On Saturday evening Royne came to the conclusion that the delay in forwarding the urgently wanted measurements of the ballast tanks was curious, and decided he had better go up to Birkenhead and see the foreman, Bond for himself.

So he decided to go north by the midday Sunday train. Unfortunately for all concerned at Marle House, however, they overslept themselves on the Sunday morning and so it was finally the night express which he caught.

The next morning he went round to Bond’s house, expecting Bond to have gone to work, but knowing Mrs. Bond could give him all the information he wanted. Reaching the house about nine o’clock, he was surprised that his ring was unanswered. He rang several times, and then, thinking Mrs. Bond must have gone out with some errand but would soon be returning, went away and walked round the waterfront until half past ten.

Then returning again to the house, he still got no answer to his ring and noticed now, with some misgiving, that the flowers in the window boxes, from their wilted appearance, did not seem to have been watered for several days. Proceeding round through the little garden to the back of the house, he at once became more uneasy still. There were no signs of life anywhere! There was no dog in the kennel and Bond’s prize game fowls, upon which he knew the man set such store, had gone. The chicken run was empty.

Now becoming thoroughly alarmed, but at the same time his caution being roused, he left the premises with all speed, feeling very thankful that no one suddenly appeared to stop him and ask what he was doing there.

At the corner of the street, he hesitated a moment and then went in a little general shop there. He bought some cigarettes and then asked the man who served him, very casually, if he knew whether Mr. and Mrs. Bond, at number twenty-two, were away on holiday.

The man eyed him very curiously. “Are you a friend of theirs?” he asked, and, upon Royne replying no and that he had only called in connection with a new wireless Mr. Bond had thought of buying, the man looked mysterious.

“We don’t know what’s happened,” he said, shaking his head, “except that they suddenly went off last Thursday night.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “We think they were arrested.”

Royne felt his blood run cold. “Good gracious!” he ejaculated. “What for?”

The man shrugged his shoulders. “No one knows.”

“But if they had been arrested,” said Royne, “someone would have seen policemen and they’d have been taken off in a car.”

“No cars came into the street,” said the man, “but they didn’t go away alone. Bill Bond went off with two men and people who saw them said the men looked like ‘tecs. His missis had gone off earlier with two women.”

Royne left the shop with a dreadful feeling of sickness in his stomach and his heart beating uncomfortably. He had not the slightest doubt that the Bonds had been arrested, but what had been found out he had no idea.

Two things, however, began to comfort him. Neither Bond nor his wife were of the kind to give anyone away, and the very fact that they had been arrested nearly a week ago, with nothing happening at either Curtain Lane or Wickford, could only mean that no one else was as yet under suspicion.

But he must put Pellew on his guard without an instant’s delay, and then Pellew would warn Bond’s brother at Wickford.

He went into the nearest post office, a small branch one, and put through a call to Curtain Lane. The girl clerk told him it would not take five minutes to get through, as the lines were moderately slack at that time of day, and he leant against the counter and started a cigarette. But a full quarter of an hour went by without his being directed to the cabinet to take his call.

Then, happening to look round, he suddenly became aware that the girl was talking to another one and that they were both looking curiously at him. They turned their eyes away, too, directly they saw he had noticed their interest.

Instantly red lights began flashing before him. The warehouse in Curtain Lane was now suspect, and they were purposely holding back his call until plainclothes men could be rushed to where he was! They would let him make his call and incriminate himself, and then arrest him!

He walked casually over to near the door and stood idly regarding the passing of the traffic in the street. Then, waiting until the girls were occupied in attending to customers, he slipped out and was speedily some hundreds of yards away.

He had gone in the direction of the City, and, that he had been quite right in his conjectures as to what was taking place, was soon very evident. A car with three men in it came tearing up the street. He saw it pulled up sharply just before reaching the post office and two men jump out and stroll leisurely in.

Then all that day the police searched for him, but it was no wonder they did not catch him. He had taxied right away from Birkenhead and then at Shoreton had picked up a branch line train. By nightfall he was safe, at any rate for the time being, in North Wales.

In the meantime, things had been happening at Curtain Lane, and Pellew was destined to spend a very exciting day.

At ten o’clock the Japanese had rung up. He was all ready for the appointment, he said, but he preferred not to come to Curtain Lane. He would be picked up outside Mark Lane station on the Underground.

But Pellew demurred. “No, not Mark Lane, if you don’t mind,” he said. “Fenchurch Street, or Aldgate or Moorgate Street, if you like,” and so, after a moment’s hesitation at the other end of the wire, Moorgate Street station was agreed upon and the time fixed for twelve o’clock.

Pellew hung up the receiver with a jerk and turned to the others. “I wouldn’t make it Mark Lane,” he frowned, “in case the little beast had some particular reason for getting me there. I’m suspicious about him and am going to make every move myself.”

He took a postcard sized photograph out of his pocket and proceeded to study it frowningly, with Royne and Rising standing on either side.

“I really ought to have gone to the place myself,” he said slowly, “but you say I can’t make any mistake.”

“I don’t see how you can,” said Royne. “The third and seventh trees behind that log when you are standing with your back to the grandstand. You can’t miss them.”

“All right, then,” said Pellew as he returned the photograph to his pocket book. He grinned spitefully. “And when the deal is carried through and I’ve pouched the money, won’t the little devil be sick to find he’s got to pad the hoof to Margaretting station and catch the train from there?” He spoke emphatically. “I tell you, I’m not going to carry those plans a yard with me in the car.”

“And if he finds the measurements are not there, and refuses to part?” asked Royne.

“Then I’ll knock him down and tell him to go to hell,” scowled Pellew. “I’ll not have the notes on me ten minutes either, and one of you can fetch them from behind that milestone tomorrow.” He considered for a moment. “We’ve thought of everything and there can’t be any hitch.”

At twelve o’clock to the minute Pellew drew up his car in front of Moorgate Street Station and at once caught sight of the Japanese waiting on the pavement.

“Good man, we’re both punctual,” he exclaimed heartily. He leant over and opened the car door. “Here you are. Come in next to me.”

But then suddenly a second Japanese came up from somewhere behind the car and ranged himself alongside the one Pellew knew as Miski. “This is a friend of mine,” said the latter, “and he is coming with me,” and while Miski made a movement to take the seat offered him the other man started to get into the car at the back.

“No, you don’t,” called out Pellew with a face as black as thunder, as he waved this second man threateningly away from the door. “Keep away from my car, please.” He turned sharply to Miski. “You come alone, my friend, or you don’t come at all.”

“But I shall not come without my friend,” said Miski very quietly. “I have decided upon that.”

“All right,” said Pellew carelessly, as if the whole matter were one of small concern, “then the deal’s off,” and he slammed the car door and his hand moved automatically to the gear lever.

Miski’s face was quite impassive. “But wait a minute,” he said. “You had better give it a little thought.” He seemed desirous of discussing the matter. “If you intend to act fairly, what objection have you?”

“The objection that I brought up when I first saw you,” replied Pellew brusquely. “I do not intend to have any witnesses.”

“But I want my friend with me to see fair play,” said Miski. “You must realise you are quite a stranger to me, and I know nothing about you.”

“You know more about me than I do about you,” retorted Pellew. “You, at least, know where my place of business is, while I am not certain about yours. You say you come from your Embassy, but how do I know that? Why, you may be one of the British Secret Service! You may have been put up to catch me with the plans.”

“How would the British Secret Service know that you had written to us?” asked Miski, a little scornfully.

“They may be milking all the Embassy correspondence,” said Pellew. “They do such things, don’t they?”

Miski turned to his companion and they conferred whispering together. Then he turned again to Pellew. “All right then, I will come,” he said. His face hardened grimly. “But I warn you I shall enter no house with you and we’ll go to no lonely place.”

They drove off in silence, and not a word was spoken until they had left the tram line behind them the other side of Ilford. Then the Japanese asked how far they were going.

“Less than thirty miles out of London,” replied Pellew. “In a few minutes I shall be turning off into the lanes”— he spoke unpleasantly —“to make sure your friend is not following us in another car.”

And certainly he made quite sure they were not being followed. He turned into narrow by-roads and zig-zagged repeatedly to right and left all the time, proceeding at such a pace that the heart of his companion beat most unpleasantly.

“I think if you don’t mind,” said the Japanese at length, “we might take these corners a little more slowly. I give you my word of honor that my friend is not following me.”

Pellew grunted something which the other did not catch, but slowed down, and a few minutes later stopped altogether upon the rise of a small hill. He got out of the car then and had a good look round.

“All O.K.,” he said cheerfully as he resumed his seat in the car, “and you can now take your hand off that gun in your pocket. We’re nearly there.”

They turned out of a side road on to a wide, open common and Pellew waved his arm around. “Here we are!” he said. “This is the Galleywood racecourse.” He was now all smiles and good nature. “What do you think of this as a good place for a nice murder? Anyone may come by any minute.”

He pulled up the car on the open road. “Now, we’ll get out here and leave the car where it is. We’ve got about a hundred and fifty yards to go, just by that little clump of trees. See, that’s the racecourse grandstand there.”

“But there are some men on it,” said the Japanese suspiciously. “I can see two men at the top.”

Pellew frowned and immediately whipped a small pair of Zeiss glasses out of his pocket. “So there are,” he commented after a few minutes’ hard scrutiny, “but they’re only workmen. They’re painters. They won’t interfere with us and they’re too far away to be able to see distinctly what we’re doing. They’ll only think we’ve got out to stretch our legs.”

He led the way to a big fallen log just in front of the trees, and seating himself, took out and lighted a cigarette.

A couple of minutes passed, and then he said, “Well, you’ve brought the money all right? Then show it to me.”

“Show me the plans first,” said the Japanese firmly. “I’m not sure yet whether you’ve got them.”

Pellew made a mock sigh of resignation. “Then come with me behind these trees and I’ll dig them up. They’re buried in a tin not ten yards away.”

But the Japanese made no movement to rise from the log upon which he, too, had seated himself. “No, I prefer to remain where I am,” he said. “I’m coming behind no trees with you.”

Pellew scowled, but then, rising briskly to his feet, moved off to behind the trees. But he was only gone about a minute and returned with a small, flattish parcel rolled up loosely in part of a sheet of newspaper all dirtied with earth. He tore off the newspaper, and, crumpling it into a ball, threw it away. Then he held it up for Miski’s inspection — a neatly done up packet in brown paper tied with string.

“Now let’s look at that money,” he said. “Oh, you can keep your distance. I’m not going to snatch it. Now have you got the whole ￡2,000 there? Well, just take a note out of the middle of the wad, please. I want to make sure the notes are genuine ones.”

The Japanese hesitated a moment, and then, drawing out a bank note as requested, handed it out at arm’s length to Pellew.

“Great Jupiter, you needn’t be so suspicious,” laughed Pellew. “I couldn’t make any attack on you with those men over there, so near.” He crumpled the note between his fingers and then held it up to the light. “Yes, it seems quite O.K. Ah, here come two girls on bicycles, and there’s a car, too, now. I’ll wait until the car goes by.”

The car was coming at quite a moderate pace across the common. It drew level with Pellew’s own car, and then, before the two upon the log could realise what was happening, it had turned off the road on to the grass, and, accelerating instantly, was coming at a lightning speed straight towards them.

“You little devil,” roared Pellew. “You’ve double-crossed me. I’ll ——”

But one look at the Japanese’s face and he saw the latter was in just as much a state of consternation as he was. The man had gone a dreadful color and it seemed be was paralysed with fear.

The car drew up and four men jumped out. They all held automatics before them.

“Hands up!” shouted one of them, who was an inspector. “Hands up, just as you are! Don’t move,” and quicker than it takes to tell, both Pellew and Miski were being held forcibly, each with a strong hefty man on either side.

“We are police,” said the inspector, “and I arrest you both on the charge of dealing with stolen Government documents. You are Anton Pellew, of Curtain Lane, and you are Mr. Miski of the Japanese Embassy, and I warn you that anything you say may be used in evidence against you.”

Pellew swallowed hard and looked furiously again at Miski. But the Japanese, although now holding himself calmly, had burst into a profuse perspiration, and there was no doubt he was every whit as amazed and concerned as Pellew himself.

“Search them,” said the inspector laconically, “and then put the handcuffs on. We’ll run no risks.” He nodded towards Pellew. “That man is a desperate character.”

The plainclothes men nodded significantly to each other as they found a loaded automatic and a thick wad of banknotes upon the Japanese. Upon Pellew, however, they found nothing that an ordinary man might not be expected to carry, except a coil of thick string about six feet long.

But the inspector picked up the small brown paper parcel which they had seen Pellew drop like a red-hot coal as they jumped out of the car and looked round smilingly at his subordinates.

“These are the goods, right enough,” he said. “We’ve caught them in the very act.”

Pellew suddenly found his tongue. His color had now all come back and his voice was strong and threatening.

“And what does all this mean?” he snarled. “My friend and I are not breaking any law in coming here. We’ve come to look for fossils. That’s all.”

The inspector tapped the little brown paper parcel. “This will get you ten or fifteen years, my friend. We know the little game you’ve been up to.”

“Nonsense,” exclaimed Pellew angrily. His eyes blazed. “You big booby policeman, there are only some fossils in that box which we got out of the chalk. Open it, you idiot, and see.”

A spasm of uneasiness crossed over the inspector’s face. For the first time since he had picked up the packet it came to him most unpleasantly how heavy it was. With a jerk of his strong fingers, he broke the string and quickly unrolling the brown paper disclosed a flat tin. He wrenched off the lid and with a gasp of amazement saw that it contained, as Pellew had said, only pieces of chalk.

“What did I tell you,” shouted Pellew. His face was almost purple in his rage. “And here you have put handcuffs on us!” He could hardly speak in his fury. “By gad, you’ll smart for this. It’s actionable and we’ll get heavy damages.”

The inspector was breathing hard. “Search round everywhere,” he ordered hoarsely. “There’s another tin somewhere about. This one is only a blind. Depend on it, he had some good reason for bringing it out first, probably to make sure this other party had brought the money.”

Then, with one man left to guard the two prisoners, the other four went behind the trees and started upon a feverish but most methodical search.

Pellew spoke rapidly in Italian to the Japanese, “You understand Italian? Ah, I thought you would.” He eyed the detective standing over them with contemptuous amusement. “But it’s a million chances to one this booby doesn’t, so we can speak safely. Now, all you’ve got to do is to sit tight. They’ll find nothing and they can bring no charge against us. They’ll have to let us go.”

“But what has happened to bring them here?” asked the Japanese, with his little eyes blinking suspiciously.

“Don’t know,” replied Pellew promptly. “They can’t have followed us — I saw to that — and yet somehow they must have known the exact spot we were coming to!”

Then he muttered under his breath. “Damnation! It’s unthinkable, but either Royne or Rising must have been double-crossing me!”

A quarter of an hour went by, and the inspector came out from behind the trees. He and his men and found nothing, but under a smiling face and jaunty air he was now intending to mask the dreadful disappointment which he felt. Then suddenly something happened and his smiling face and jaunty air were no longer any pretence.

For just a fleeting second, he stopped; and it seemed he was about to turn back again, but then he, apparently, thought better of it, and advancing to the prisoners upon the log, offered them a cigarette.

Pellew accepted, but the Japanese refused.

“You’ve made a great mistake, Mr. Inspector,” said Pellew sternly, “you’ll be sorry for this day’s work. You’ve nothing against us!”

The inspector looked incredulous. “Nothing against you!” he exclaimed, “why, good heavens, man, if all the sentences you’re going to get are made cumulative, you’ll be doing time for thirty years!” He eyed Pellew intently to see how he would take it. “Burglaries, smuggling, prohibited drugs, and now this selling of stolen copies of submarine plans! Good gracious, what an extensive business you must do!”

Pellew’s face had gone green and yellow; and his jaw sagged.

The inspector walked leisurely back until he was within the shelter of the trees. Then he darted forward as if he had received an electric shock.

“It’s here, boys!” he exclaimed excitedly to the glum lookers and dispirited detectives who were now standing clustered together, as if they had given up the search. “It’s somewhere here right enough, for when I came out from behind these trees just now and was going up to him”— he lowered his voice to a whisper —“he looked down at my hands, yes, his eyes betrayed his thoughts and he looked to see if I’d got it.”

“But where’ll we look, Inspector?” asked one of the men. “Every inch of the ground within reasonable distance of the trees has been gone over and there’s no sign that any of it has been recently disturbed.”

“I don’t care,” cried the inspector doggedly, “We must go over it all again. And you, Nixon, climb up every one of these trees.”

The man he had addressed as Nixon looked doubtful, as well he might. He was a stout man in the late thirties, and the trees were all very light and did not seem as if they would bear his weight. They were willows, none of them much more than twelve feet in height, and with branches, barely as thick as a man’s arm.

“Here, get up this one to begin with,” encouraged the inspector. “I’ll give you a leg.” He frowned vexatiously. “It’s just struck me what fools we may have been. These photographs may not be in a tin at all. They may be wrapped in a piece of oilskin and tied on to one of the branches! Up you go.”

He gave the not too willing detective a lift until the latter could reach a branch about eight feet above the ground and was able to swing himself up. Then the totally unexpected thing happened. As the branch shook, something was disturbed from it, a long way from the base of the tree and where the trunk was rapidly beginning to thin down.

“Good God, look at that!” gasped the inspector. “We’ve got it! Here it is!” and the two other detectives rushed to his side.

Just above them was dangling a cylinder-shaped object about a foot long and the size of the ordinary electric torch. It had evidently been tied to the upper surface of the branch at both ends, and the vibration had shaken one end loose and caused it to drop.

“Shake the branch!” called out the inspector. “Shake it well!” and he stood beneath to catch the object when it fell. “Ah, I see now why he’d got that piece of string in his pocket,” he went on excitedly. “He was going to throw it over the branch and bend it down so that he could reach the cylinder with his hand.”

The object dropped at last. It was a tin case, which had once held wax tapers, enclosed in a piece of the inner tube of a bicycle to keep it from the rain.

The inspector quickly pulled off the top and shook out a neatly rolled number of large mounted photographs, but he replaced them after only a very cursory glance.

“We’ve clicked!” he announced and, all his excitement now well in hand, he turned and walked out of the trees.

Pellew saw him coming and what he was holding in his hand. Then, as the inspector approached closer, he leant forward and deliberately spat right in his face.

The inspector’s eyes blazed and he clenched his fist as if to strike him. But, instead, he just took out his pocket handkerchief and wiped his face.

“That’s the second mistake you’ve made in the last five minutes,” he said calmly, “and now I shan’t give you another cigarette.” He thought his triumph over the beaten man quite justified. “The first mistake, my friend, was looking down at my hands when I came out from the trees a little while ago. I noticed it and guessed you looked to see if we had found what we were looking for. That made me certain it was there.” He smiled. “But for that quick look of yours, we might have given up the search.”

He turned to the other detectives. “We’ll go back straight away, and you, Nixon, and Davis, if you don’t mind, have this fine gentleman, Mr. Pellew, between you. If he spits again you can make him sorry for it.” He laughed happily. “When you’re an inspector, you know, those little privileges are denied you.”

Rising was arrested at the warehouse that afternoon. He did not seem quite to take in what was happening, for he was fuddled with the quart of champagne he had imbibed and some generous sniffings of the cocaine which they had smuggled in the previous week.

The following day Royne, who had made his way to Shrewsbury, saw in a late evening newspaper that Pellew and the Japanese had been brought up before the Aldgate Police Court upon the vague charge of dealing in stolen Government property and had been remanded for ten days. There was no mention of Rising, which was not to be wondered at, as the only charge the police had so far brought against him was that of being in the possession of one drachm of a forbidden drug; and that offence was considered to be much too trifling to be recorded.

Royne entrained to London by way of Gloucester and went straight to the rooms in Wardour Street. The next day, he lay low, thinking out his plans. He felt quite safe as long as he kept away from the neighborhoods of Curtain Lane and Aldgate, but he was not certain about Marle House. He could not bring himself to believe that the whole fabric of their ways of living could have become known to the police, and was hoping he would still be able to find a refuge on the Essex coast.

The immediately pressing matter was that he had very little money upon him. His determination to go to Birkenhead had been made suddenly; and on the Saturday night, and the three of them had had only a few pounds upon them. So he had gone up North with less than ￡5 and soon found himself left with only just a little more than a pound in his pocket.

But if he could get to Marle House, he would speedily be in funds again, as the proceeds of their two jewel robberies were hidden there and the disposal of a diamond or two would not be a difficult matter. Also, there was that parcel of cocaine which could be got rid of, if even only at a very low price for a quick sale.

Still, he must find out somehow, something of what the police were doing and what they knew; and he thought at once of Hans Schelling, to whom Pellew had entrusted the unsetting of the precious stones from the tiara and the necklace. News travels quickly in the underworld; and its denizens have uncanny ways of learning what is going on. He was quite sure Hans would have heard something. He would not dare, either, to give him away to the police, as his own doings would not bear looking into.

So directly dusk had fallen, he went round to Beak Street. Hans was ostensibly a watch and clock repairer and occupied three rooms on the fourth floor of a dingy-looking house mainly occupied by foreigners. He was still at work when Royne knocked on his door and opened the door himself.

“Good evening, Mr. Schelling,” said Royne. “You remember me! I came with a friend about a fortnight ago when we gave you a little job to do.”

“Ach, I remember you!” frowned the old man. “You give me a vatch to mend.”

“Yes,” smiled Royne, “a-well-jewelled one and you charged us ￡50 for the job.” He spoke very softly. “Now, if I bring you a few of those stones will you buy them from me?”

Hans’s frown deepened. “I do not know. It is not vell you come to me. The police are looking for you.”

Royne nodded. “But it’s not anything to do with those stones.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Besides, they will not get me. The description is not good and I am hardly known by sight to anyone. No one will recognise me.”

Hans considered. “Vell, have you got the stones with you?”

“No,” replied Royne, “but I will bring them to you in a day or two.” He hesitated a few minutes. “Have you heard anything about my friend?”

Hans nodded vigorously. “Zat zere is ozer charges against him vich has not come out yet.” He made a grimace. “But you vas fools to get caught by zat Gilbeert Larose!”

“Gilbert Larose!” ejaculated Royne aghast. “The man who used to be at the Yard! What had he to do with us?”

“He had all to do vit it,” replied Hans, seeming very surprised Royne did not know. “Ve hear he has help zat Inspector McCallum all vay through. He vas in court ven your friend vas brought there and they say your friend vould have vished to kill him, he vas so angry viz rage.”

“But my friend does not know him,” exclaimed Royne in dreadful perplexity. “I do not know him either.”

“Not know him!” frowned Hans. “Vy, he vas on your boat ven you smuggle zat cocaine. He vas a friend of yours.”

Then Royne realised everything. The ticket-of-leave man had been Gilbert Larose; and they had allowed themselves to be turned inside out by one of the cleverest men who had ever worked for the Criminal Investigation Department of Scotland Yard.

He made his way back furtively to Wardour Street in a state of dreadful depression. His brain was too numb for the moment even to feel any resentment. All he realised was that the police must now know everything about their activities, not only at Curtain Lane but also at Marle House, and therefore it was not safe for him to go near the latter place.

But he helped himself liberally to some brandy which he found in Pellew’s rooms and after much tossing about gradually sank into a heavy sleep.

The next morning he was able to think more clearly, and, going over everything most carefully, had soon convinced himself that nothing could possibly have been discovered about the precious stones, hidden safely away in Marle House. Not only that, but by now the temporary housekeeper would almost certainly have been sent back to her sister and the house itself shut up. So if he made his way there, he would be able to get in through one of the windows without any difficulty. Then, with the jewels once in his possession, he would speedily be in funds again, and could escape from the country.

That afternoon he took train to Maldon, and a long tramp of nearly fifteen miles brought him within sight of Marle House. He had approached it from quite a different direction to that of Burnham or Southminster, avoiding all villages and, as much as possible, all habitation. Darkness had well fallen when he was only a couple of hundred yards or so from the house, and he was pleased to see there were no lights showing anywhere.

He made his way to one of the windows, where he knew the bolt was an ineffective one, and then, to his great disgust, found he had lost his electric torch. It must have fallen out of his pocket as he had been jumping some of the ditches. Then he found he had lost his matches as well.

It was a dark night and, with no light to help him, it was some time before he succeeded in pushing back the bolt of the window with the blade of his pocket knife. Then, once inside the house, everything was pitch black; and, grope everywhere as he did, he could not lay his hands upon a box of matches.

There was no help for it; he must wait until morning now. He threw himself down upon one of the beds and tried to get to sleep. But his long tramp over the marshes had tired him unnaturally and sleep was a very long time coming. Then he slept heavily, and dawn and broad daylight still found him snoring loudly.

It was past nine o’clock before he at last awoke and, looking at his watch, he cursed angrily that misfortune seemed to be dogging every footstep which he took. He had meant to be at Maldon again by nine and now he would have to wait until the afternoon train. And every minute he stayed in the neighborhood was a risk.

But misfortune upon misfortune was now avalanching upon him, for even as he jumped off the bed, he heard the sound of a motor car in the distance and darting to the window, saw a closed sedan rapidly approaching the house. It swept out of sight on the seaward side and then was brought sharply to a standstill.

For a few seconds he stood absolutely paralysed in fright and then, having no time to pick a good hiding-place he pulled the door of the room wide open and stood panic-stricken behind it.

He heard the front door unlocked and quick footsteps coming up the hall. A man passed the open doorway, glancing carelessly in as he went by. The man turned in the big living room a few yards higher up, and Royne, almost in a fainting condition, sank on to the ground.

He had seen that the man was Gilbert Larose.

Larose’s unexpected appearance at Marle House had come about in this way.

After the arrest of Pellew and Rising, three days previously, Inspector McKinnon and two detectives had come down to make a thorough search of the premises, in the hope of unearthing yet more incriminating evidence against the three men. Larose had accompanied them.

They had spent the day fruitlessly and then, upon returning to town, Larose had discovered he had left a gold cigarette case behind. He attached a sentimental value to the case because it had been given him by a former Home Secretary for some special services he had rendered a few years back in the running down of Mitten, a notorious German spy.

So, leaving town very early that morning to pay a flying visit to his family in Norfolk, he had thought he would call in at Marle House on his way down and retrieve the cigarette case. He had borrowed the key of the house from the inspector. He found the case at once, where he remembered he had left it, and then, his imagination being stirred by his surroundings, he lighted a cigarette and throwing himself down in an armchair proceeded to give rein to his thoughts.

Then, suddenly, his meditations were interrupted and, with a cold shiver down his spine, he heard the unmistakable click of a trigger being pulled up. He turned sharply to see Royne standing in the open doorway, apparently in the very act of taking deliberate aim at him with a double-barrelled sporting gun.

A cry sprang automatically to his lips. “Don’t shoot, you fool!” he shouted. “What are you doing? Don’t murder me!”

Royne’s lips were twitching and the barrel of the gun was wobbling dangerously. “T-h-e-n put up your hands!” he stammered. “Put em up!”

Larose instantly obeyed. “You idiot!” he cried angrily. “What’ll you gain by it? Inspector McKinnon and two detectives are just outside! They’re only looking at the seagulls! They’ll be in any second, and you’ll be hanged for murder!”

Royne lowered the barrel of the gun. His jaw dropped in disconcerted surprise.

Larose gave him no time to think. “Is it worth it?” he asked. He spoke quite pleasantly. “Of course, you’ll get a few years now, but they won’t be so bad as hanging.” He made a grimace and rattled quickly on. “Hanging’s a nasty business! In my time I’ve seen lots of fellows swing, and the whole business didn’t look too good at all.”

Then, as if not giving any thought to the consequences, he lowered his hands and sank back again into his chair. He went on. “Now, be a sensible chap and put down that gun.”

Royne hesitated just a moment, and then, with a deep sigh, he lowered the gun and propped it up against the wall. It seemed that all his energy was spent.

“No, not like that!” exclaimed Larose sharply, but in quite matter-of-fact tones. “It may fall and go off! You’ve not even put down the trigger!” and rising from his chair, without the slightest appearance of haste, he walked over and picked up the gun. He uncocked it and put it on the table. “Have you got an automatic on you?” he asked, as if he were putting the most ordinary question.

Royne shook his head. “No, I’m not a gun-man,” he replied. He smiled weakly. “That’s not my specialty.”

Larose took out a handkerchief and, under the pretence of blowing his nose, furtively wiped the perspiration from his forehead.

With a smile he pushed Royne into the armchair he had been occupying and took a seat opposite to him.

“Now, we’ll have a little chat together,” he said. He made a wry face. “But first, I’ll just mention that there are no detectives outside. I am quite alone and I told you an untruth.”

“It was a good thing you did,” said Royne wearily. “I’m involved enough and I’m sick of the whole business.”

“Then why don’t you turn King’s evidence?” said Larose. “Pellew is the one we want.”

Royne looked scornful. “Not I,” he said instantly. “I married Pellew’s sister and she was a good wife to me. She’s dead now.” Then he added. “Besides, you appear to have found out all you want to.”

“Not quite all,” said Larose. He eyed him intently. “What did you come back here for?”

“To get some of my clothes,” replied Royne readily. “Everything I’ve got is here.”

Larose appeared to consider. “Now look here,” he said, after a moment. “Do you know who I am?”

Royne nodded. “You were at Scotland Yard once. You are Gilbert Larose.”

“Who told you?”

Royne shook his head. “Never mind. I heard it yesterday. You have been working with Inspector McKinnon.” He showed no resentment. “That’s how you took me in so easily just now when you said McKinnon was outside.”

“Well,” said Larose. “I have no official position and it was only by chance that I was drawn into this business.” He hesitated a moment. “Now this is what I am inclined to do. You didn’t shoot me just now when you might have done, and I’ll put that down to your credit. I’m not ungrateful, as I’ve got a wife and children. So, if you’ll answer me truthfully, I leave it to other people to catch you, and not interfere.”

“Not interfere!” exclaimed Royne. “Not take me up or tell the police that I’m here!”

“Tell nothing,” said Larose. “Just let it be, as if I had not seen you!”

“Go on then,” said Royne in great relief. “I’ll tell you anything I can.”

“Then who are those two men,” asked Larose very sternly, “von Ravenheim of the Baltic Embassy was going to pay you ￡10,000 to kill?”

Royne’s face went crimson. “I don’t say we were going to kill anyone,” he said warmly. “We might have been asked to but that doesn’t say we were going to do it.”

“Don’t prevaricate,” said Larose angrily. “Von Ravenheim rang up to know if Pellew was willing, and, finding he was, they met that same evening in Hyde Park to complete the whole matter. The whole thing was cut and dried and ——”

“Wait a minute, please, Mr. Larose,” interrupted Royne. “The arrangement was that ￡3,000 was to be paid down and the balance only when the men were dead.” He scoffed. “And both Rising and I had determined that never more than the ￡3,000 should be claimed and, when it came to the point, I am sure Pellew would have come round to our view.”

“Well, come down to facts,” said Larose testily. He spoke sarcastically. “Who were these two men you were not going to shoot?”

“I don’t know,” replied Royne. “Their names were not given to Pellew. Von Ravenheim was waiting until the last moment, until he knew that they would be staying together at some country house. Then everything was going to be done in a hurry, but it had to be done before the middle of this month.”

“At some country house!” exclaimed Larose. “Then it would be when they were at some house party?”

“No! von Ravenheim said they are great friends and often stay for weekends at each others places. They were to be caught when quite alone, except for the one detective who always guards them.”

“Then if they are guarded they must be important public men!” exclaimed Larose.

“Oh, yes, von Ravenheim made that quite understood! He said he wouldn’t be offering anything like ￡10,000 for the killing of two private individuals.”

“The blackguard!” snarled Larose. “Then what did Pellew tell him when they met that night in Hyde Park?”

“That he would take it on and that he had got a brother who was going to help him.”

“But you have absolutely no idea who they are?”

“Not the slightest in the world!”

A moment’s silence followed and then Larose asked another question. “And what did Pellew go down to Wickham Towers for?”

“To make some money at cards. He’s got a lot out of Captain Willingdean.”

“Who’s this Herr Blitzen who was down there at the same time?”

Royne shook his head. “I’ve never heard of him.”

And that was all Larose could get out of Royne, although he believed the latter was speaking the truth. “Well I’ll be going now,” he said at length. “My conscience pricks me that I am letting you go. Still”— he laughed. “I’m sure someone else will be catching you pretty soon. You are one of the mugs who will always get caught. Good-bye.”

Royne watched his car receding in the distance. “Quite a decent chap!” he murmured. “I’m glad I didn’t shoot him!” His eyes fell upon the gun on the table and then suddenly he darted over and picked it up. “The devil!” he exclaimed. “I’d forgotten to load it!”