Towards noon the following day Inspector McKinnon, of Scotland Yard, was ushered into Room 13, where Mr. Grant, Lord Hunkin, and two officials of the Counter Espionage Department were awaiting him.

The inspector was a big, stout man with a heavy face. He looked as if he were always very sure of himself.

“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “we are watching from a room upon the first floor of a building almost directly opposite, and we had a good look at those men as they arrived at their office this morning, and they are none of them known to us. They seem a pretty shrewd lot and quite capable of taking good care of themselves.” He shook his head. “But they undoubtedly had no idea yesterday evening that anything might be threatening them, for that estate agent didn’t go to their place until this morning.”

“Oh, then, if we had raided them last night we should have caught them unawares!” exclaimed Lord Hunkin aghast.

“Certainly!” nodded the inspector. He looked doubtful. “But after hearing what Mr. Larose had to say, I’m not sure it would have been altogether the best policy. We should certainly have got those precious stones and, possibly, the photographs of that second set of plans they are now trying to sell. But, unless they confessed, we might have been no nearer to finding out from whom they had obtained the plans.” He smiled dryly. “As to any confession, from what Mr. Larose told me about them and from what I myself saw of them this morning, they don’t appear to be of the confessing sort. They look a very hardened type of men to me. I think ——”

“But, of course, the theft from someone of those precious stones,” broke in Lord Hunkin testily, “is a matter of small moment compared with the larger issue of their being in the possession of those submarine plans.”

“Exactly, my lord,” agreed the inspector. “I quite understand that.” He went on. “Well, that estate agent appeared almost directly after they arrived, and he and the one I take, from his description, to be Pellew at once went up to the floors above. They were up there twenty minutes, and then Pellew came down with a face as white as chalk. Then the agent went back into their office again and immediately rang up the bank manager. I’ve seen the bank manager since, and he says the estate agent was very annoyed because he declined to give him any information about the party for whom he had given a reference. The bank manager is sure, too, that he could hear someone behind the estate agent the whole time, prompting him to ask the various questions that were put.” The big, stout man leant back in his chair. “And that’s how the position is now.”

“Then what do you advise we should do, inspector?” asked Mr. Grant.

“As far as Curtain Lane is concerned, sir,” replied the inspector, “leave them absolutely alone for a few days. Almost certainly, they’ll be up to all the tricks of our trade, and so would quickly know if they were being shadowed. They’ve had a bad fright and must be very puzzled now why they have not been raided. So, give them a little time to settle down and soon they’ll be thinking they must have imagined everything.”

“But about those two persons they’ve been commissioned to shoot?” asked Mr. Grant. “That’s troubling me, too.”

The inspector frowned. “We can’t help it, sir”— his face brightened —“but for the time being I think they’ll be too frightened to do anything. And you must remember this, if we arrest these three men, the party who wants the shooting done will almost certainly find another assassin.” He shook his head. “No we’ve got to take certain risks here and that is one of them.”

“Then you don’t propose to do anything, Inspector?” asked Lord Hunkin, as if very surprised.

“Oh, but I do!” exclaimed the Inspector quickly. “We are very busy. We are keeping a strict eye on that house of theirs on the marsh, and paying particular attention as well to that motor launch they’ve got. With Mr. Larose, I believe they are engaged in the dope traffic and we’re leaving nothing to chance there. As I’ve told you we are having Curtain Lane watched, too, and, if we don’t trail any of the men themselves, we’ll trail all who visit them, right enough. In addition to that, we shall be listening in to every telephone call they receive and opening every letter before it reaches them.” He laughed. “Oh, yes, they won’t get away now with much!”

In the meantime, very early that morning, Larose had booked in at the Arragon Hotel as George Payne, noting as he signed the book that a Herr Bernard Blitzen from Zurich, had arrived some days before and that the number of his room was 74.

“That’s the gentleman,” he told himself, “but it looks to me as if he comes from quite a different place from Zurich!”

Breakfast had started and he looked in the dining-room to see if the stranger were already there, but, finding he was not, sat down in the lounge to await his coming. It was not long, however, before he appeared and, following him in for the meal, Larose was given a seat at a table not very far distant from him.

The man seated himself at a table laid for three, and Larose was at once struck again by his frowning and haughty appearance. He heard him give his order to the waiter very curtly, in quite good English, but with a very harsh accent. Then he leant back in his chair, with his eyes wandering round in an unfriendly way upon the other breakfasters.

“Hum, this chap is a soldier, right enough, in his own country,” commented Larose thoughtfully, “and he has the usual Tuetonic contempt for civilians! He looks exactly as if war would be his obsession, and so he despises everyone who is not in uniform.”

“A German who thinks a lot of himself,” whispered Larose smilingly to his own waiter. “I mean that gentleman there at the table by the window.”

The waiter smiled back. “No, sir, a Swiss gentleman from Zurich. Yes, sir, he’s very stand-offish and speaks to no one except two young ladies he knows.”

“Oh, he’s with some ladies, is he?” exclaimed Larose.

“Well, no, sir, not exactly,” said the waiter. “But he’s got friendly with them since he arrived. They all sit together now at the same table. It’s his first visit to London and they show him where to go to see all the sights.”

Larose was very interested and more so than ever when in a few minutes the two girls appeared, and he took them in in a lightning glance. They were undeniably very pretty, and particularly so the one who was obviously the elder. They were in the middle twenties, fair, with blue eyes, and had an aristocratic appearance, with an unmistakable air of breeding about them.

“Hum,” thought Larose rather disgustedly, “fancy two refined girls like those palling up so quickly with a foreigner, even if he is a bit on the good-looking side! Yes, he’s good-looking, but an arrogant type. A-ah, but I see he can look quite pleasantly at a pretty girl.”

The Teutonic one had risen sharply to his feet as the girls had approached his table, with his stern face softening into a very pleasing smile. He bowed with great politeness. Then they all sat down and proceeded to talk animatedly together as they partook of their meal.

Finishing his breakfast quickly Larose went into the lounge and for a few minutes chatted to the clerk at the reception desk. Bringing the conversation round discreetly to Herr Blitzen and the two girls, he gathered that everyone was rather amused at the sudden partiality of the latter for the foreigner.

“But I seem to know his face,” said Larose; “somehow it’s quite familiar to me!”

“That’s what a lot of us have remarked,” smiled the clerk, “but, of course, it’s only his likeness to the great Baltic dictator. He reminds me a lot of Herr Bauer.”

Presently Herr Blitzen and the girls came into the lounge, and sat talking for about half an hour. Larose took an armchair not far from them, and was able to hear quite distinctly what they said. It was evident they were going on more sight-seeing and the girls were arranging where they should take their new friend. Westminster Abbey, the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, and the Tower of London being included in their plans.

“But this is no good to me,” muttered Larose disconsolately. “Trapesing about all day behind them is not going to lead me anywhere, and will not help me to get nearer that man Pellew met last night. I shall just be wasting all my time!”

One thing, however, came to hearten him a little. He had noticed that Herr Blitzen kept on looking furtively at the big clock in the lounge, and then, upon the stroke of half-past nine turned his head round and kept his eyes glued towards the office, as if he was expecting something to happen. Then, almost at once, one of the call-boys appeared and began walking towards where the three were seated. The ‘Swiss’ immediately turned his head away, and appeared very surprised when the boy announced that someone wanted to speak to him on the telephone.

“Me!” he exclaimed, as if very puzzled. “All right,” and he walked frowningly towards the telephone cabinet the boy had pointed out.

Then, to Larose’s thinking, his actions were peculiar. He made very sure that the glass-panelled door of the cabinet was shut close behind him, and then, when he had picked up the receiver, turned right round and kept his eyes continually roving round as if to make certain no one was approaching near enough to overhear what he was going to say.

But the conversation was very short, and the man only said about a dozen words into the mouthpiece. Then he hung up the receiver with a jerk and returned to the two girls.

“Just a friend to ask how I was,” he explained, and then they resumed the consideration of their programme for the day.

“Something rather peculiar there!” thought Larose. “He knew the call was coming, right enough, and yet for some reason pretended to be surprised. Perhaps it was that assassin friend of his making an appointment to meet him. Well, one thing I shan’t miss anything as long as he’s with those girls.”

Presently he saw them all go up to their rooms to get ready for going out, and in a few minutes meet again in the lounge. Then they left their room-keys with the clerk at the reception counter and disappeared through the folding doors of the hotel.

Larose thought over things for some time, and then went out himself, leaving his key also at the reception counter. The key was a small Yale one, but attached to it was the customary big brass tag, as usual purposely cumbersome so that no visitor should forget to leave his keys behind when his stay at the hotel was finished.

He returned just before noon, when he judged the chambermaids would have finished tidying the bedrooms, and then, without asking for his key, sat down in the lounge and waited for the reception clerk to go away for his midday meal. At length, seeing the man leave the desk and another clerk take his place, he strolled leisurely up and asked for key No. 74, hoping that this second clerk would not be familiar with the numbers of the various visitors’ rooms.

As he had expected, the key was handed to him without any hesitation, and within two minutes he was in Herr Blitzen’s room.

He gave himself a quarter of an hour and his movements were like lightning.

That Herr Blitzen had come provided with plenty of clothes was evident to him directly he opened the wardrobe, for he found there three lounge suits, a morning one, a dinner jacket and full evening dress.

“And all perfectly new!” murmured Larose, “and with no marks of origin upon them; likewise these boots and shoes. Nothing to say where any of them come from either!”

He went through the contents of all the pockets of the suits, but found nothing of any interest in them. Then he turned to the three suit cases. Two of them were absolutely new, but the third, of a much smaller size, had evidently seen good service and was battered and travel-stained. There were no labels on any of them, but upon each one he could plainly see where one label had been pasted and afterwards scraped off.

His eyes glinted as he produced a little bunch of skeleton keys and started to open the suitcases, but to his amazement and disappointment they were all unlocked.

Opening the battered one first, he at once came upon four long, big, thick envelopes lying upon the top and addressed in very fine handwriting to “Herr Blitzen, Arragon Hotel.”

“A-ah,” he exclaimed gleefully. “Documents! Now we’ll learn something about this elegant gentleman!”

But all each envelope contained was copies of four different German daily newspapers, all published in Berlin. There was no letter of any kind, neither were there any markings anywhere on the newspapers.

But Larose’s eyes almost bulged from his head and his mouth opened wide when he saw that the date of the newspapers in one envelope was that of the previous day.

“Goodness gracious,” he exclaimed. “Then he must have received them either late last night or very early this morning! That means they came by plane! They were delivered here to the hotel by hand, too! Great Jupiter! He gets Berlin newspapers flown to him every day!”

He was back in the lounge again and had returned the key to the clerk well within the quarter of an hour. Then he sat down in a quiet corner of the lounge and proceeded to think things out.

He dove-tailed everything together as well as he could.

Someone was commissioning Pellew to commit murder. This someone was acquainted with Herr Blitzen, but for some reason did not want to be seen speaking to him in the street. Therefore there was some bond between them which must be kept secret.

Herr Blitzen was making out that he came from Zurich and was upon holiday in London, but he was considering it so necessary to keep in touch with everything which was going on abroad that he was having no less than four different Berlin newspapers sent over by plane and delivered to him every day. They were not coming either by the ordinary way through the post, but were being delivered, specially by hand. They were enclosed in an envelope, too, so that, apparently, no one should learn they were newspapers.

At this stage of his ruminations he saw the reception clerk had returned from his dinner and he strolled over to the desk.

“I suppose there’s nothing come for me, Mr. George Payne?” he asked. “I was expecting some rather important papers, and they were to come by a private messenger.”

The clerk shook his head. “No, sir, nothing has come for you. If it had, it would have been put at once into the pigeon-hole of your number.”

“But it would have been too big to go in my pigeon-hole,” commented Larose. “It would have been a long and very broad envelope.”

“Then it would have been put on my desk, sir,” said the clerk. He turned round and spoke through the open door of the office behind him. “No packet in a big envelope has come for Mr. George Payne?” he asked.

“It would have come either late last night or very early this morning,” called out Larose. “It was to have come by hand.”

A young woman appeared out of the office. “A big envelope did come by special messenger about nine last night,” she said to the reception clerk, “but it was for Herr Blitzen. It was one similar to those he has had every night and I gave it to him when he came in.”

The clerk turned to Larose. “I’m sorry, sir, but there was nothing for you.”

Larose returned to the armchair well satisfied with what he had learnt. Then the German would undoubtedly receive another big envelope tonight, and he, Larose, would shadow the man who brought it. That would establish a link with someone and it might turn out to be the very party Pellew had met in Hyde Park.

He picked up his former train of thought.

Now why was it all Herr Blitzen’s things were so new, his suits, shirts, collars, socks and his shoes, and indeed all his underclothing except a few singlets? And why, too, had all the marks of origin been picked out so that it could not be determined where they had been bought?

And what was the meaning of that old travel-worn suitcase in the company of its two new and much larger companions? It rather seemed as if it were the one the stranger habitually used and had been sufficient for all his requirements until he had undertaken this trip to England. Then if it had, he had certainly never travelled with it by train, for it bore no labels and there was only the mark of one having been scraped off.

Still, from its appearance, it had undoubtedly seen much service, and, if it had not been carried on trains, it must have been in motor cars. But journeys in motor cars meant staying at hotels, and where were any marks of the private labels which Continental hotels were so prone to affix to all luggage brought in by their guests? It was one of their ways of advertising themselves to the public.

Then what was the occupation of this man with the new clothes, the much travelled suit case with no labels, and to whom copies of the principal Berlin newspapers came by air every day?

“I’ll make a long shot,” said Larose frowningly. “In his own country he never wears civilian clothes and, coming over here, he has had to supply himself with a complete outfit. He is a military man of some importance and authority, and he has come to England”— he hesitated quite a long while here —“on a mission, or as a spy!”

He smiled. “But what spying can he do, speaking English with the accent he does and looking so obviously a foreigner?” He nodded. “Well, he’s worth watching, anyhow!”

Rather to his surprise the little party returned about half-past three and the two girls, having seen their companion comfortably settled in a corner of the lounge, walked over to the lift with the evident intention of being taken up to their rooms.

So, as Larose wanted to get some cigarettes from his suitcase, he thought he would take the opportunity of going up to his room, too. But, not anxious to bring himself more than he could help under the notice of the girls, he decided to use the stairs.

The lift must have been decidedly long in coming, for he had reached the third floor on which his own room was situated and was just turning into the corridor, when he heard the click of the lift gate being rolled back and saw the two girls come out into the corridor and proceed to walk leisurely away in front of him.

They did not know he was just behind them, the thick carpet deadening all sounds of footfalls.

Then he heard the elder of the two say quite distinctly, “Now, if only we don’t over-reach ourselves, Hilda! — I hate deceiving her, but, oh, what would she think of us if she only knew? She’s always been such a friend to us!”

Instantly Larose slowed up and let them turn the next corner without their becoming aware he had been close behind and must have heard what they said.

“Now what does this mean?” he asked himself. “Is Herr Blitzen, too, included in the ‘us’ and who are they going to deceive?”

All eyes and ears, he was back in the lounge again before they were, and a few minutes later was an interested spectator of what he was sure was in part a well-rehearsed little comedy.

An elderly, but very fashionably dressed woman, who had evidently been expected, arrived for afternoon tea; and Herr Blitzen was ceremoniously introduced to her. Larose did not catch the name, but he noted she had a title. She appeared to be on very friendly terms with the girls and, from the conversation, appeared also to have known them for a long time. She made herself agreeable to the gentleman from Zurich, who regarded her most intently. Then she invited the girls to come the next day and stay with her for the week-end. She was giving a house party at her place in Sussex, and the great pianist, Maroni, was going to be there.

The girls looked uncomfortable and said they would have liked to come very much, but they had arranged to go with Herr Blitzen, who was so passionately fond of music, to the opera on the Saturday night. Whereupon, Lady Willingdean — the rather amazed Larose had now caught her name — insisted that the visit to the opera must be put off and they must, instead, bring Herr Blitzen with them to Wickham Towers to hear the great pianist.

“But you must come, Herr Blitzen!” exclaimed Lady Willingdean hospitably. “My husband is General Sir Henry Willingdean. He’s attached to the War Office and he will be so delighted to have a chat with you. Everyone connected with the army is, of course, so interested in Switzerland just now, because they expect the Germans will make their next push there.”

Herr Blitzen demurred a little, but then accepted with much pleasure, explaining how he’d always been wanting to see what country house parties in England were like. A few minutes later the gracious lady took her leave.

Larose thought hard. That a conspiracy of some kind was going on he was quite sure, and he felt almost certain, too, that Lady Willingdean had been deliberately manoeuvred into asking Herr Blitzen to her house party. Then that was what the elder sister, Cecily, had meant when she had said in the corridor that they must be careful to not over-reach themselves.

But what could be their object in bringing Herr Blitzen in touch with Lady Willingdean’s husband, Sir Henry? Herr Blitzen must undoubtedly be in the plot, and it meant something. Then, if it were not the General who was their target, it must be someone else who would be among the guests there.

Larose was quite aware that Lady Willingdean was one of the best-known society hostesses, and at her parties were to be met distinguished people in all walks of life — Cabinet Ministers, members of Parliament, diplomats, men high up in the three services, musicians, artists, and writers of repute. She was a very wealthy woman and most lavish in her entertainments.

Then a sudden inspiration came to him. Although unacquainted with Lady Willingdean it happened he had met Sir Henry in Cromer the previous autumn at the house of a mutual friend. The General was a cultured, scholarly man, and they had had long conversations together about criminology. Quite a friendship had sprung up between them.

Well then, he would go boldly to him and ask for an invitation to the house party to meet this great pianist. He would say he had particular private reasons, and he knew Sir Henry was not the kind of man to press for any explanation.

Then he would go to Wickham Towers under an assumed name, and would be able to watch Herr Blitzen and his pretty companions and try to make out exactly what their game really was. He would alter his appearance slightly and felt quite sure none of the three would recognise him.

So he taxied off at once to Whitehall and was fortunate in catching Sir Henry before he had left work. Upon hearing his request, the General lifted his eyebrows ever so slightly but acquiesced at once.

“Certainly, Mr. Larose,” he smiled, “and it will amuse me to see you there. I don’t want to know what object you have in view, but I am sure it is a good one.” He nodded. “I’ll drive you down myself, if you like, and we’ll have another interesting chat about crime.” He laughed. “If you are helping the Counter Espionage people, as I know you did last year in connection with that charming Herr Mitter, you should have plenty of material to work on. I know a sprinkling of the attaches from certain foreign Embassies will be there, and one never knows what some of those gentlemen may be up to.”

That evening after dinner the girls and Herr Blitzen left for a theatre, while Larose, chafing at the enforced inactivity, for hour after hour, kept watch in a corner of the lounge for the coming of some messenger with a big envelope.

He was half dozing when, just after ten, he was galvanized into alertness by seeing a man enter the lounge from the street and hand in something across he reception counter. Rising quickly to his feet, he saw the clerk pick up a long envelope. The man who had brought it just nodded, and, without a word, left the hotel. Larose went after him.

There was no difficulty in following him. He walked quite leisurely up Oxford Street until he came to Portland place. Then he turned and went past the Langham Hotel. Finally, a couple of minutes or so later, he went into the servants’ entrance of a big house, and Larose smiled a grim smile.

“Exactly,” he murmured, “the Baltic Embassy!” and he returned to the Arragon Hotel with his mind filled with confusing thoughts.

That he had stumbled upon something very out of the ordinary he was quite certain, but there everything ended, and all he could conclude was that Herr Blitzen must be considered of great importance in Baltic official circles to be having a special messenger dispatched to him every night from their Embassy.

The following afternoon Larose left the Arragon Hotel, and meeting Sir Henry at the War Office, was driven down to Wickham Towers, a beautiful estate not far from Lewes. He was now much darker in complexion and sported a small and very neat moustache, which he was quite sure no one would guess was not his own. He was to be introduced to Lady Willingdean as Mr. Herbert Wheatley.

Their progress was a speedy one, but not far off their destination they were passed by a long, low sports car, travelling about seventy miles an hour.

“My son, Captain Willingdean!” remarked Sir Henry with a sigh. “I cannot break him of the habit of thinking forty miles or thereabouts is a slow crawl!”

Larose quite understood the sigh. He knew there were more things to the discredit of Sir Henry’s only son than excessive speed in cars. He was a great gambler and reputed to have lost huge sums at cards and upon the turf. It was known, too, that he was a frequenter of night clubs of very doubtful character.

Arriving at Wickham Towers, a very spacious looking residence of Elizabethan times, with scores of Tudor windows, they found a number of the guests gathered in the lounge. Larose was introduced to his hostess and, his eyes sweeping round, he quickly picked out Herr Blitzen and his two companions among a number of young people carrying on an animated conversation. For once Herr Blitzen was all smiles and it was not to be wondered at, considering the pretty girls who were surrounding him.

Larose was introduced to Captain Willingdean and then — his blood almost froze in his veins! Pellew was standing not six feet away from him, and was regarding him with undisguised amazement.

Larose could not help it, but he knew his jaw had dropped and that he was plainly showing his consternation. He had been too much taken by surprise to mask his dismay.

Then Captain Willingdean introduced him. “My friend, Mr. Howard Travers,” he said. “Travers, this is a friend of my father’s, Mr. Wheatley.”

The mischief was done, but Larose pulled himself together sharply and smiled, not a smile of embarrassment he congratulated himself, but a smile as if he were very amused about something. Then taking the bull boldly by the horns, his smile became a broad grin.

“How do you do, sir!” he exclaimed heartily. “Your face seems familiar to me. I must have met you before.”

It was now Pellew’s turn to look embarrassed, but he passed it over quickly. “I don’t recollect,” he said politely, “but then I’ve always a shocking memory for faces.”

“Perhaps it was at Lord Ridley’s?” suggested Larose, puckering up his face and now beginning to rejoice in the danger of the game. “I was shooting with him over the Ridley coverts last November.”

“I know him,” said Pellew carelessly, “but I wasn’t there then.”

Then, everyone for the moment drifting away, the two were left standing quite alone in a corner of the lounge, and Pellew’s face at once became black as thunder.

“What are you doing here?” he snarled. “What’s your game?”

“The same as yours,” replied Larose quite unperturbed, “after what I can get.”

“Then I shall expose you,” said Pellew.

“Not you!” smiled Larose. “You’ve too much to hide yourself!”

“You are Bracegirdle, a ticket-of-leave man!” went on Pellew angrily.

“Not I!” returned Larose lightly. “That was not my coat you picked up. I fooled you there.”

“But you are a thief!” said Pellew. “You stole it!”

“And a pair of boots,” supplemented Larose. “Those and the money were my wages for the week, I had well earned them.”

Pellew could hardly get his words out. “I shall expose you,” he repeated furiously. “You are here to thieve again!”

Larose realised the situation was becoming dangerous. Pellew was a quick-tempered man and, before he had given himself time to realise the consequences, he might in his rage blurt out something which would spoil all chances of finding out about the mystery of Herr Blitzen. So, he played his trump card without a moment’s hesitation.

“And you’re a nice one to start exposing anyone, aren’t you?” he jeered. “What about me tipping you off to the police about that fine motor launch you’ve got, the launch out of which you can get twelve miles an hour when anyone else would be getting nearly forty!” He spoke convincingly. “Why, man, I smelt opium every time I passed near that cabin door! You’ve often had opium hidden there and, of course you’re in the dope business! It’s a sure thing!” He smiled pleasantly at the now frightened-looking and pasty-faced Pellew. “But there, do you think it’d pay me to give you away? No, I’ll go my way and you can go yours.”

Pellew recovered himself quickly. “But why did you leave us in the way you did? I was going to pay you for your work.”

“Yes, but in what way?” nodded Larose significantly. “What about my getting a crack on the head when you took me out in that launch? You might have been thinking I knew too much!”

“Who are you?” asked Pellew sharply.

“Never mind!” laughed Larose. “Perhaps I’ve as many different names as you have. At any rate I’m not Bracegirdle. You can be sure of that.”

“You’ve been in prison!” snarled Pellew. “I know that for certain.”

Larose nodded. “Forging and uttering! Nothing worse than that! I got three years.”

“But how the devil did you manage to get invited here?” asked Pellew, a burning curiosity seizing him now that he had in part got over his fears.

“Oh, that was just a bit of luck!” said Larose quickly and preparing to make up a story on the spur of the moment. “Did you read of that motor accident last Tuesday on the Tilbury road? You didn’t! Well, a taxi got turned over and both the driver and the passenger were killed. I happened to be near and got there before anyone was in sight. I pinched the passenger’s wallet and his suitcase. I found he had just landed off the boat from Australia and had got some letters of introduction with him. One was to Sir Henry, and I”— he laughed —“just presented it and he invited me down here. Very simple, wasn’t it?” His face sobered down. “But, by gosh, I’m skating on thin ice!”

“I should think you are!” nodded Pellew sternly. “They must have found out that the dead man had been robbed!”

“Oh, no, they didn’t,” remarked Larose. “The car caught fire just as I was getting away, and everything was burnt up. I don’t think the body’s been identified even yet.”

“You devil!” exclaimed Pellew. “I believe you set the car alight!” but Larose only grinned and Captain Willingdean, at that moment coming up, Pellew was led away for a game of billiards.

Larose furtively wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “Great Scot, what an awkward meeting!” His eyes sparkled. “But now — have I two trails to follow here or only one? Pellew is being hired by someone to assassinate two men, and Blitzen knows that someone, as well! Then does Blitzen know Pellew, or is it just by chance that they are here together?” A thought suddenly struck him. “A-ah, then are the two men to be assassinated among the guests invited here?” and then he answered his own question. “No, not unless Royne and Rising appear upon the scene, for it is arranged that they are to take part in the killing!”

He drew a deep breath of relief. “No. I don’t think it is murder this week-end, it is only”—— he shrugged his shoulders ——“it is only I don’t know what!”

A few minutes later he was introduced to Herr Blitzen and the two Misses Castle. Herr Blitzen looked coldly disdainful but Larose thought instantly that Cicely looked very hard at him and he felt just a trifle uneasy when, as if interested in him, she deliberately let the others move away and started to engage him in conversation.

Then, learning he had not been to Wickham Towers before, she surprised him considerably by suggesting she should show him the rose garden, for which the estate was so famous.

So round to the flower garden she took him, chatting animatedly the whole time. He quickly realised she was not only a very pretty and attractive girl, but one of strong character as well, and it came to him rather unpleasantly that she was soon starting tactfully to cross-examine him about himself.

Didn’t he prefer the country to town? Didn’t the noise of the City ever get on his nerves, and were not long week-ends away from one’s usual occupation the only way for keeping fit?

But he agreed readily with everything she said, and thinking over their conversation afterwards, was sure he could not have further quickened her curiosity.

But later when they had parted and the girl had gone up to dress for dinner, he would have been decidedly disconcerted if he had overheard a remark she made to her sister.

“Do you know, Hilda,” she said, “for some reason I’m rather afraid of that Mr. Wheatley. He was much more interested in us than he should have been, for his eyes kept wandering round to us and Herr Blitzen all the time we were together in the lounge. Another thing, I half believe I’ve seen him before!”

But her sister shook her head. “Nonsense, Cecily,” she said. She laughed. “He’s only interested in us as most of the other men are, because we’re nicely dressed and not bad-looking.”

But Cecily looked very doubtful.