of hand tricks with a pack of cards. After one quick, furtive glance at the pack as he shuffled, the latter seemed to be trying to deal himself certain particular cards and he grunted with satisfaction whenever he was successful.

The afternoon passed without event, until it was getting on towards four o’clock and then Larose, who was still lying on the floor just above the ventilator, made a stealthy movement to change his position, because of the stiffness of his limbs.

Then, inadvertently, as he was levering himself on one of the rafters, his hand slipped on to the lathe and plaster of the ceiling underneath, and to his horror he felt it give way. A moment’s dreadful apprehension, and he heard a lump of plaster fall on to the floor below and saw through the ventilator, the startled face of Pellew who had suddenly looked up.

“Hullo, you chaps,” called out Pellew, when he had taken in what had happened; “just come and look at this! We shall be having the whole damned place about our ears soon.”

Then, a minute later, he rang up the estate agents and, getting in touch with one of the heads of the firm, a short conversation ensued. “All right,” he grumbled at last, “but if you’re not here almost straightaway you must leave it until tomorrow, because the warehouse will be closed soon after four,” and he put back the receiver.

He turned to the others. “It was Howard himself I was speaking to,” he said, “and he’s coming straightaway. He said he mightn’t be five minutes.” He grinned. “I frightened him that it looked as if the floor above was falling down.”

Larose was aghast. When the agent arrived it was almost certain he would bring the other key with him and come upstairs. Then he, Larose, would be caught like a rat in a trap.

His movements were like lightning. He gave himself five minutes by his watch to clear up, and in that time, almost to the second, had softly put back every board he had taken up, repacked his tools in his bag and was tip-toeing down the stairs.

He had one dreadful moment as he let himself out of the street door, but to his intense relief there was no one about to see him leave, and a minute later he had left Curtain Lane well behind him.

“Whew, but that was a close shave,” he whistled, “and things are not really safe yet! If they noticed the nails have been taken out of that particular board over where the plaster fell and it comes up with a flick of the finger, then that estate man may begin to think a bit and mention to them that someone borrowed the key last night.” He whistled again. “Then the fat will be in the fire, right enough, for with any suspicions once aroused, they’ll be able to pick up my traces all over the place where the other boards have been interfered with.” He looked anxious. “Yes. I must go and see that bank manager at once and tell him what to say if anyone does ring up.”

At one end of an upper floor of a large building in Whitehall is a corridor, shut off from the other parts of the building by a wicket gate stretching across the entrance to the corridor. A commissioner is always seated by the gate to make certain that no unauthorised people pass. The particular suite of rooms enclosed is known to the habitues of the building as the ‘Chart Department,’ but this designation, purposely, gives no indication of the nature of the work carried on there, for in reality it is the headquarters of the counter-espionage branch of the British Secret Service.

Five o’clock, upon the late afternoon of the day upon which Larose had been keeping his watch in Curtain Lane, was just striking when a rather roughly dressed man, carrying a bag and looking like a workman, presented himself at the wicket and announced to the commissionaire that he wanted to see Mr. Grant with no delay.

The commissionaire did not rise from his chair. “Have you got an appointment?” he asked.

“No, but my business is urgent,” replied the man.

The commissionaire made no comment but touched an invisible bell push with his foot and almost immediately a big burly man appeared from a room just by the gate.

“Says he wants to see Mr. Grant,” nodded the commissionaire, “but he’s got no appointment.”

The newcomer eyed the man frowningly. “What’s your business?” he asked curtly.

“Private,” replied the man, “private and urgent. Has Mr. Grant gone yet?”

The man made a motion with his head. “Come in here,” he said. “I’ll see,” and the wicket being opened, he ushered the man into a small room where two clerks were seated, writing at desks, and went on, “Now, please. Open that bag. I want to see what’s inside.”

The man complied with a smile and, the investigation being apparently quite satisfactory, he was given a pencil and piece of paper and told to write his name upon it.

“And an envelope please,” he demanded sharply when he had complied with the request. “My name’s as private as my business.”

The envelope being sealed, the other left the room with it, returning, however, in about two minutes. He now appeared pleasanter and less suspicious. “Follow me, please,” he said. “Mr. Grant will see you almost at once.”

Larose, for the man was he, was now ushered into a much better furnished room with a thick carpet and comfortable chairs, and was then left by himself. Very shortly, however, he heard voices getting louder and two men appeared through a door different from the one by which he had himself entered. Both men were elderly. One was slight and frail and very scholarly-looking, while the other was big and tall with a proud face. The latter carried himself importantly.

The man looking like a scholar at once came forward and shook hands with Larose. “Very pleased to see you Mr. Larose!” he exclaimed smilingly. “You’re quite a stranger!” He turned to his companion. “My lord, this is Mr. Gilbert Larose! I expect you’ve heard of him, the one-time Inspector Larose of Scotland Yard and now the master of Carmel Abbey. Mr. Larose, this is Lord Hunkin, the First Lord of the Admiralty.”

Lord Hunkin inclined his head gravely. He had stayed at Carmel Abbey in the lifetime of Sir Charles Ardane and knew that, upon the baronet’s decease, Larose had married his very wealthy widow. So now he was very astonished to see Larose dressed so roughly, and with a decidedly dirty face.

Larose took in his thoughts and laughed lightly. “Pardon my general appearance, Mr. Grant,” he said, “but I have been returning to my old calling for a few hours and have come to you in a great hurry.” He turned briskly to Lord Hunkin. “Now, my meeting with you like this, my lord, could not possibly have been more opportune. I have something most important to disclose to you.” He turned back to Mr. Grant. “May I have a few words with you both in your private room?”

“Certainly,” agreed Mr. Grant, “at once,” and he made a movement to the others to go in.

But Lord Hunkin looked at his watch and hesitated. “But, ‘er, I have a very important appointment at half-past five, and I mustn’t be late for it!”

“Good God!” exclaimed Larose sharply. “You’d be late for any appointment to hear what I’ve got to tell you!” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I want to speak to you about those plans of the new R8 submarine! Copies of them are being hawked about for sale!”

The First Lord’s eyebrows were lowered in an angry scowl. “What do you know about the R8 submarine at all?” he asked.

“Only,” replied Larose, speaking quickly, “that the plans were passed as correct with no measurements of the inner tanks amidships being specified, that they bore the secret marking of the Admiralty, that the Baltic Embassy has already received photographic copies of them, and that in a few days an Eastern Embassy is likely to be receiving copies too.”

The First Lord’s eyes almost started from his head. Then, with a lightning movement, he stretched out and gripped Larose fiercely by the arm. “Are you sure you know this man, personally?” he asked hoarsely of Mr. Grant. “Are you sure he is that Larose?”

“Quite!” nodded Mr. Grant reassuringly. He spoke firmly. “And if he’s come to tell us something, then we may be sure it’s worth hearing.”

Lord Hunkin let go of Larose’s arm and they all went into Mr. Grant’s double-doored private room. There, Larose quickly unfolded his tale, or as much as he intended to tell in the presence of the First Lord of the Admiralty.

He told how he had been shipwrecked and how he had suddenly become interested about the men in the lonely house upon the Essex shore, because he had overheard what one of them had said. Then he went on telling how he had made out he was a ticket-of-leave man, how he had worked upon the engine of their motor launch and why he had left them. Next, he related how he had tracked them down to the warehouse in Curtain Lane, what he had heard when he was listening in the room above their office and, finally, the unfortunate happening of the broken ceiling, and how he fully expected their suspicions would have been aroused by what it was almost certain the estate agent would have told them.

All he kept back for Mr. Grant’s ears alone was about Pellew’s appointment that night near the Marble Arch.

They heard him out in silence and then Lord Hunkin exclaimed in great distress. “Dreadful, dreadful, for it means the traitor must be someone in whom we have implicit trust!” He pulled himself together and spoke briskly. “But now, we must raid both these places and arrest those men, wherever they are.”

“No, no!” said Larose quickly. “If they’ve become suspicious and so are already warned we shall find out nothing. They’ll just sit tight and say nothing, and we haven’t a scrap of evidence against them. On the other hand, if their suspicions have not been aroused, we can just go easy and wait to get the traitor who is selling the plans. We know this Pellew is in communication with him about the missing measurements of those balance tanks.”

“And another thing,” said Mr. Grant. “Even if their suspicions have been aroused, they’ll only be suspicious, for they can be certain of nothing. Then, in a day or two, if they find they are not being interfered with, they’ll think they are quite safe and will carry on as before.” He nodded assuringly to Lord Hunkin. “Yes, you leave them to me, my lord, and with the help of Scotland Yard they’ll be able to do very little without our knowing.”

Lord Hunkin turned to Larose. “Do you really think, Mr. Larose, that the plans are not in that warehouse in Curtain Lane?”

Larose nodded. “Yes, I do, my lord. I’ve formed the opinion that this Pellew is a very capable and far-seeing man, and from the way he talked to that man from the Embassy, I’m quite sure he’ll be taking no risks. I believe we should have drawn blank, even if we had been able to take them unawares and have raided both their places.”

Lord Hunkin left a few minutes later and then Larose told Mr. Grant about Pellew’s appointment that evening at the Marble Arch.

“But I’ll follow that up,” he said. He made a grimace. “That is if he goes there now. If he does, I’ll see this Herr Menns he’s going to meet and then trail the Herr and try to learn who he really is. That should help us considerably in finding out who are the two men to be murdered.”

A few minutes before seven Larose was in the vicinity of the Marble Arch and soon caught sight of Pellew strolling slowly up. He stationed himself about a hundred yards behind him and awaited developments.

But he had not long to wait as his watch was just upon the tick of seven when he saw Pellew quicken his pace slightly and, passing into the Park, take one of the diagonal roads across in the direction of Kensington Gardens.

For a couple of hundred yards or so he was not able to determine whom Pellew was following, for a number of people were proceeding in the same direction, but presently a man in front detached himself from the others and moved off across the grass. Pellew then left the path too, and walking quicker than the other man, soon overtook him. Then the two walked side by side until they came upon an unoccupied seat under some trees, where they both sat down, obviously in earnest conversation together.

Larose dared not approach near, but worked his way round to behind them until he was in such a position that he could keep his eye upon them without their noticing him.

It was his intention that, when they parted, he would, if possible, come face to face with the man Pellew was talking to, so that he could take him all in and make certain exactly what manner of man he was before he followed him.

But, unhappily, this intention was foiled, for when Pellew’s companion left him, after a few leisurely steps as if time were of no consequence, the latter suddenly started to walk so quickly in the direction back to the Marble Arch that Larose had not time to head him off, and so had to be content to follow behind. All that he could gather of his appearance then was that he was tall and of a good figure.

“He is no common man,” thought Larose, “and from the way he walks I should certainly say he was of a forceful character, very purposeful and determined. He is smartly dressed, too.”

Leaving the park by the Marble Arch, the man crossed the road and proceeded to walk quickly in the direction of Oxford Circus, with Larose following closer than ever behind; indeed, he was now only about a dozen yards away.

Suddenly the man slackened his pace, and for the moment Larose thought he was going to stop and speak to another man who was coming from the opposite direction. This second man was certainly intending to stop, for he almost halted and there was a smile of recognition upon his face. But the man Larose was following gave him a quick shake of the head and walked on without speaking. Larose saw the welcoming smile on the other’s face change instantly into a rather annoyed frown.

“Hullo, hullo,” murmured Larose as he passed the second man, “and what was the meaning of that? These fine gentlemen know each other, and No. 2 wanted to stop. But No. 1 wasn’t having any, and No. 2 looked almost angry. Now I wonder ——”

But no time was given him to speculate further, for, with a sudden wave of his arm, the man he was following hailed a taxi, and almost before he could realise what had happened, had stepped inside and slammed the door.

Larose glanced round like lightning, but there was no unoccupied taxi at hand, and to his intense mortification he saw the man driven away.

“XK29042,” he muttered furiously, “and a lot of good that’ll do me. He’s on the crook, and it’s a hundred to one he won’t be driven right up to where he lives. What vile luck! I never even got the chance of having a good look at him! I shouldn’t be able to recognise him again if he stood right in front of me!”

Then, suddenly, a flash of inspiration came to him. “A-ah, but what about that fellow who was stopping to speak to him! I may yet trail the wretch through him!”

He turned instantly and proceeded to walk quickly back in the direction of the Marble Arch, intently regarding all likely persons before he actually overtook them. But his period of anxiety was very short, for he soon spotted the man he was looking for. The latter was walking quite leisurely, as if he were only out for a stroll and had no particular object in view.

Larose passed him, went on for about fifty yards and then walked slowly back to meet him face to face.

The man was obviously a foreigner, and of Teutonic extraction. He was of medium height, by no means bad-looking, and had a strong and rather intelligent face. His eyes, however, were hard and frowning, and his expression was an arrogant one. He was smartly dressed, in well-cut clothes of the best quality.

Larose followed him up Oxford Street and noted very soon what interest he seemed to be taking in everything. He scrutinised the passers-by intently, he looked into every shop window and then, at the Marble Arch, for a good quarter of an hour, stood watching the traffic.

Next he went into the park and at the same leisurely pace made his way to the bandstand. For a few minutes he stood listening rather superciliously, but then he took a seat and gave himself up to evident enjoyment of the music. He joined in the clapping every time at the conclusion of a piece.

“And isn’t he like that Herr Bauer of theirs!” murmured Larose. “He might almost be his twin brother!” And then he added with all the assurance of a man who had never been in Germany. “Still those Germans are all very much alike.”

The band performance over, the man proceeded to Hyde Park corner and mounted an eastward bound bus. He alighted at Piccadilly Circus; and, finally, Larose trailed him to a good-class private hotel in Bloomsbury, feeling quite confident that he had seen him settled for the night.

“And I must stick to him,” Larose told himself, “for he’s my only chance of getting on the trail of that other fellow!” He sighed. “But don’t I wish I could make myself invisible and be in two places at once. I’d like to see what will be going on in Curtain Lane tomorrow morning, and if they have really got any suspicions about anything.”

As it happened, however, everything was quite peaceful and untroubled when the three arrived at the warehouse. The estate agent had not turned up, as he had promised the previous afternoon, and after waiting a quarter of an hour for him the warehouse had been closed. Pellew had stopped in town for the night.

But the next morning the three were all together again by nine o’clock, and Pellew was giving the other two his news. Von Ravenheim had not disclosed to him who were the two men to be got rid of, but had said he expected to be in a position to do so within a few days. He had also stated that he had really only wanted to meet Pellew again to be quite sure the latter had made up his mind to carry the matter through and to ask if he were going to do the shooting himself.

Pellew had told him that he had arranged for his brother, whom he could trust perfectly, to help him. He had also said that this brother was already wanted by the police.

But the conversation between the three of them was interrupted by the arrival of the estate agent, full of apologies that he had missed them the previous afternoon. He was shown the hole in the ceiling above the office, and then, accompanied by Pellew, proceeded up to the floor above.

They were gone some time and then the two came down again and went back into the office. Some conversation ensued and the telephone was used before the house agent finally left the building. Then Pellew, with a grim and frowning face beckoned Royne and Rising into the private office.

“Look here, you fellows,” he said very solemnly, and there was a catch in his voice. “I believe that yesterday there was someone”— he pointed to the ceiling —“in that room above, listening through a broken ventilator to all that went on down here.” He leant back in his chair, looking white and sickly. “Now, what do you say to that?”

“What do you mean?” asked Rising quickly. “What did you find up there?”

Pellew’s eyes were hard and flinty. “Loosened boards all round the rooms, boards that had obviously been pulled up so that anyone lying down upon the floor could see and hear through every ventilator that opens down here. Listen. About half-past four the day before yesterday, a man called at Howard and Jones’s and asked for the key of the floors above. He gave the name of Bedford, and he said he was a leather merchant and a prospective tenant, and he pitched some cock and bull story about a partner coming down from Birmingham late that afternoon and he wanted to go over these rooms with him directly he arrived. He said he was well-known to the manager of the Regent Street branch of the Consolidated Bank, and, after Jones had phoned up to see if it was all right, the key was given to him. He returned the key through the post the same night with a single line of writing to say that the premises were unsuitable.”

Pellew paused a moment to draw in a deep breath and then took out and lit a cigarette before resuming.

“Then when Jones and I went up just now and found these suspicious loosened boards and the dust upon the floor disturbed as if someone had been lying down, Jones suddenly comes out with the story of the man borrowing the key. So I made him ring up the bank manager just now”— his eyes glared —“and what do you think was the result?”

“But he couldn’t have faked that telephone call?” gasped Rising.

“No,” exclaimed Pellew angrily, “but the bank manager was most evasive and refused any information about this Bedford, where he lived or anything more about him. He said he had been requested to say nothing because his client was negotiating a big business deal and did not want to be forestalled. Now what do you think of it?”

“But who could he have been?” asked Rising breathlessly, “and how could he have got in yesterday if he had posted back the key the previous night?”

“Bah!” scoffed Pellew contemptuously, “he may have left the door unlocked, wedged to with a bit of paper, or he may have had another key made that night!” He threw out his hands. “As to who he was — who knows?”

Royne whistled. “Whew, and if anyone was up there all yesterday, he’d have seen you showing us those diamonds and have heard everything you said to that Jap!”

“Exactly!” nodded Pellew, white almost to the lips, “and if whoever was listening had anything to do with those cursed Secret Service people we may be raided any moment.” He spoke despairingly. “They’ll find the plans in that safe and the diamonds in my pocket.”

“Then we must get rid of everything at once,” cried Rising. “We’ll bury those plans straightaway!”

“Wait a moment, wait a moment!” urged Royne, who was the calmest of the three. “Now don’t let us lose our heads. You may be imagining everything, Pellew, for if we had been going to be raided, it would have been done before this. Why, man, it’s after half-past ten, and the Secret Service people wouldn’t have waited five minutes! They’d have been waiting here for us when we came in.” He laughed scornfully. “Whoever loosened those boards may have done it years ago! Don’t forget those floors have been vacant long before we came here.”

“I know all that,” snapped Pellew, “but what about that piece of plaster falling down yesterday? Someone had shaken the floor and that brought it down. Besides”— he paused impressively —“when I knelt down just now and placed my head below the flooring to look into the room through that broken ventilator there was a distinct smell of oranges. Whoever had been there had come provided with food to keep a long watch!”

But Royne was not impressed. “I don’t believe it,” he said sharply. “In a stuffy closed-up room there are lots of queer smells hanging about, and you may easily have been mistaken!” He shrugged his shoulders. “At any rate, the mischief’s done now, and we can only wait and see. If nothing happens today everything is your imagination.”

The morning was one of dreadful apprehension for Pellew, and, to a lesser extent, an uneasy one for the other two. But after a bottle of champagne and a good luncheon a much more rosy view of things possessed them, and by the time they were ready to leave in the afternoon, even Pellew had almost put away his fears. His hands trembled, however, as he took the set of plans out of the safe and transferred them to his pocket.

“But of one thing I’m determined,” he said. “In future I’ll never have these damned photographs anywhere near me again. We’ll put them in a tin and hide them somewhere under the stones of the seawall this very night.” He sighed. “Then I shall sleep in peace.”

The journey home was quite uneventful, although all the way down Rising was looking through the back window of the car to see if they were being followed.

But by bedtime even Pellew was laughing at the fears, and all three of them were apparently as carefree as ever. Life was very pleasant for people who had brains, they told themselves, and it was only the mugs who never had any of its good things! Yes, they were certainly quite safe now, and if any danger had been threatening them it had passed over.

They did not dream that every minute of that day they had been under surveillance, that their car had been noted at every town they had passed through upon their way home, and that an invisible cordon had been thrown round the marsh.

Henceforth they were to be marked men until such time as the British Secret Service and Scotland Yard should consider it expedient to close the net and draw them in.