[Illustration: Title page]



  THE RED LODGE

  _A Mystery of Campden Hill_


  BY
  VICTOR BRIDGES



  GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
  DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
  1924




  COPYRIGHT, 1924, BY
  DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES
  AT
  THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y.


  _First Edition_




  TO
  MARGARET




  BOOKS BY
  VICTOR BRIDGES

  Another Man's Shoes
  Greensea Island: A Mystery of the Essex Coast
  Mr. Lyndon at Liberty
  Rogue by Compulsion
  The Cruise of the Scandal and Other Stories
  The Lady from Long Acre
  The Man from Nowhere
  The Red Lodge




THE RED LODGE

_A Mystery of Campden Hill_



CHAPTER ONE

A dark green Rolls-Royce limousine slid round the corner of Sydney
Place and, proceeding a few hundred yards along the Fulham Road, drew
up in front of St. Christopher's Hospital.  It had scarcely stopped
before the door opened and its solitary occupant--a tall,
well-dressed man of about fifty--stepped out on to the pavement.

"You can wait here, Simmons," he said, addressing the chauffeur.  "I
shan't be more than a few minutes."

The porter on duty, who was talking to a friend in the hall, touched
his cap respectfully as the newcomer hurried past him in the
direction of the main staircase.

"See that bloke, Fred?" he whispered, jerking his thumb after the
retreating figure.  "That's Sir George Onslow, that is.  Some pore
beggar's for it, you can take my word."

"Well, thank Gawd 'e ain't a-goin' to 'ack me about," returned the
other.  "Pack o' butchers, all the lot of 'em, if they gets 'alf a
chance."

Unconscious of having been the cause of this somewhat drastic
criticism of his profession, the famous surgeon mounted rapidly to
the second landing, where a long, bare, distempered corridor
stretched away in either direction.  Choosing the one on the left, he
came to a halt in front of a white door, on which the two words
"House Surgeon" were neatly painted in black letters, and, without
troubling to knock, turned the handle and walked in.

A broad-shouldered, cheerful-looking young man, who was sitting at
the table reading a medical book, glanced up carelessly at his
entrance.  On seeing who the visitor was his expression changed, and
with a certain air of surprise he rose quickly to his feet.

"Hullo, Sir George," he exclaimed.  "We weren't expecting you this
morning."

The elder man stepped forward and offered his hand.

"Sorry to interrupt your studies, Gray," he said, smiling.  "This
isn't an official visit.  I've just looked in on a little private and
personal matter."

The young house surgeon pulled forward a tattered armchair.

"Well, I'm delighted to see you, sir," he said heartily.  "Won't you
take a pew?"

Sir George sat down, and, leaning forward, helped himself to a
cigarette from the box which his companion offered him.

"You were telling me about your plans a week or two ago," he said.
"Have you come to any decision yet?"

Gray, who was standing with his back to the fireplace, nodded his
head.

"Yes," he answered.  "I've made up my mind to send in my resignation
as soon as the secretary comes back.  I can't help feeling that I'm
wasting my time here.  I have always meant to go in for research
work, and if I'm to do any good at it it's quite time I started."  He
laughed a little awkwardly.  "I hope it doesn't sound conceited
talking like this, sir, but I really believe I've got a turn in that
direction."

Sir George looked up at him with a friendly, half-quizzical twinkle
in his eye.

"You needn't apologize, my boy," he said gravely.  "I don't think any
one would accuse you of having a swelled head."  He paused.  "If it
doesn't sound an impertinent question, may I ask how you are situated
with regard to money matters?"

"I can manage all right," replied the other.  "I've got a small
private income of about three hundred a year.  I should have to give
up the car, of course, but one can't expect luxuries if one goes in
for laboratory work."

Sir George nodded his head approvingly.

"That's the proper frame of mind, anyhow," he observed.  "There's no
half-and-half business about science.  It's a great game if you're
prepared to give up everything else to it, but if you want money and
comfort and reputation--well, you'd better copy my example and spend
your time cutting out the entrails of over-fed millionaires."  He
flicked the ash off his cigarette, and, sinking back again in the
chair, crossed his legs.  "All the same," he added, "it just happens
that I might be able to put something in your way which would make it
possible for you to keep the car and hunt bugs at the same time."

Gray's boyish face lit up with sudden interest.

"By Jove, sir!" he exclaimed.  "That sounds promising!"

"How would you like to go and live with old Carter as a sort of
residential assistant?"

"Carter?" Gray repeated the name almost reverently.  "Do you mean
Professor Carter?"

"Of course I do.  You don't suppose I'm referring to the man who
makes the liver pills?"

"You can bet I should like it all right," was the eager reply.  "Why,
it's a chance for which any chap in my position would sell his soul."

The surgeon smiled again at his young companion's enthusiasm.

"Well, I think it might be arranged on less dramatic terms than that.
As a matter of fact, I was talking to the old boy last night.  He
doesn't often show up in public nowadays, but he happened to come
along to a special meeting of the Board of Health, and he and I had a
long yarn together.  Amongst other things he asked me if I knew a
young fellow who'd make a suitable assistant.  He wants someone to
live in the house, and he told me that if he could find the right man
he was prepared to pay a salary of four hundred a year.  That, of
course, would be in addition to living expenses."

"Four hundred a year!" echoed Gray in astonishment.

"Oh, he can afford it well enough.  He's rolling in money, and he
never spends a bob on anything except his work."

"Why, he can take his pick amongst the best-trained men in England,"
declared Gray.  "They'd simply fall over themselves to get in with
Carter, whether there's a salary attached to it or not."

"That may be the case," assented Sir George drily, "but, as it
happens, very few of them possess the particular qualification on
which the Professor insists.  You see, he wants someone who's an
expert boxer as well as being a fully qualified scientist."

Gray stared at his visitor in utter bewilderment.

"Sounds a bit comic, doesn't it?" pursued the latter tranquilly.
"The fact is the old gentleman's suffering from nerves.  About nine
weeks ago his house on Campden Hill was broken into by burglars, and
ever since then he seems to have been living in a mortal funk that
the same thing would happen again."

"But hasn't he any one in the place besides himself?" demanded Gray.

"Only a couple of women who cook for him and look after the house.
He had an old servant for about forty years, but I think he's
pensioned him off.  Of course, it really isn't very safe as things
are.  Carter must be over eighty, and the Red Lodge is a devilish
lonely place, shut in behind a high wall amongst a lot of trees.  I
don't wonder he feels a bit jumpy."

"But is he quite serious about wanting an assistant?" demanded Gray.
"At present it sounds as if he were in more need of a bull-dog."

Sir George laughed.  "It's a genuine enough offer," he said.  "He
confided to me that he'd just undertaken some very important
researches, and that it was absolutely necessary he should have a
first-class man to help him.  I thought of you at once.  I said all
the complimentary things I could about your work, and I added, as a
sort of little extra inducement, that you'd won the inter-hospital
heavyweight boxing competition for two years in succession."

Gray coloured modestly.  "It was awfully good of you, Sir George," he
replied.

"Not at all," was the answer.  "In my opinion he'll be very lucky if
he gets you.  I told him I'd look you up and see how you felt about
it, and that if you liked the idea I'd let him know some time to-day."

"I shall be ready to go directly I can get away from the hospital,"
declared Gray.

Sir George Onslow threw away the stump of his cigarette and rose to
his feet.

"I don't think there will be any difficulty about that.  I'll speak
to the chairman personally, and if Carter wants you at once we can
easily find someone to carry on until the secretary comes back," He
glanced at his watch.  "I must be running along now.  I've got to be
at the nursing home by twelve-thirty."

After expressing his gratitude once more, Gray accompanied his
visitor down to the hall, where he remained standing on the steps
until the car drove away.  He was just turning back toward the
staircase when the porter, who was engaged with the telephone, thrust
his head out of the box.

"Gen'leman wants to speak to you, sir--a Mister Ashton."

Gray walked forward and picked up the receiver.

"Hullo!" he observed encouragingly.

"Hullo!" came the answer.  "That you, Colin?"

"Of course it's me."

"Mark speaking--Mark Ashton.  Are you engaged for lunch?"

"Not if I can get any one else to pay for it," was the candid reply.

"Well, how would you like to come along and feed with me at the Savoy
Grill?"

"I've no particular objection.  What's the matter?  Have you come
into money?"

There was a chuckle at the other end of the wire.

"Nothing like that.  Just a sudden thirst for your society."

"It shall be gratified," said Gray.  "What time shall I show up?"

"One o'clock.  Suit you all right?"

"Excellently."

"That'll do, then.  If you get there first order yourself a cocktail."

The speaker rang off, and, replacing the receiver, Gray glanced at
his watch.

It was a few minutes past twelve, and, being the day on which he was
off duty, there was nothing to prevent him leaving the hospital as
soon as he pleased.  The prospect of a two-mile walk before lunch
distinctly appealed to him, so, remounting the stairs to his small
bedroom at the top of the building, he proceeded to change out of his
white surgeon's kit into something a little more in harmony with the
best traditions of a fashionable restaurant.

At exactly five minutes to one he passed through the revolving glass
door of the Savoy and entered the already crowded lounge.  Before he
had time to glance round, a man, who had been sitting in the farther
corner, rose to his feet and came forward to meet him.

No one, not even a newspaper reporter, would have called Mark Ashton
handsome.  In spite of his roughly cut features, his untidy hair, his
badly fitting frock coat, and his large gold-rimmed spectacles there
was, however, such a genuine and friendly air about his whole
appearance that anybody except a fool would have been attracted by
him at once.  Somehow or other he reminded one of a large, shaggy,
good-tempered dog.

He came up to Gray and shook him heartily by the hand.

"This is splendid, Colin," he said.  "I'm awfully glad you were able
to manage it."

"So am I," returned his guest.  "It would have broken my heart to
refuse an invitation like this."

Mark grinned broadly, and, thrusting his arm through his companion's,
piloted him across the lounge in the direction of the grill-room door.

"I've ordered a table," he announced, "so unless you'd rather wait a
bit we may as well have lunch right away."

"That will suit me," said Colin cheerfully.  "I breakfasted at eight,
and I've just walked up from the hospital."

Following an obsequious gentleman, who apparently recognized Mark,
they threaded their way through the room and took their places at a
small table in the opposite corner, which looked out into the
courtyard.

Mark picked up the menu and studied it with some care.

"What do you say about oysters to start with?" he suggested.  "A
dozen oysters each and a bottle of Chablis?"

"It's a good idea," admitted Colin.  "Especially the Chablis."

"We can discuss what we'll have afterward while we're eating them,"
continued his host.  He gave the order, and, as the waiter departed,
he sat back in his chair and took a genial survey of the restaurant.

"What is the precise meaning of this debauch?" inquired Colin.  "Is
it your birthday or have you been backing the winner of the
Cesarewitch?"

The other laughed good-naturedly.  "I told you over the telephone.
It's just a case of a hard-working East End doctor snatching a brief
interval from his practice to enjoy the society of his most brilliant
and distinguished pupil."  He paused.  "As a matter of fact," he
added, "the whole thing was Mary's notion.  I wanted to have a talk
with you, and she suggested that I should take a couple of hours off
and invite you to lunch."

"Mary's a great woman," said Colin with feeling.  "Why didn't you
bring her along with you?"

"She's stopped behind to console the patients, shall have scores of
'em hanging round the surgery when I get back."  He sighed heavily.

"Well, cheer up," said Colin.  "By the time we've finished lunch
they'll probably be dead."  He helped himself to a roll, and,
breaking off a bit of the crust, proceeded to nibble it thoughtfully.
"What did you want to see me about?" he inquired.

Mark paused, while two waiters, who had suddenly appeared with the
oysters and the Chablis, hovered round the table, intent on their
ministrations.

"It's nothing much," he replied eventually.  "I was wondering if by
any chance you could find me a girl."

"Find you a girl?" echoed Colin.  "Why, you old Mormon, you've got
Mary already."

"That's just the trouble," was the depressed answer.  "Mary has to go
off to Lincoln for a month to nurse her mother.  After next Wednesday
I shall be a grass widower."

Colin looked at him with genuine sympathy.  "My poor lad!" he
exclaimed.  "This is indeed a blow!"

"It's worse than that," observed his companion.  "It's--it's a damned
knock-out.  She's never been away from me for more than a day, not
since we went down to Shadwell.  Heaven only knows how I shall get on
without her.  She answers the letters, keeps the accounts, pays the
bills, mixes the medicines----"

"In fact," broke in Colin, "to put it plainly, she's a darn sight
more important to the business than you are."  He speared a
recalcitrant oyster and sprinkled it with red pepper.  "I wonder you
let her go," he added mischievously.  "Why don't you take up the
strong, silent husband stunt and refuse to allow it?"

"Oh, I can't do that," objected Mark.  "You see, the old lady really
is very seedy.  She's going to have an operation in about a month's
time, and meanwhile she's got to keep to her bed.  She's simply set
her heart on having Mary to come and look after her, and I couldn't
be such an utterly selfish pig as to go and put any difficulties in
the way."

"No, I don't suppose you could," admitted Colin.  "That sort of thing
requires a lot of practice."

"We've talked it over," continued Mark, "and we've decided that the
best plan would be to try and find some nice, sensible girl who'd
come in for the day and make herself generally useful.  Of course, it
isn't exactly easy to get hold of the right person.  I want a really
capable, honest, pleasant girl, who can type and keep accounts, and
who'll take a kind of personal interest in the whole show."

"You don't want much," observed Colin drily.

"Well, I'm prepared to pay for it, and if she turned out to be any
use I'd keep her on permanently.  I've been meaning to do something
of the sort for the last six months.  Mary's been working far too
hard, and I'm making such a sinful amount of money I can quite well
afford a little extra help."  He pushed away his empty oyster shells
and beckoned to the waiter.  "We'd better order some more grub, eh?
Can you manage a cold grouse?"

"With ease," said Colin.

He remained silent until the man had departed, and then, picking up
the Chablis, refilled his glass.

"But where do I come in?" he inquired.  "You're not expecting me to
produce angels out of my waistcoat pocket?"

"We thought you might be able to recommend somebody.  Mary said that
a young, dashing, good-looking fellow like you----"

"She was pulling your leg," protested Colin.  "She knows perfectly
well that I'm terrified of girls."

"How about the hospital?  Haven't you a pretty, intelligent nurse
who'd like a nice Christian home?"

"I've never noticed her if we have."  He paused as the recollection
of his conversation with Sir George Onslow suddenly flashed into his
mind.  "By Jove!" he added.  "That reminds me.  I haven't told you my
great news yet.  I'm chucking the hospital and going as bottle-washer
to old Carter."

His companion stared at him half incredulously.

"Is this a fact?" he demanded.

"Well, it's practically settled.  I've had nothing to do with it
really; Onslow's worked the whole thing for me.  I'd just finished
talking to him when you rang up."

In a few words he described his interview with Sir George and the
curious information which the latter had given him with regard to the
professor's requirements.

"I can't say if I shall fit the bill," he added, laughing, "but if
the old boy takes a fancy to me I don't care how many damned burglars
he has.  I'd tackle half a dozen a night for the sake of being his
assistant."

"It's a wonderful chance," admitted Mark thoughtfully.  "Carter may
be a little queer, but there's no doubt that he's the greatest man at
his game in the world."  He looked across rather wistfully into the
strong, smiling face opposite him.  "You're a fortunate young devil,
Colin," he added.  "Nature's presented you with practically
everything a man can want--brains, good looks, and the strength of a
cart-horse--and now I'm hanged if you're not going to be lucky as
well.  I'd have given my head for an opening like this when I was
your age.  Just fancy being able to devote one's life to science
instead of wasting it in the futile way I've done."

"You're talking through your hat," protested Colin indignantly. "If
you chose you could be sitting in an armchair in Harley Street, but
instead of that you and Mary live down there in Shadwell and sweat
your souls out amongst the poorest of the poor.  Don't you call that
good work?"

"Splendid," agreed Mark.  "Stuffing 'em up with coloured water and
ginger pills and making fifteen hundred a year out of the poor
blighters for doing it."  He smiled with a cheerful good nature that
was rather out of keeping with his words.  "I'm not envious, Colin.
I'm only too delighted to know that you've found the right opening.
Two or three years' experience with Carter will be simply invaluable
to you.  It will put you in the very front rank of investigators, and
what's more, it will give you the opportunity of carrying on his work
after he's dead.  You'll be a great man before you've finished.  When
I'm an old buffer of eighty I shall probably go around bragging that
the famous Sir Colin Gray was once my junior house surgeon at Bart's."

"Always supposing," added the future celebrity, "that I'm not knocked
on the head by a burglar."  He rolled up a bread pill and eyed his
host meditatively.  "It's a rummy affair, the whole business," he
continued.  "I wonder if there's anything behind it?  D'you think
Carter's just got the wind up, or d'you think he's one of those old
juggins who keeps thousands of pounds buried in the back cellar?"

Mark shrugged his shoulders.  "Goodness knows," he replied.  "Anyhow,
he ought to be safe enough with you.  If I were a self-respecting
burglar with a proper regard for my appearance I should give the Red
Lodge a devilish wide berth.  I know that right upper-cut of yours;
I've had some of it."

The appearance of the grouse at this point created a temporary
diversion, and it was not until lunch was finished, and the two of
them were sitting over their coffee and cigars, that Mark returned to
his original subject.

"You won't forget, will you," he said, "if you run across a likely
damsel.  I shall be absolutely in the soup unless I get hold of
somebody the next day or two."

"I'll do my best for you," Colin assured him.  "I'll have a general
inspection of all the nurses at the hospital to-morrow morning, and
if there's a stray angel amongst them I'll send her along.  I
shouldn't bank on it though, not from what I remember of them."

Mark pulled out his note case and beckoned to the waiter.

"I must be off," he observed resentfully.  "Which way are you
going--back to the hospital?"

Colin shook his head.  "This is my day out.  I shall roll along to
the garage and spend a nice messy afternoon tinkering at the car.
There are several odd jobs that want doing, and I should like to get
them cleared off before I start chasing burglars."

Mark paid the bill, and, leaving the restaurant, the two friends
walked together as far as Charing Cross Underground, where they came
to a halt on the bridge inside the barrier.

"Well, thanks for an excellent lunch," said Colin, shaking his host's
hand.  "Remember that if you ever want my advice it's always
available on the same terms."

Mark grinned.  "You must come down and thank Mary," he said.  "It was
she who suggested the Savoy.  If it had been left to me I should
probably have taken you to Lockhart's."

As he spoke an East End train clanked noisily out of the opposite
tunnel, and with a hurried good-bye he darted away toward the steps
and disappeared from view.

About twenty minutes later, with the stump of a cigar in his mouth,
and feeling remarkably at peace with the world, Colin emerged from
Sloane Street Station and strolled across the pavement in the
direction of the barracks.

He kept his car in a small garage at the bottom of Church Street, a
place which, in addition to being cheap and within easy reach of the
hospital, also possessed the unusual distinction of having an honest
proprietor.  It was about three-quarters of a mile from the Square,
but as he was in no hurry, and the weather was extraordinarily genial
for an afternoon in late November, he dismissed his first intention
of taking a motor bus and started off at a leisurely pace along the
King's Road.

He had got as far as the corner of Radnor Street when his progress
was suddenly arrested by a muffled outbreak of shouts and oaths.  The
next moment the door of a small public house opposite burst violently
open, and from its gas-lit interior a tangled cluster of struggling
men swayed out into the main thoroughfare.  One of them was evidently
a policeman, for his blue helmet was clearly visible in the centre of
the melee.

For a second or two the whole mass reeled backward and forward, then
a stick swung up into the air, and, coming down with crashing force
on the back of the constable's head, stretched him out an inert mass
in the gutter.




CHAPTER TWO

However underpaid it may be, the training of a house surgeon at a
London hospital induces a certain readiness of action.  Before any of
the other passers-by had ceased to gape helplessly at this unusual
spectacle Colin was halfway across the street.

Quick as he was, however, the situation had already developed.  A
big, burly man, clutching another by the collar, had staggered back
against the wall of the pub, where, with his disengaged arm, he was
endeavouring to defend himself as best he could against a rain of
blows and kicks.

Striking out mercilessly right and left, Colin forced his way through
the gang.  He was only just in time, for exactly as he arrived a
vicious kick in the ribs sent the big stranger sprawling to the
pavement, his fingers still gripping the collar of his half-throttled
prisoner.

The man who had laid him out--a truculent-looking scoundrel in a blue
suit--was stepping in to complete his work when a smashing swing from
Colin caught him full in the mouth.  Reeling back from the blow, he
collided violently with one of his friends, and for a second the
whole attacking party were thrown into confusion.

Before they could recover the shrill note of a police whistle rang
out close behind them.  They all spun round instinctively, and
through a gap in their ranks Colin caught sight of the slim figure of
a girl stooping over the prostrate body of the constable.  It was
only a brief glimpse, for the next moment one of the ruffians sprang
backward and lashed out at her with his belt.  Dropping the whistle,
she sank forward on to her knees, and with a wild, clattering rush
the entire gang took to their heels.

In two strides Colin was at the girl's side.  He was not easily
upset, but the sight of that cowardly blow had filled him with such a
sudden wave of fury that he found it difficult to control his voice
as he bent down over the crouching figure.

"Are you much hurt?" he asked.

She raised her head, and a pair of beautiful but rather bewildered
blue eyes looked up into his.

"No," she said.  "I don't think I am.  Is it all over?"

In spite of his anger Colin began to laugh.

"Yes," he added, "it's all over.  They've bolted like a lot of
rabbits, thanks to you."

He took her by the arm, and a trifle unsteadily, she scrambled to her
feet.

"How do you feel?" he asked with some anxiety.  "I was horribly
afraid he'd hit you on the head."

"So he did," was the answer, "but luckily for me I've got a good deal
of protection."

She lifted off the small velvet hat that she was wearing and rather
tenderly patted the thick coils of dark red hair which gleamed like
copper in the fading November sunlight.  "The queer thing is," she
added, "that it hasn't even given me a headache."

"I wish I'd known you were all right," said Colin ruefully.  "I'd
have gone after the brute and wrung his neck."

"You didn't do so badly as it was, mister," observed a voice at his
elbow, and, turning round sharply, he found himself face to face with
the burly stranger, whom he had last seen scuffling on the pavement.
Except for a slight trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth the
latter looked none the worse for his adventures.

"I owe something both to you and to this young lady," he continued.
"If you hadn't come along just when you did I'd probably have got my
head kicked in."

"You needn't thank me," protested Colin.  "There's nothing I enjoy
better than a good scrap."

He glanced round the late field of battle with a certain amount of
amused curiosity.  Three fresh and energetic-looking policemen had
already appeared.  One of them was grasping the arm of the now
handcuffed prisoner, a second knelt beside the body of his injured
comrade, while the third, with that scant ceremony which
distinguishes the Metropolitan force, was thrusting back a rapidly
increasing throng of interested spectators.

"What's it all about?" asked Colin.

Rummaging in his waistcoat pocket, the big man produced a dilapidated
card.

"You'll see my name there," he said.  "Inspector Marsden of the
C.I.D."  He jerked his head in the direction of the captive--a short,
sandy-haired individual with a face like a rather disagreeable
ferret.  "You've helped us to get hold of a gentleman we've been
wanting badly at the Yard for the last two months.  That's 'Ginger
Dick,' the leader of the toughest race-course gang in England."

"He must be fairly popular with his friends," observed Colin.  "At
least, they seemed quite anxious not to lose his society."

The Inspector smiled grimly.  "You don't know 'em, sir.  You can take
it from me that all they're worrying about is whether he's going to
split on 'em.  There isn't a man in that crowd who wouldn't sell his
own mother."  He moved over to the second constable, who was still
busy with his unconscious mate.  "What's the damage?" he asked.
"Anything serious?"

Colin stepped across after him.  "You'd better let me have a look,"
he said.  "I'm a doctor."

The two men at once made way, and, kneeling down in the gutter, he
rapidly examined his patient's condition.

"You must get him to hospital as quick as you can," he said, looking
up at the Inspector.  "He's had a pretty bad crack on the head, and
the sooner he's under treatment the better."  He rose to his feet and
brushed off the dust from his trousers.  "Take him along to St.
Christopher's," he added.  "Tell them that Doctor Gray sent you, and
that it's a case which requires immediate attention."

The Inspector nodded, and, having despatched one of his assistants to
fetch an ambulance, turned back and addressed himself to the girl.

"You'll pardon me for not having thanked you before, miss," he said.
"I never saw anything pluckier in my life than the way you chipped in
and blew that whistle.  There's not one young lady in a thousand
who'd have had the nerve to do it."

The recipient of his praises coloured delicately.

"If you don't mind," he continued, "I'll make a note of your name and
address.  We might be glad of your evidence, and I know the
commissioner would like to write you a little letter to send you his
official thanks."

"Oh, he mustn't trouble to do that," objected the girl hastily.  "I'm
sure he's frightfully busy, and, after all, it's quite easy just to
blow a whistle."

Colin laughed.  "You can't get out of it," he said.  "Still, if
you'll tell the Inspector your name and where you live I don't
suppose he'll bother you to give evidence unless it's absolutely
necessary."

"You can count on that, miss," remarked the other reassuringly.

"Well, I live just round the corner at No. 46 Jubilee Place," said
the girl, "and my name's Seymour--Miss Nancy Seymour."

The Inspector committed this information to an official-looking
pocketbook, and then held out his hand to Colin.

"I shan't forget that you've saved my life, doctor," he said.  "I
hope that next time you're up in our direction you'll look in and pay
us a visit."  He paused.  "And remember," he added, "that if there's
ever any little way in which we can be of use to you, you've only got
to let us know.  We like to pay our debts at the Yard when we get the
opportunity."

"I shall remember," said Colin, smiling.  "It might come in handy one
of these days."

He stepped forward as a movement amongst the onlookers heralded the
approach of the ambulance, and, after assisting to lift the injured
constable inside, came back to where the girl was standing.

"Can I see you as far as your house?" he asked.  "I don't suppose any
of those blackguards are still hanging about, but there's no point in
running risks."

"Thank you," she said simply.  "I should be very grateful if you
would."

Under a fire of curious glances they pushed their way through the
crowd and started off along the pavement in the direction of Jubilee
Place.

Colin was the first to break the silence.

"Where did you spring from?" he asked.  "I never saw you until you
blew the whistle."

"I had just come out to buy a stamp," replied his companion.  "I was
walking peacefully along to King's Road when I suddenly found myself
right in the middle of it."

"Well, you've got some pluck," said Colin admiringly.  "That
Inspector was quite right in what he said.  Most girls would have
given a shriek and flopped down in the gutter."

She coloured again in the same attractive fashion as before.

"It wasn't a question of pluck," she objected.  "I acted entirely
from impulse.  If I had had time to think I should probably have done
what you say."  She stopped short with a little gesture of annoyance.
"Oh dear, how stupid I am!  I've quite forgotten to buy the stamp
after all."

"It doesn't matter," said Colin.  "I've got one in my pocket I can
let you have."

They turned up a narrow street with some white buildings on one side
of it, and at the door of the second house the girl halted.

"This is where I live," she said.  "It was awfully kind of you to
walk back with me."

"Not a bit," said Colin.  "I'm very fond of a little gentle
exercise."  He pulled out a note-case and began to search through its
various compartments.  "If you'll wait half a minute," he added,
"I'll see if I can find you that stamp."

She stood watching him with a certain look of indecision in her face.

"I don't know if you'd care to come in," she said rather
hesitatingly.  "I have only got a small studio, but I can at least
offer you a cup of tea."

Colin unearthed the stamp and presented it to her in triumph.

"If you're quite certain I shan't be a nuisance," he said, "I should
like it immensely.  Fighting in the street always gives me a thirst."

Miss Nancy Seymour's blue eyes twinkled merrily, and, inserting a
Yale key into the lock, she led the way up a small winding staircase
to a door on the first landing.

"You mustn't mind if it's not very tidy," she remarked
apologetically.  "I have been typing all the morning, and I've not
had time to put things straight."

She opened the door, and, following her inside, Colin found himself
in an oddly shaped but rather attractive apartment, the principal
feature of which was a big glass skylight, shaped like a coach-house
roof.

The furniture was scanty, consisting chiefly of a low,
comfortable-looking couch, a couple of old Windsor armchairs, and a
stout deal table which at some remote period had evidently been
stained brown.  On the latter stood a typewriter flanked by a litter
of loose sheets and several piles of badly written manuscript.

The farther corner of the room was curtained off, as though to serve
the purpose of a kitchen or bedroom.

With a wave of her hand Nancy indicated the couch.  "Try my patent
sofa," she said hospitably.  "I'll tidy up while the kettle's
boiling."

"Don't do it for me," protested Colin.  "I like to see a room a
little topsy-turvy.  You can't think how refreshing it seems after
the suffocating neatness of a hospital."

"I'll put away these horrible manuscripts at all events," returned
his hostess.  "I've been working at them ever since nine o'clock.
The mere sight of them makes me feel ill."

"What are they?" inquired Colin.

She made as near an approach to a grimace as nature would allow.

"Stories.  And such bad ones!  I think that all the worst authors in
the world must live in Chelsea."

"It was rather unkind to type them out," observed Colin.  "Somebody
will probably have to read them now."

Nancy laughed.  "Unfortunately," she said, "it happens to be my
profession."

She covered up the typewriter and collected all the papers into an
indiscriminate bundle.

"I sha'n't be long," she added, moving away toward the curtain.
"Make yourself comfortable, and please smoke if you want to."

Accepting both these invitations, Colin lighted a cigarette and took
up a restful position on the couch.  He felt curiously at home,
considering the novelty of his surroundings, but the whole affair had
been so unusual that somehow or other this impromptu tea party seemed
to constitute a natural and appropriate climax.

That it would also turn out to be an extremely entertaining one he
had no manner of doubt.  Whoever Miss Nancy Seymour might be, she was
certainly the most attractive girl he had ever met in his life.  Her
looks alone were sufficient to arouse anybody's enthusiasm.  With her
vividly coloured hair and almost forget-me-not blue eyes she
possessed that sort of inspiriting beauty which Rossetti in his
healthier and happier moments would have revelled in painting.

But, delightful as Colin found her appearance, there was something
still more fascinating to him in the unaffected simplicity and
friendliness of her manner.  What he had said to Mark about his
knowledge of women was perfectly true.  As a medical student he had
worked exceptionally hard, and this fact, combined with his devotion
to football and boxing, had left him little time to cultivate any of
those semi-amorous friendships which seem to be the principal hobby
of so many budding physicians.  It was, in fact, the first time that
he had ever been perfectly at ease in a girl's society, and the
sensation was so pleasing that he felt no objection to its indefinite
extension.

He could hear Nancy moving about behind the curtain, the pop of a gas
ring and the chink of cups giving some clue to the nature of her
activities.  Six or seven minutes must have elapsed, however, before
she made her reappearance, this time carrying a tray with all the
necessary equipment for tea.  She had discarded her hat and coat, and
in her simple indoor costume Colin thought that she looked prettier
than ever.

"Don't get up," she said, as he started to rise to his feet.  "I'll
bring over that other little table and then we can help ourselves."

Suiting the action to the word, she deposited the tray on the end of
the sofa, and pulled up a sort of rickety three-legged stool which
looked like the final effort of some disillusioned amateur carpenter.

"It's all rather primitive," she continued, "but you must pretend not
to notice.  You see, I've had to furnish the place myself, and I've
never yet had enough money to do it properly."

Colin looked round with a contented eye.  "I don't see what more you
want," he observed, "not unless you're naturally luxurious."

"I expect that must be it," she replied, pouring out the tea.
"Anyhow, I know that directly I can afford it I mean to buy some new
curtains and also a nice thick velvety carpet from Harrod's."  She
smiled.  "That won't be for some time though--not unless there's a
boom in bad stories."

"If it isn't an impertinent question," said Colin, "how long have you
been in Chelsea?"

"About eighteen months," she answered, handing him his cup.  "I had
always lived in the country before then, but there were reasons why I
had to start work of some sort, and typing was the only useful thing
I happened to know.  Somebody told me that Chelsea was full of
authors, so I came here, and here I've been ever since."

Colin helped himself to a sugared biscuit.  "I hope you charge them a
lot," he said, "and I hope they pay regularly."

"It might be worse," she replied.  "As it happens, I've got enough
money of my own to pay the rent of the studio, and what I make out of
my typing just keeps me going in clothes and food and cigarettes."
She paused to refill the teapot.  "It's just the feeling that I'm
wasting my time so," she continued, "that annoys me.  If I were
working at something really useful I should be quite happy, but this
stuff"--she made a distasteful gesture toward the table--"well, I
can't think how anybody can possibly write it, let alone read it."

Colin suddenly slapped his leg with a bang which made the china
rattle.

"By Jove!" he exclaimed.  "Why, of course, you're the very girl!"

He laid down his cup and gazed at her in a kind of triumphant
satisfaction.

Nancy returned his inspection with a perplexed smile.  "I daresay I
am," she admitted.  "It's rather hard to tell at present, isn't it?"

Colin laughed.  "I'm not mad," he explained.  "If you meant what you
said just now, if you're really looking out for something that's
worth doing, I can put you on to a job straight away."

There was a moment's silence.

"It's very nice of you," said Nancy.  "The only question is that I
should probably be quite unqualified for it."

"On the contrary," retorted Colin, "you're the exact person that I've
been commissioned to find."

"It must be a queer sort of job then," remarked Nancy, still smiling.
"All you know about me at present is that I can type, make tea, and
blow a police whistle."

"Well, there you are," observed her guest.  "It's just that all-round
sort of ability that Mark wants."

He sat back against the wall, and, without any further delay,
proceeded to enter into a full description of the distressing problem
which overhung the Shadwell ménage.

"If you'll chip in and fill the gap," he continued, "you'll be doing
a real Christian act.  Mark jeers at his own work, but, as a matter
of cold fact, he and Mary have buried themselves down in that beastly
slum out of sheer good nature.  They're the sort of people you don't
meet twice in a lifetime.  Mark's a brick, and Mary's just the
sweetest and most unselfish woman that ever trod this earth."

"They sound perfect dears," said Nancy.  "I should love to know them
whether I get the job or not."

"Get the job!" repeated Colin.  "Why, good Lord, they'll simply be
all over you as soon as you show yourself."

Nancy's blue eyes gleamed merrily.  "You seem to forget, Doctor
Gray," she said, "everybody isn't quite so rapid and trustful as you
are.  They might, for instance, like to know something about me
first."

"Well, you can tell 'em," replied Colin.  "You haven't been in
prison, have you, or anything of that sort?  Not that Mark would mind
a bit if you had."

"What a nice, obliging man!" was the answer.  "No, I haven't been in
prison, and I don't think I've ever done anything to deserve it.  All
the same, if any one offered me an engagement they would have to take
me absolutely on trust.  You see, I have never earned a salary
before, so I've got no testimonials."

"Yes, you have," objected Colin.  "You've got mine and the
policeman's.  That ought to be enough for any reasonable employer."
He glanced at his watch.  "Look here," he added eagerly, "if you're
doing nothing in particular, why shouldn't we go down there straight
away?  Mark usually takes half an hour off for tea about four
o'clock, so we should just catch them at the right time."

"How does one get to Shadwell?" asked Nancy.  "I don't even know
where it is."

Colin jumped up briskly.  "I'll drive you down," he said.  "I've got
a little car in Church Street.  I was just going along there to do
some repairs."

Nancy made a movement of protest.  "Oh, but, please----" she said.
"I don't want to take up all your afternoon--not if you're busy."

"That's all right," observed Colin.  "You shove on your hat and coat.
I shall have plenty of time to tinker at the car when we get back."

With an air of resigned amusement Nancy rose to her feet.

"I am trusting entirely to you, Doctor Gray," she said.  "If your
friends throw me out ignominiously I sha'n't be the least surprised."

She collected the tea things, and, crossing the room to the farther
corner, disappeared again behind the curtain.

After a surprisingly short interval she returned, ready dressed for
the journey.

"You look ripping," said Colin, eyeing her with frank approval.  "I'm
longing to see old Mark's face when he hears you're his new
secretary."

"Well, it's more than I am," remarked Nancy.

She paused for a second or two to make a final inspection of herself
in the looking glass, and then, following her guest out on to the
landing, closed and locked the door behind her.

They descended the staircase and were just emerging into the street
when a big white Daimler swung into view round the corner of the
King's Road.

Nancy uttered a little exclamation which sounded like one of
annoyance, but before she could speak the driver turned in toward the
pavement and drew up alongside of them.  He proved to be a tall,
clean-shaven, middle-aged man, with rather dissipated blue eyes.

"Hullo, young lady," he said, raising his hat, "where are you off to?
I was coming along to take you out for a drive."

Nancy acknowledged his greeting without any apparent enthusiasm.

"It was very kind of you," she replied, "but I am afraid I can't
manage it to-day.  I have promised to go out to tea with some friends
of Doctor Gray's."  She paused for a moment, and then glanced
hesitatingly from one to the other of them.  "Let me introduce you,"
she added.  "Doctor Gray--Major Fenton."

The two men nodded to each other.

"It will do you much more good to come for a spin," persisted the new
arrival.  "Besides, I understood that we more or less fixed it up
last Thursday."

"Did we?" said Nancy coolly.  "I don't remember actually mentioning
the day."

"Well, I understood so anyhow," returned the other.  He leaned across
and opened the door.  "Come along," he added persuasively.  "I am
sure Doctor Gray will excuse you."

"I have no doubt he would," said Nancy, "but, as it happens, I
particularly want to meet his friends."  She held out a small gloved
hand, which the other accepted with obvious reluctance.  "You must
really excuse me, Major Fenton," she continued.  "I can't possibly
manage to come to-day though I am very much obliged to you for
offering to take me."

Except for an ugly glint in his blue eyes, the owner of the car
managed to control his emotions.

"Oh, very well," he said, with a rather forced laugh, "if you're
really booked up, of course that settles it.  We must make it another
day instead, eh?  How about to-morrow?"

"To-morrow would be all right," said Nancy, "as far as I know at
present."

"I'll call for you at the same time, then--say three o'clock, or
perhaps we'd better make it a quarter past."  He lifted his hat
again, and, after bestowing a curt nod on Colin, leaned over and
closed the door of the car.  The next moment he was moving away
rapidly up the street.

Nancy gave a sigh of relief.

"I'm glad you were with me," she said, as they started off in the
opposite direction.  "If I had been alone I couldn't very well have
got out of it."

Colin looked at her in surprise.  "Why on earth should you go if you
don't want to?" he asked.  "Is that truculent warrior your guardian
or what?"

Nancy shook her head.  "I don't know anything about him," she
answered, "except that he happens to be an old friend of my
father's."  She paused for an instant as they turned the corner into
King's Road.  "You see, I am rather alone in the world," she
continued.  "My father and mother both died when I was a baby, and as
Major Fenton took the trouble to come and hunt me out about two
months ago I didn't like to seem ungrateful."

There was a touch of wistfulness in her voice which went straight to
Colin's heart.

"Of course, that's different," he said gently.  "It's rotten bad luck
to be left all by oneself.  Haven't you any relations or people of
that sort?"

"None that I ever heard of," was the answer.  "My father and mother
were living in a little village in Cornwall, and one day they were
caught in a storm out sailing, and they were both drowned.  No one
seemed to know anything about them at all.  A lawyer at Helston, a
very kind man called Mr. Penwarren, advertised in the papers and made
inquiries everywhere.  They all led to nothing, however, and it ended
with my going to live with an old farmer and his wife who had offered
to take care of me.  There was a little money--something like nine
hundred pounds--which Mr. Penwarren had invested for me, and that
gave me the chance of coming to London and setting up as a typist."
She stopped short, and glanced at Colin with a sudden trace of
embarrassment.  "I don't know why I am telling you all this," she
added.  "I'm afraid I must be boring you horribly."

Colin shook his head.  "I never felt more interested in my life.  I
thought that things like that only happened in books and plays."

"I wish they did," said Nancy.  "I simply hate not knowing who I am.
It makes one feel like a lost dog."

"But how about our genial friend in the car?" inquired Colin.  "If he
was a pal of your father's he must surely have been able to give you
some information."

"That's just what he can't do," said Nancy.  "He met my father years
ago down at Forth Leven, where they used to go out fishing together.
He went abroad with his regiment after that, and it was only when he
came home this spring and happened to be in the same neighbourhood
that he found out about the accident.  He took the trouble to go over
to Helston and see the lawyer, Mr. Penwarren, who gave him my
address.  I can't imagine why he should have bothered about me at
all, but for some extraordinary reason he seems to have thought it
was his duty.  Anyhow, he has certainly gone out of his way to try
and be kind to me, and although I don't like him I naturally feel a
certain amount of gratitude.  He must be rather a nice man really or
he wouldn't have behaved as he has."

"I daresay you're right," said Colin doubtfully.  "I have been told
that the most objectionable people often have hearts of gold."

He piloted her round the corner of Church Street and led the way into
a small garage, where a miscellaneous collection of cars were ranged
along the walls.

"This is mine," he remarked, coming to a halt in front of a rather
battered four-seater.  "She's not a beauty to look at, but she can go
like the devil."

Before Nancy could offer any comment a young man in dirty overalls
wriggled out from beneath a neighbouring limousine.

Colin greeted him with a friendly nod.

"I am going to take her out after all, Davis," he said.  "I shall be
back some time this evening, and if you're here we can run over her
together."

Mr. Davis wiped his hands upon a piece of cotton waste and glanced
appreciatively at Nancy.  "Very good, sir," he replied; "but, if
you'll excuse my saying so, I shouldn't drive too fast--not if you've
got a lady with you.  The steering gear's none too sound."

Colin laughed.  "You needn't pay any attention to Davis," he observed
to Nancy.  "Like all people who have to give credit, he's a hopeless
pessimist."

He opened the door for her, and, climbing up alongside into the
driving seat, switched on the spark and the lamps.

With a slight shrug of his shoulders, as though to disclaim further
responsibility, Mr. Davis bent down over the starting-handle.  After
several ineffectual jerks the engine suddenly began running, and the
next moment Colin was backing his way out through the open doorway.

Sitting beside him, with her chin buried comfortably inside her
collar, Nancy made no attempt at conversation.  From the hint dropped
by Mr. Davis she concluded that Colin was the sort of driver whom it
was safer not to disturb with unnecessary chatter, an opinion which
had been fully confirmed some time before they arrived at Sloane
Square.

He drove, indeed, at a pace which would have proved highly
distressing to any one of a timid disposition.  Fortunately for
Nancy, however, her nerves were in excellent order, and after the
first half mile had been safely negotiated she began to find that the
sensation of missing buses by a quarter of an inch was not without a
peculiar and exhilarating charm.

Apart from that, the actual journey through what to her was a totally
unknown quarter of London was in itself a sufficiently stimulating
experience.  The crowds in the City, the flaring coster barrows in
St. George's Road, and the gradually increasing squalor and gloom as
they drew nearer to their destination, all provided her with an
unfailing source of interest.

A little way down Shadwell High Street, at the corner of a side lane,
Colin came to a halt in front of an uninviting-looking public house,
alongside which was a closed gate leading apparently into a yard.

"This is where I generally leave the car," he announced.  "Mark's
place is only a few yards farther on."

As he spoke the door of the pub opened, and a stout gentleman in
trousers, carpet slippers, and a rather dirty shirt loomed up in the
opening.

"'Ullo, Mister Gray," he observed, in a kind of hoarse wheeze.
"Quite a stranger, ain't yer?"

He spat genially into the gutter and, stepping forward, offered his
hand to Colin.

"Brought a bit o' comp'ny with yer this time, I see," he added.

"That's right," said Colin.  "Let me introduce you to each other.
Mr. Higgins--Miss Seymour."

The fat man wiped his hand on the back of his trousers and
transferred it to Nancy.

"Pleased to meet yer, miss," he remarked.  "Any friend o' Mister
Gray's a friend o' mine."

"Can I shove the car in your yard?" inquired Colin.

"Certainly, an' welcome," was the answer.  "You sit where you are an'
I'll open the gaite for yer."

He produced a key, and, having fumbled for a moment with the rusty
padlock, disclosed the entrance to a narrow courtyard, the only
occupant of which was a surly-looking, red-eyed bull terrier, who was
tethered to an empty barrel.

"She's as saife 'ere as in the perlice station," continued Mr.
Higgins, as the car came to a stand-still against the wall.  "Saifer,
I should say, from wot I seen o' some o' them cops."

"I shouldn't wonder," said Colin with a laugh.  He switched off the
engine, and, getting out of the car, proceeded to rid himself of his
driving gloves.  "I don't suppose we shall be very long," he added.
"We're only going to have a cup of tea with the doctor."

"You'll find me inside, any'ow," returned Mr. Higgins.  He stopped
and fixed an admiring glance on Nancy, who was pleasantly employed in
tickling the bull terrier's left ear.  "See that?" he continued with
a chuckle.  "Dang me if that don't taike the biscuit.  Scratchin' of
'is head saime as if 'e was a little lamb."

"I always select my friends on account of their courage," explained
Colin unconcernedly.

He strolled forward to the entrance, where Nancy joined him, and the
two of them waited on the pavement while the gate was being
refastened.  Then, after declining the pressing offer of a little
refreshment from Mr. Higgins, they strolled off again along the
narrow and unsavoury thoroughfare which is the nearest approach that
Shadwell can boast to a main street.

"You mustn't judge the place entirely by its smells and its
appearance," said Colin.  "You will probably find the people a bit
rough at first, but they're a jolly friendly lot really, and they all
adore Mark.  When they know you're working for him they'll be as nice
to you as possible."

"Perhaps they won't have the chance," returned Nancy.  "As I said
before, the doctor may be one of those extraordinary people who
expect to get something useful in return for their money."

"Well, we'll soon settle that point, anyway," observed Colin.

He pulled up in front of an old-fashioned two-story house, which had
evidently survived from the days when Shadwell was more or less a
country village.  It stood a little way back from the street behind
some battered iron railings, a brass plate on the door and a red lamp
over the side entrance affording sufficient indications of its
owner's profession.

Colin advanced to the front door and rang the bell.

Its jangling had scarcely died away when there was a sound of
footsteps inside, and the next moment a flood of light streamed out
into the gloom.

A slim, sweet-faced woman, with beautiful but rather tired gray eyes,
was standing on the mat.

As soon as she saw who it was her expression lit up in a smile of
unaffected pleasure.

"Why, it's Colin!" she exclaimed.  "How delightful!  I thought it was
someone cadging for subscriptions."

Colin shook his head.  "It's not money we want, lady," he said, "it's
tea."  He pulled Nancy forward into the light.  "By the way, let me
introduce Miss Nancy Seymour.  Nancy--Mary; Mary--Nancy."

"Oh, I'm so sorry.  Please forgive me.  I thought you were alone."
She pressed Nancy's hand in a friendly welcome, and then, stepping
back, shepherded them into the hall.

"Take Miss Seymour upstairs, Colin," she said.  "You'll find Mark in
the study.  He's just finished work.  You must excuse my deserting
you for a moment.  It's Martha Jane's day out, so I'm getting tea."

"Can I help?" inquired Nancy.

She shook her head with another smile.  "Everything's ready," she
answered.  "You go along with Colin, and I'll be up in a minute.
I've only got to fetch the crumpets."

She disappeared in the direction of the back regions, and having
deposited his hat and coat on the hall table, Colin led the way
upstairs.

As they reached the first landing a door on the right opened, and
Mark himself appeared on the threshold.  He had a large cherry-wood
pipe in his mouth, and he had discarded his frock coat in favour of a
Norfolk jacket.

"Hullo, Colin!" he exclaimed.  "I thought I heard your musical voice.
Why the devil----"

He stopped short as he suddenly caught sight of Nancy.

"You shouldn't swear in front of ladies," said Colin reprovingly.
"It's not done in the best medical circles."

Mark came forward with an embarrassed air.

"I say, please excuse me," he stammered.  "I didn't see there was any
one else there."

"It's all right," said Nancy, laughing.  "I've heard the expression
before--several times."

Colin looked at them both with mischievous amusement.

"Hadn't you better introduce us?" suggested Mark.  "It would be more
useful than standing there grinning like a Cheshire cat."

"I didn't think it was necessary," said Colin.  "Surely you've
guessed that you're talking to the angel?"

Mark stared at him in bewilderment.

"Talking to whom?" he inquired.

"The angel," repeated Colin.  "You asked me to find you an angel, and
here she is!"

A sudden light seemed to break in upon their host's intelligence.

"By Jove!" he exclaimed.  "You don't say so!  Come along into the
study."

He ushered them both into a snug, comfortably furnished room, lined
all round with books, where a table was set out for tea and a bright
fire was burning in the grate.

"Now, Colin," he demanded, "were you pulling my leg, or is this
really a fact?"

"Of course it's a fact," said Colin, "and a very nice one too."

"I can see that for myself," retorted Mark.  He turned to Nancy and
pushed forward a chair.  "Do sit down," he added.  "You must forgive
my being rather stupid, but I really thought Colin was joking.  You
see, I only mentioned the matter to him a few hours ago."

"It doesn't take me long to do a little job like that," said Colin,
"not when I once start it."

Nancy was about to speak when she was interrupted by a plaintive
request from outside that someone would open the door.  Colin
hastened to comply, and Mrs. Mark, carrying a teapot and a large
covered plate, sailed smilingly into the room.

"Be careful of the crumpets, Colin," she said, as he relieved her of
her burden.  "I have done them with a double lot of butter in honour
of your visit."

Mark laid his hand on his wife's shoulder.

"Mary," he said, wheeling her round so that she faced Nancy, "do you
know who this is?"

"Of course I do," was the answer.  "We were introduced to each other
on the doorstep.  I had no idea that Colin had such nice friends."

"But you haven't heard the really thrilling part of it.  This is the
dream secretary who is going to get us out of all our troubles."

"Oh, how splendid!" exclaimed Mary, but before she could add anything
further Nancy rose to her feet with a little protesting gesture.

"Please," she said, "please!  You're making me feel the most dreadful
humbug and impostor!"  She turned to Colin.  "Do tell them the truth,
Doctor Gray."

"I'm only waiting for the chance," said Colin.

With a good-natured chuckle Mark placed his pipe on the mantelpiece,
and pulled up a couple of chairs to the table.

"Fire ahead, my lad," he observed.  "That's to say, if you can eat
crumpets and talk intelligibly at the same time."

Spurred on by this encouragement, Colin set about his task with
obvious relish.  He was a good hand at telling a story, and under his
eloquent treatment the slightly unusual circumstances which had
attended his first introduction to Nancy lost nothing in dramatic
freshness.  Retailed, indeed, amid the chink of tea-cups and the
pleasant crackling of the wood fire, they seemed to appear more
romantic than ever, and both Mark and Mary listened to him with a
fascinated interest which showed itself plainly in their faces.

Having described the capture of "Ginger Dick" and done full justice
to the spirited behaviour of Nancy during the operations, he went on
to relate how he had walked back with her to the studio, and had been
admitted into the secret of her profession.

"Of course," he finished, "directly I heard that I knew where I was.
You'd asked me to find you a resourceful angel, and here she was
fluttering round Chelsea wasting her life typing out bad stories!
The whole thing was evidently a put-up job on the part of Providence."

"It seems to be like a direct answer to prayer," said Mark, with
considerable enthusiasm.  "I can hardly believe it even now."

Mary leaned across and began refilling Nancy's cup.  "My dear," she
begged, "please say that it's true.  You can't imagine how it will
relieve our feelings.  If Colin has been misrepresenting the
situation I shall burst into floods of tears."

"I am afraid he has," declared Nancy, laughing, "but only with regard
to my qualifications.  If I really thought that I could be of any use
to you, there's nothing I should like better than to come and work
here."

Mark rose to his feet and brandished the teacup triumphantly over his
head.

"This is magnificent," he exclaimed.  "What the Prayer Book calls 'a
happy issue out of all our afflictions.'"

His wife regarded him with an affectionate smile.  "You had better
control your feelings, Mark," she said.  "If you go on like that Miss
Seymour will think you're mad, and she'll probably resign straight
away."  She turned to Nancy.  "I should hate to say anything that
could possibly put you off, but I think it's only fair to give you a
word of warning.  You are so young and so pretty that it seems a
shame you should bury yourself in Shadwell.  We do our best to be
cheerful, but, you know, a doctor's practice in the East End of
London is nearly all hard work and no play.  You will probably find
it horribly depressing."

Nancy shook her head.  "I am not afraid of that," she said.  "I
rather like hard work as long as it's useful.  What I'm doubtful
about is whether I can do what you want."

"Good Lord, yes," exclaimed Mark hastily.  "It's only just a matter
of common sense.  Mary would put you up to the ropes in half an hour."

"What are you doing now?" suggested the latter.  "Why don't you stay
on here and have supper with us?  There will be plenty of time before
then to give you a rough idea of what the work is like, and we can
settle up the whole thing straight away."

Mary glanced at Colin.  "It sounds a good idea," she agreed.  "I
suppose I can get home by train?"

"You won't have to worry about that," said Colin.  "I'll take the car
up to the garage and do my repairs, and then come down again and join
you here."

In a half-humorous, half-wistful fashion Nancy looked round at all
three of them.

"I am not used to people being so kind," she said.  "Unless
somebody's disagreeable soon I am afraid I shall begin to cry."

Mary came up to her and again squeezed her hands affectionately.
"You must never cry in this house, my dear," she said.  "It's the
only form of dissipation that Mark won't allow."

* * * * * * * * *

It was exactly two and a half hours later when Colin, straightening
himself with a grunt, turned triumphantly to the pessimistic Davis.

"I think we've fixed her this time," he observed, wiping his hands on
his dungaree trousers.  "It will be nice to be able to push along at
a reasonable pace without feeling that something's going to give."

The other lifted up the front seat and thrust away the spanner which
he had been holding in his hand.

"It didn't seem to make much difference," he replied, "not judgin' by
the way you started off this afternoon.  I was half expectin' you and
that young lady to come back on a couple of stretchers."

"Oh, we got along all right," said Colin.  "Miss Seymour enjoyed the
drive very much indeed."

"Did she?" was the somewhat incredulous answer.  "Well, I reckon if
she knew the state that steering gear was in she must be hard up for
a bit of excitement."

Colin laughed, and, stripping off his overalls, stuffed them away
into an open locker.

"You had better let me have the key," he said.  "I don't suppose I
shall be back till about eleven.  I have promised to go down to
Shadwell for supper, only I must slip round to the hospital and tidy
myself up first."

Davis handed over the desired article, and a few minutes afterward,
leaving his car in the gutter, Colin hurried up the steps of St.
Christopher's and passed in through the swing doors.

On catching sight of him the porter stepped out from his box.

"Telegram for you, sir," he announced.  "Come in about a quarter of
an hour ago."

Colin paused beneath the big centre light and, ripping open the
envelope, pulled out its contents.

The message was short but very much to the point:


    "Please call at the Red Lodge to-morrow three-thirty.--CARTER."





CHAPTER THREE

In the days when a young and promising draper, called Mr. John
Barker, had recently opened a small shop in the High Street,
Kensington, Campden Hill was a singularly attractive place to live
in.  The favourite resort of affluent artists, retired judges, and
other persons of culture and dignity, it still managed to retain a
semi-rural tranquillity unknown to any other part of central London.

Time, however, which has dealt nobly with Mr. Barker, has
unfortunately robbed the district of most of its former charm.  Of
the old-fashioned houses which stood formerly in their own pleasant
grounds only a sadly thinned remnant now survive.  Tucked away in odd
corners, amid an ever-encroaching flood of "desirable modern
residences," they seem to wait sadly for the hour when, in a cloud of
dust and mortar, the relentless tapping of the pick serves for their
funeral bell.

The Red Lodge, the home of Professor Carter, dated back to the
leisured days of George the Third.  It was a square, creeper-clad
house, surrounded by a high wall, with a covered passageway leading
up from the street to the front door.  Through the outside gate, the
upper half of which consisted of an iron grille, the curiously minded
passer-by could, by straining his neck, just obtain a glimpse into
the neglected garden.  Whether it were worth his while to indulge in
such contortions, however, was a matter of some doubt, for a desolate
expanse of ill-kept lawn, dotted here and there with stunted bushes
and overhung by gaunt trees, was the only prospect that rewarded his
enterprise.

Standing on the pavement, Colin inspected what was probably his
future residence with a considerable amount of curiosity.  He was not
in the least fanciful, but even to a thoroughly healthy imagination
the old house certainly presented a forlorn and rather mysterious
aspect.  There seemed to him nothing surprising in the fact that,
having once been burgled, the Professor had begun to feel the need of
a trustworthy assistant, especially if he were engaged in researches
which would undoubtedly possess a large financial value.

On the right of the gate a rusty bell-handle lolled out dejectedly
from its socket.  Colin gave it a vigorous pull, and a distant
jingling somewhere inside the house told him that the wire was still
in working order.

Looking through the grille, he waited patiently for the best part of
a minute.  At last he heard the sound of somebody fumbling with a
chain, then the front door opened, and an old, bent woman came slowly
down the steps.

Holding her shawl together with one hand, she shuffled along to the
end of the passage and peered at him through the ironwork.

"Are you the gentleman that's expected?" she asked suspiciously.

"It's quite likely," said Colin.  "Anyhow, I had a telegram from
Professor Carter asking me to call at three-thirty."

"That must be right, then," was the somewhat grudging answer, and,
turning the lock, she pulled back the gate just wide enough for him
to enter.

Following her up the passageway and through the front door, Colin
found himself in a big, well-lighted hall, at the back of which a
couple of French windows opened out into the garden behind.  Several
pieces of massive Victorian furniture were ranged symmetrically round
the walls, and a broad, thickly carpeted staircase led up to the
landing above.

"If you'll step into the library," observed his guide, "I'll tell Mr.
Carter you've come."

She opened a door on the right, and, accepting her invitation, Colin
passed through into a long, cheerless apartment, three sides of which
were almost completely lined with books.  There was no fire in the
grate, and such chairs as there were looked so extremely
uncomfortable that only the most hardened man of letters could have
described it as an agreeable resort.

Colin did not attempt to sit down.  After a cursory glance round he
walked over to the nearest bookcase and began to examine the titles
of some of the volumes, all of which appeared to deal with scientific
subjects, a fair proportion of them being in French and German.  He
was deep in this occupation when he heard the door open, and,
wheeling round quickly, he found the Professor coming toward him.

Like every other young investigator, Colin was more or less familiar
with photographs of his host, but all the same the latter's
appearance in real life came to him with something of a shock.  A
very old man, wearing a skull cap, from which long white hair hung
down over his collar, he seemed at first sight to be almost pitifully
frail and feeble.  It was only when a second glance revealed the
gleam which still lurked behind his gold spectacles and the dour,
obstinate lines of his mouth and chin that this sense of physical
weakness was swept away by a sudden impression of extraordinary
intellectual power and immense force of character.

With a little exclamation of annoyance he advanced to where Colin was
standing.

"I am sorry that you should have been left alone in this ice house,"
he began in a high, quavering voice.  "I can't imagine why Mrs.
Ramsay showed you in here, except that she happens to be a born fool."

Colin accepted the thin, veined hand which the old scientist offered
him.

"I have been quite happy, thank you, sir," he said.  "I have been
inspecting your library."

"I trust that you found something to entertain you," was the answer.
"There are some interesting books here, but, unfortunately, they are
mixed up with a good deal of trash.  Every ignoramus who airs his
views on some subject about which he knows nothing seems to think it
necessary to send me a copy."  He turned toward the entrance.  "You
had better come into my study," he added.  "There is a nice fire
there, and we can talk in comfort."

Leading the way to the door, he conducted Colin across the hall into
another and almost similarly shaped room exactly opposite.  Here also
the walls were lined with bookcases, but, thanks to the fire and one
or two easy chairs, there was a certain air of homeliness altogether
lacking in the library.

The Professor made a gesture towards a dilapidated couch.

"Sit down, Mr. Gray," he continued.  "I don't know whether you
appreciate a good cigar, but if you do I can offer you something a
little out of the ordinary.  Of course, if you are sufficiently young
and barbarous to prefer a pipe don't hesitate to say so."

"Well, I'm not an expert," admitted Colin.  "All the same, I like to
improve my education when I get the chance."

The old man smiled grimly, and, moving across to a black oak bureau
in the corner, returned with a box of long, delicately shaped Havanas.

"Smoking is the one pleasure left which I can still enjoy," he
explained.  "Under the circumstances, I take particular care to have
the best."

He waited until Colin had lighted up, and then, following his
example, placed the box on the table between them and seated himself
in a big armchair in front of the fire.

"And now, my young friend," he said, "let us get to business.  I
believe that Onslow has said something to you about my reasons for
asking you to come and see me."

Colin nodded.  "Sir George called at the hospital yesterday," he
said.  "I understood from him that you were thinking of engaging a
resident assistant, and that he had suggested me as a possible
choice."

The Professor drew down the corners of his mouth in a dry smile.

"Oh, you understood that, did you?" he remarked.  "Well, it's hardly
the impression which Onslow conveyed to me.  From the enthusiastic
fashion in which he spoke about your abilities I gathered that I
should be remarkably fortunate if you would even consider the
proposal."

Colin flushed handsomely.  "Sir George has always been uncommonly
kind to me," he said, "but he knows that I should regard it as a
tremendous honour to be allowed to work under you."

The Professor looked at him over the top of his spectacles.

"Well, I am glad to hear you speak so sensibly.  Most clever young
men are intolerably conceited."  He paused.  "I think I ought to make
the situation quite plain before we go any further.  As Onslow may
have mentioned, this suggested arrangement of mine isn't quite the
compliment to your professional skill which it appears to be on the
surface."

Colin laughed.  "Yes, I know about that, sir," he replied.  "I can
only say that if you will allow me to assist you in the daytime I
don't care how many burglars I have to tackle at night."

"It's hardly likely to be a regular feature of your duties," returned
the Professor.  "Still, the fact remains that this house has been
broken into once, and there seems to be no apparent reason why the
same thing shouldn't happen again."

"Did you lose much?" asked Colin.

The old man shook his head.  "Nothing that I am aware of.  My
visitor, whoever he was, got into this room by the window.  The only
thing damaged was that desk in the corner."  He nodded toward the
black oak bureau.  "The safe over there in which I generally keep a
certain amount of money, was absolutely untouched."

"He might have been interrupted in the middle of his job," suggested
Colin.

"He might have been," assented the Professor, "but as it happens he
wasn't.  It was not until Mrs. Ramsay came in here the next morning
that we had the least idea anything was wrong."

Colin leaned forward and knocked off his ash into the fireplace.  "It
seems rather an extraordinary thing," he remarked.  "Had you any
specially valuable papers--I mean, anything like a description of
some new scientific process--which people might want to get hold of?"

"I daresay I had," was the answer, "but if so it was certainly not in
that desk.  I keep everything relating to my work in a special
cabinet in the laboratory.  You would think that a gentleman who was
sufficiently intelligent to try to steal things of that nature would
at least assure himself first that he was on the right ground."

"What had the police got to say about it?" Colin inquired.  "I
suppose you called them in?"

"I did nothing of the sort," returned the Professor abruptly.  "I
have only a very limited amount of time remaining to me, and there
are plenty of excellent ways in which I can occupy it.  Because some
lunatic chooses to break open my desk and rummage through my papers I
fail to see why I should waste several valuable hours standing in a
witness box answering superfluous and probably impertinent questions.
All the same, these sorts of experiences are extremely upsetting to a
man of my age.  They alarm the household and they distract me from my
work.  In case of a similar experience, I should be glad to feel that
there was someone on the premises who could be trusted to act with
promptness and efficiency."

"You can depend on me for that," said Colin, "as long as I'm not
asleep."

There was a brief pause while the Professor took off his spectacles
and polished them with a red silk handkerchief.

"Well, now that we understand each other," he continued, "I think it
would be as well to discuss one or two practical details.  With
regard to your remuneration, for instance.  I don't know what you are
getting at St. Christopher's, but I propose to give you four hundred
a year.  You will have no expenses living in the house, so unless you
are foolishly extravagant that ought to be quite an adequate salary."

"It will do me very nicely," said Colin.  "As a matter of fact, I've
got a little money of my own, and the only extravagant habit I've
developed so far is keeping a car."

The Professor grunted.  "When I was your age," he remarked, "young
men either walked or rode.  Still, as long as you are capable of
amusing yourself it doesn't matter to me how you spend your leisure
time."  He replaced his spectacles and returned the handkerchief to
his breast pocket "I shall give instructions that you are to be
properly looked after, but whether they will be carried out is
another matter.  Since my man Kennedy left me I have had no one in
the house except Mrs. Ramsay and the cook.  They are both old, like
myself, and my own wants are so simple that their ideas of catering
are probably a little on the Spartan side.  If you find you are
uncomfortable, or that you are not getting enough to eat and drink,
you must let me know."  He paused.  "As for recreation or
entertainment--well, if you are expecting anything of that nature you
are coming to the wrong place.  The only visitor I ever have is my
solicitor, Mr. Medwin, whom, by the way, I am expecting this
afternoon.  I warn you frankly that unless you can throw yourself
into your work you will find life here intolerably dull."

Colin shook his head.  "I don't think we need discuss that, sir," he
said cheerfully.  "Anyway, as far as my present feelings are
concerned I wouldn't change places with any one in England."

With another and rather more approving grunt the Professor hoisted
himself slowly out of his chair.

"You seem to have some sense, my young friend," he observed.  "How
would you like to come along and look at the laboratory?  I don't
suppose Medwin will be here for another twenty minutes."

"I should like it very much," said Colin promptly.

He rose to his feet, and, dropping the stump of his cigar into the
fire, followed his host out of the room and along the hall.  On
reaching the French windows the Professor turned to the left, and,
having descended a couple of steps, pulled up in front of a
solid-looking door, which he proceeded to unlock with a Yale key.

"This, of course, is not part of the original house," he explained.
"I had it built on about twenty years ago, and one way and another
it's cost me a pretty penny, I can tell you."

He led the way inside, and, with an air of pride that he made no
effort to conceal, turned on the electric light.

For a private laboratory the place was certainly unique.  A large,
lofty room, roofed with glass and lined with white tiles, it appeared
to have been fitted up with a complete disregard for expense that
would have excited envy in the most lavishly endowed American
university.

For several seconds Colin stood looking round in voiceless
appreciation.  His eyes wandered in turn over the shining array of
taps and switches, the enamelled basins, the big electric furnace,
and all the other up-to-date appliances which gleamed invitingly
under the hard, unshaded light.

At last, with a sigh of satisfaction, he turned to the Professor.

"As long as I can work here," he said, "I don't care what I have to
eat or drink."

Evidently pleased with his companion's enthusiasm, the old man closed
the door carefully behind them, and, having replaced the key in his
pocket, started off on an explanatory tour of the room.  With the
absorption of an expert loosed upon his favourite topic, he moved
methodically along from one spot to another, stopping in front of
each object in turn to explain or demonstrate its various uses.

Colin, who was more than content to play the part of a listener,
followed him round in absolute silence.  Familiar as he was with all
the latest developments in research, his acquaintance with many
branches was naturally of a rather superficial nature, and, although
he was prepared for something of the sort, the apparent depth and
accuracy of the Professor's knowledge filled him with amazed respect.

To what height this feeling might have attained it is impossible to
say, for just as they had arrived at the electric furnace a sudden
tap on the door interrupted their proceedings.

With an impatient click of his tongue the aged scientist glanced
sharply round in the direction of the sound.

"Now who the devil's that?" he exclaimed.  "I have given orders
repeatedly that when I'm in here I am not to be disturbed."

He shuffled wrathfully down the room, and, jerking open the door,
revealed the lean figure of Mrs. Ramsay.

"What's the matter?" he demanded.  "Why don't you obey my
instructions?"

"It's no good getting cross," returned the housekeeper impassively.
"You asked Mr. Medwin to call, and you can't leave 'im sitting in the
study."

"Oh, he's come, has he?" was the slightly mollified answer.  "Well,
in that case I suppose we had better go along and make ourselves
civil to him."  He turned to Colin, who had followed him to the door.
"You will stay to tea, of course?" he added.

Colin, who was trying hard not to smile, expressed his willingness,
and, having closed and locked the laboratory, the Professor conducted
him back through the hall to the room which they had recently quitted.

A big, clean-shaven, middle-aged man, who was standing in front of
the fire, stepped forward at their entrance.

"I hope I am not too punctual," he began, in a curiously smooth
voice.  "I think four o'clock was the time you mentioned in your
letter."

He shook hands with his host, and at the same time his glance
travelled inquisitively toward Colin.

"That's quite correct," replied the Professor.  "I was just showing
the laboratory to my young friend here.  By the way, let me introduce
you.  Doctor Gray--Mr. Medwin."

Colin felt his hand enveloped in a large, soft palm, while a pair of
very acute eyes rapidly scanned his face.

"I am delighted to meet you," said Mr. Medwin.

"It's a pleasure that you will probably have on future occasions,"
observed the Professor.  "Doctor Gray is coming to live here as my
resident assistant."

It seemed to Colin that in spite of his bland manner the lawyer was
momentarily disconcerted.

"Really," he observed, after a slight hesitation, "I had no idea that
you were contemplating anything of that sort."

"I don't suppose you had," said the Professor drily.  "The idea only
occurred to me last week, but when I make up my mind I generally act
upon it at once.  If you will forgive my saying so, Medwin, it's a
habit that some members of your profession might cultivate with
advantage."

Mr. Medwin, who appeared to have recovered his self-possession,
smiled affably.

"I won't dispute the statement," he said.  "There's no doubt that,
taking us altogether, we're a dilatory lot."

The arrival of Mrs. Ramsay with the tea made a temporary diversion,
and, having requested Colin to officiate, the Professor seated
himself on the couch alongside his visitor.

"What I chiefly wanted to see you about," he began, "was that new
agreement with the American Dye Company.  I had a letter from them
yesterday, and, with their usual transatlantic hustle, they are
anxious to get the matter settled up at once."

"Well, there's no reason why it shouldn't be," returned the other.
"I went through the papers last night, and they all seem to be in
order.  If I had known you were in a hurry I would have brought them
along."  He paused.  "Perhaps Doctor Gray would be good enough to
stroll back with me as far as my house after tea.  In that case I can
hand them over to him.  I would fetch them myself, but,
unfortunately, I have an engagement."

"I can manage that all right," said Colin.  "I sha'n't be wanted at
the hospital until seven."

He finished pouring out the tea, and, having distributed the cups,
took the vacant seat on the farther side of the fireplace.

Somehow or other the personality of the big, suave solicitor had
already inspired him with a vague distrust.  He always disliked men
with soft hands and that particular type of voice, especially when,
as in the present case, their eyes were unpleasantly close together.

He had, too, an instinctive feeling that, in spite of his apparent
friendliness, Mr. Medwin was by no means disposed to regard him as a
desirable addition to the Red Lodge.  Whether it was a mere whim of
the latter's, or whether he resented the prospect of anybody else
being mixed up with the Professor's business affairs, it was
impossible to guess.  The only thing Colin felt sure about was that
the announcement of his engagement had come to the other as a
distinctly unwelcome surprise.

After chatting away amiably for about twenty minutes, Mr. Medwin at
length rose to his feet and announced that it was time for him to be
taking his departure.

"I live quite close by, in Albert Terrace," he added, turning to
Colin, "so if you are in no special hurry it's hardly worth while
bothering about a taxi.  You can walk there and back in a quarter of
an hour."

"And I shall be extremely obliged to you for your trouble, Gray,"
interposed the Professor.  "It will be a great convenience to me to
have the papers to-night.  I am really beginning to wonder how I have
managed to get along all this time without you."

Colin laughed, and, picking up his hat from the side table where he
had originally placed it, followed the still smiling Mr. Medwin out
into the hall and along the covered passageway.

They exchanged no remark until the iron gate had closed behind them,
when, turning down the hill, his new acquaintance addressed him with
an air of good-natured amusement.

"A queer character, our old friend," he observed.  "I always say he
might have stepped bodily out of one of Dickens's books."  He paused,
and eyed Colin again with that sharp, penetrating glance of his.
"Have you known him long?" he added.

"Not very," said Colin.  "About an hour, to be exact."

Mr. Medwin raised his eyebrows.

"Really!" he exclaimed.  "Then I suppose your arrangement to come and
live at the Red Lodge was only decided this afternoon?"

Colin nodded.

"I wonder what put the idea into his head," continued the lawyer.
"It's almost the last thing one would have expected from such a
confirmed old hermit."

For a moment Colin hesitated.  The question was natural enough, but
since the Professor had chosen to remain silent he thought it better
to keep his own counsel.

"There is a lot of hard work in connection with research," he
replied.  "When a man gets to his age he's bound to require a certain
amount of help."

"Yes, yes, that's true, of course," assented the other.  "As a matter
of fact, I have suggested to him several times myself that he was
overtaxing his strength.  The only thing that surprises me is his
proposal that you should live in the house."  He paused.  "If you
won't think me inquisitive, may I ask how you came to make his
acquaintance?"

"There was nothing very remarkable about it," said Colin.  "I happen
to be house surgeon at St. Christopher's, and Sir George Onslow, one
of the visiting physicians, was good enough to mention my name to
him."

"I have often heard of St. Christopher's," returned Mr. Medwin
pleasantly.  "A client of mine, Lord Cleveland, was vice-chairman for
several years.  You'll find your new existence rather dull, won't
you, after the life and bustle of a big hospital?"

"I don't expect to," said Colin.  "I am extremely interested in
research work, and from what I have seen of the Professor I think we
shall get along together very nicely."

As he spoke they came out into the High Street, and, not knowing
which way to turn, he glanced inquiringly at his companion.

"Straight across the road," said Mr. Medwin.  "It's only just round
the corner out of Kensington Square."

They made their way through the traffic, and a few minutes' walk
brought them to a row of small white, semi-detached houses, each one
standing back behind a narrow strip of garden.

Mr. Medwin pulled up in front of the third, and opened the gate for
Colin.

"This is my chateau," he announced.  "Not quite so magnificent as the
Red Lodge, but it does well enough for a middle-aged bachelor."

He proceeded up the path, and, unlocking the front door, ushered
Colin into a tiny hall, the walls of which were hung round with
valuable sporting prints.

"I prefer a small house to a flat," he continued, "and I am lucky
enough to have a French manservant and his wife, who run the entire
place for me."

He opened a door to the left, and, switching on the electric light,
revealed a charmingly furnished dining-room.

"Perhaps you won't mind waiting in here for a moment," he added.
"You will find some whisky and soda and a box of cigarettes on the
sideboard.  Make yourself at home while I go and fetch the papers."

With another genial smile he disappeared into the opposite apartment,
and, accepting his invitation, Colin strolled across the room and
helped himself to a cigarette.

It was quite evident that, although he was contented with a small
house, Mr. Medwin was a gentleman of taste and means.  The fine
Persian carpet, the harmoniously coloured curtains, and the admirably
preserved Chippendale chairs could only have been the choice of a man
who was blessed with an ample income and a cultivated feeling for
beautiful surroundings.

Having surveyed everything with leisurely appreciation, Colin mixed
himself a drink and sauntered back to the fireplace.  He had taken a
sip and was reaching up to deposit his glass upon the mantelpiece
when a small photograph in a silver frame suddenly attracted his
attention.  He paused mid-way and stared at it with interest.  It was
a snapshot of a man upon horseback--a rough amateur effort,
apparently taken just before the start of a steeplechase.

The rider's face was turned full toward him, and, slightly out of
focus as the negative was, the features seemed curiously familiar.
He lifted it down and examined it more closely.  The impression that
it was a picture of someone whom he had met became stronger than
ever, but although he racked his memory he could get no nearer toward
placing the original.

He was still puzzling over the problem when he heard footsteps
crossing the hall.  Replacing the frame in its former position, he
faced round toward the door, and the next moment Mr. Medwin entered
carrying a large envelope in his hand.

"There are the papers," he said, handing them to Colin.  "I am sorry
to have kept you waiting."  His eye fell upon the glass, and with an
approving nod he turned away in the direction of the sideboard.  "I
think I shall have to follow your example," he added, "if it's merely
to drink success to your new venture."

He splashed some spirit into a tumbler and filled it up with water.

"My best wishes!" he said heartily, "and I hope that the experiment
will prove a complete success."

"I hope so, too," returned Colin.  "It certainly looks promising
enough as far as it's gone at present."

The lawyer emptied his glass and replaced it beside the tantalus.

"I shall be very interested to hear how you get on," he continued.
"The Professor is a wonderful old gentleman, but of course he's
inclined to be a trifle eccentric.  With a little tact, however, I
think you ought to manage him excellently.  As soon as you have
settled down you must come round to dinner one night and tell me all
about it."

Colin made some conventional reply to the effect that he would be
delighted, though, as a matter of strict accuracy, the prospect of
his confiding in Mr. Medwin seemed to him to be a particularly remote
one.

However, he shook hands cordially enough, and, escorted by his host
as far as the garden gate, started off briskly down the terrace on
his return journey.

He had reached the corner and was just turning into Kensington Square
when his thoughts suddenly went back to the photograph which he had
been examining in the dining-room.

At the same moment a flash of memory darted through his mind, and he
pulled up short with a half-stifled exclamation.

He knew now!

It was a portrait of Major Fenton, the man to whom Nancy had
introduced him outside her studio.




CHAPTER FOUR

Colin finished his coffee and looked inquiringly across the table.

"Have you any special plans for this afternoon?" he asked.  "If not,
I thought I'd get on with that new parcel of stuff from Paris.  The
sooner it's sorted out and classified the better."

The Professor, who was engaged in selecting a cigar, stopped in the
middle of the operation.

"Let me see, Gray," he observed, "how long have you been with me?"

Colin reflected for a moment.  "I came on a Wednesday," he said.
"That will be three weeks to-morrow."

"And I believe," continued the Professor, "that except for a few
occasional pauses for sleep and refreshment, you have spent the whole
of that period shut up in the laboratory."

Colin gave a protesting laugh.  "Well, I wanted to get the hang of
things as soon as possible," he replied.  "I can stand a lot of work
provided it's interesting."

"That appears to be the truth," admitted his employer.  "All the
same, every piece of machinery has its breaking-point, and, as I am
beginning to find you extremely useful, I have no wish that you
should suddenly collapse.  You will therefore oblige me by going out
into the open air and not showing your face inside this house again
until bedtime."

"Just as you please, sir," said Colin, pushing back his chair.  "I
suppose it would be no use my suggesting that you should try a little
of the same prescription yourself?"

The Professor shook his head.  "I am more favourably situated than
you, my young friend," he replied.  "In the course of nature I shall
soon have all the rest that I need."  He chuckled at his own sombre
jest, and, coming forward, laid his hand on Colin's shoulder.  "You
have been of very real assistance, to me, Gray," he added, "but there
is no sense in flogging a willing horse.  I can quite well spare you
to-day, so off you go, whether you like it or not."

Colin, who had been long enough at the Red Lodge to know the futility
of arguing, at once rose to his feet.

"I will see if I can rout out Mark Ashton," he said, "that doctor pal
of mine I was telling you about the other day.  I should think that
with any luck we ought to be able to carry on until midnight."

He accepted a cigar which the Professor offered him, and, making his
way to the telephone in the hall, rang up the Shadwell surgery.

"Hullo!" came a voice, "Who's that?  Colin?  Why, good Lord, man, we
thought you were dead!"

"Why should I be dead?" retorted Colin.  "I'm not one of your
patients."

He heard a laugh at the other end of the wire.

"As a matter of fact," he continued, "I'm just starting off to pay
you a visit."

"Splendid!" was the answer.  "Mary's still away up North, but you'll
find me here, and Miss Seymour, too.  What more could you want?"

"Nothing," assented Colin.  "I was going to suggest that if you can
get away this evening I should take you both out to a theatre."

"No chance of that," replied Mark regretfully.  "At least, not so far
as I'm concerned.  I might spare Miss Seymour if you'll do something
for me on your way here."

"What is it?"

"I left an umbrella in a taxi last night, a very superior umbrella,
with Mark Ashton engraved on the handle.  If you're driving down you
might look in at the Lost Property Office and see whether it's turned
up."

"Right you are," said Colin.  "I shall be along in about an hour."

He hung up the receiver, and, putting away the Professor's cigar in
an inside pocket, donned his hat and coat and proceeded to leave the
house.

A little way down the hill, in a side mews off Vicarage Gardens, he
had discovered a new garage, to which he had recently transferred his
patronage.  The car was ready for him, and a few minutes later he was
seated at the driving wheel, skilfully threading his way through the
crowded traffic that renders High Street, Kensington, such a
stimulating thoroughfare.

Big Ben was in the act of striking three as he arrived at Westminster
Bridge.  He pulled up outside the entrance to the Lost Property
Office, and, pushing open the swing door, advanced to the counter,
where a stalwart constable was thoughtfully scratching his head with
the stump of a pencil.

Having listened in silence to Colin's inquiry, the man got down from
his seat and disappeared into the back regions, returning almost
immediately with the umbrella in his hand.

"You'll have to sign your name here," he announced, pushing forward
an official-looking paper.

"And there'll be two and sixpence reward for the driver."

Without entering upon any superfluous explanations, Colin paid over
the desired sum, and, after neatly forging Mark's signature, made his
way back to the car.  He was leaning over the side door, storing away
his trophy, when a gruff voice suddenly addressed him from the
pavement behind.

"Doctor Gray, unless I'm much mistaken!"

Turning round promptly, he found himself face to face with the burly,
shrewd-eyed figure of Inspector Marsden.

"I thought I was right," continued the detective.  "It's part of my
business to recognize people by their back view."

Colin gripped the large and efficient-looking hand which the speaker
extended to him.

"I'm awfully glad to see you again," he said heartily.  "I hope
you're none the worse for that little dust-up in the King's Road?"

"Still a bit sore in the ribs," was the answer.  "I fancy the beauty
who got that kick in must have been a footballer at some time or
other in his career.  I'll give him football if I ever find out which
of 'em it was."

"How about our ginger-haired friend?" inquired Colin.  "I've been
expecting to hear every day that I was wanted as a witness."

"You'll be wanted all right," replied the Inspector.  "He's under
remand at present, and I don't suppose the case will come on for
another month.  There are several pretty black marks against Master
Dick, and we hope to collect enough evidence to put him out of
business for some considerable period."  He paused.  "By the way," he
added, "if you've a few minutes to spare, come along up to our place
and let me introduce you to one or two of the boys.  I told them what
you did for us the other day, and they'd be glad of the chance of
shaking hands with you."

Knowing that Mark was unlikely to be free until four o'clock, Colin
decided that he might as well accept the invitation.  He had never
been inside Scotland Yard, and the prospect rather appealed to him.

"What shall I do with the car?" he asked.  "Leave it here?"

"Better bring it into the yard," said the Inspector.  "No one will
try to pinch it then--not unless he's a bit of an optimist."

Getting into his seat, Colin started forward alongside his companion,
and turned in through the big iron gates which guard the headquarters
of the London Police Force.

There were several other cars standing against the wall, and, leaving
his own in company with them, he followed the Inspector through a low
doorway and up a long flight of stone stairs.

They emerged into a broad corridor with doors on either side.

"Here we are!" announced his guide, halting in front of the second.
"I don't know who's on duty to-day, but we're sure to find somebody
about."

He led the way into a large, business-like apartment, the principal
furniture of which consisted of a couple of roll-top desks.  At one
of them was seated an alert-looking man in a well-cut blue suit, who
glanced up sharply at their entrance.

"Hullo, Pat!" said the Inspector.  "I've got someone here I want to
introduce you to.  This is Doctor Gray of St. Christopher's Hospital."

The other laid down his pen, and, rising from his chair, shook
Colin's hand.

"You're welcome, sir," he said, with a distinctly Irish accent.  "We
have heard all about you from our friend Marsden.  My name is
O'Brien--Inspector Patrick O'Brien.  I am pleased to have the
privilege of making your acquaintance."

"It's very nice of you to put it like that," said Colin.  "I don't
think I deserve any particular compliments, though.  I only did what
any one else would have done who had happened to be on the spot."

Both men smiled.

"That may be your impression," was the answer, "but you can take it
from me that you're a trifle off the mark.  Watching a police officer
kicked to death is one of the public's favourite entertainments."

"O'Brien comes from Dublin, you see," put in Marsden, "so you must
make allowances for a touch of bitterness."  He pulled forward a
chair, and, thrusting his hand into his pocket, produced a large
rubber pouch.  "Make yourself comfortable and try a pipe of this
tobacco, doctor," he added.  "It was given to me by a ship's captain,
and they don't generally go far wrong--not from what I've seen of
them."

Colin took the proffered seat, and, drawing out his briar, proceeded
to fill it carefully with the fragrant brown flakes.

"I'm rather interested in 'Ginger Dick,'" he remarked.  "One would
hardly take him for a Napoleon of crime, judging by his appearance."

"No, his looks aren't anything to shout about," agreed Marsden.  "All
the same, he's a dangerous little devil if ever there was one.  As I
told you the other day, he's in with all the lowest scum of the Turf,
and, thanks to him and his crowd, there are several of our boys on
the retired list, and likely to remain there."

"It never occurred to me before," said Colin, "but I suppose there
are healthier occupations than being a detective on a racecourse."

"You can back on that," was O'Brien's rejoinder.  "I've had some of
it myself, and, though I'm partial to what you may call an active
life, I wasn't exactly sorry when they shifted me to another
department."

"Tell him some of your experiences, Pat," suggested Inspector
Marsden.  "It's no use having a distinguished guest if you don't try
to entertain him."

The Irishman, who apparently only needed this encouragement, plunged
at once into a series of reminiscences, all dealing with that dark
underworld of ruffianism which lurks furtively beneath the brilliant
surface of racing.  He told his stories well, and Colin, who knew
little or nothing about the Turf, listened to him with absorbed
interest.  It was not, indeed, until the hands of the office clock
were pointing to the half-hour that he reluctantly knocked out his
pipe into the fireplace and rose from his chair.

"I hate to break up this cheerful party," he said truthfully, "but
I've promised to be down in Shadwell by four, and I've got an
unpleasant sort of feeling that I must be keeping you both from your
work."

"Oh, you needn't worry about that," replied Marsden, smiling.  "I'm
fixed here until midnight anyway, and, no matter how busy Pat is, he
can always find time to talk."

"I want to hear some more of his reminiscences," said Colin, "and
yours, too.  Perhaps if you could both get away together the same
evening you would come out and feed with me?  We could go to the
Cheshire Cheese or somewhere like that.  I can't ask you to my place,
because at present I'm acting as bottle-washer to Professor Carter."

"The Cheshire Cheese sounds all right to me," said O'Brien
approvingly.  "You give us a ring when you've got a spare night, and
we'll try and fix it up."

"Things are getting altogether too one-sided," objected Marsden.
"Can't you think of a little service we could do for you, doctor,
just by way of a change?"

Colin was on the point of making some laughing disclaimer, when an
idea suddenly occurred to him.

"Would it be a lot of trouble to get me some information about a man
I was introduced to the other day?" he asked.

"Not a bit," replied Marsden.  "What's his name?"

"Fenton," said Colin.  "Major Fenton.  He's a chap of about
forty-five, tall, clean-shaven, with rather a red face.  All I know
about him is that he has been a long time abroad, and that at present
he is living in London and drives a Daimler car.  It's only a matter
of personal curiosity, but if you could find out who he is and what
sort of reputation he has I should be uncommonly grateful."

Marsden jotted down the particulars and folded up the paper.

"That ought to be simple enough," he replied.  "I'll hand this over
to Ainsworth, who's in charge of all that kind of thing, and if you
look us up in about a week we shall probably be able to give you the
gentleman's life history."

Colin expressed his thanks, and, having shaken hands with each of
them in turn, made his way back down the staircase and out into the
main courtyard.

Resuming his journey eastward, he followed the Embankment as far as
Blackfriars Bridge, where he struck off through a maze of side
streets, which eventually brought him out close to the grimy and
retired tavern presided over by Mr. Higgins.

The yard door was open, and a glance inside revealed the burly
outline of the proprietor himself, engaged in the domestic task of
washing his bull terrier.  On hearing the car he paused in his
operations and signalled to Colin to enter.

"Bring 'er along in, mister," he called out.  "Bring 'er along in,
an' look out for that bleedin' bucket."

Carrying out these instructions successfully, Colin jerked forward
over the cobblestones until he came to a halt alongside the seated
figure.

"Pleased to see yer," continued Mr. Higgins, in a hospitable tone.
"Quite a time since you was 'ere last, ain't it?"

"It's getting on for a month," admitted Colin, as he clambered out of
the car.  "In fact I've not been since the night I brought Miss
Seymour."

At the mention of Nancy's name the landlord's mottled face wreathed
itself into a smile.

"Didn't know then that you was goin' to leave 'er be'ind yer," he
observed jocularly.  "Thought you'd give us a kind of pleasant
surprise, eh, guv'nor?"

"That was the idea," replied Colin.  "I was just going to ask you if
you'd seen anything of her."

"I done more than that," was the proud rejoinder; "I've 'ad a talk
with 'er, I 'ave.  I 'appened to be outside when she come by last
Thursday, an' she stopped and chatted away as friendly as kiss me
'and.  Ah, she's one o' the right sort, she is; no blarsted frills
nor nonsense about 'er."

"I suppose she'll be quite safe going about alone?" said Colin.
"People know she's working for the doctor?"

"Lor' love yer, yus," ejaculated Mr. Higgins.  "No one wouldn't
interfere with 'er, not round 'ere.  This ain't the West End.  We
knows 'ow to be'ave ourselves in Shadwell."

"I'm just going along to the surgery now," said Colin.  "I'll tell
her some of the nice things you've been saying about her."

"You do," was the answer.  "An' you can add, with my best respecks,
mister, that if ever she'd honour this 'ouse by droppin' in and
takin' a cup o' tea, there'd be no prouder man than Bill 'Iggins, not
in the 'ole of London."

Five minutes later, with a pleasant tingle of anticipation in his
heart, Colin mounted the steps of Mark's residence and jerked briskly
at the bell.  The door was opened by Martha Jane, the fat,
grubby-faced little maid-of-all-work, who welcomed him with the grin
of an old acquaintance.

"You'll find 'em hupstairs in the study," she announced, in answer to
his inquiry.  "I know they're expectin' you, 'cos the doctor told me
not to bring tea till you came."

"Well, here I am," said Colin.  "Is there anything good to eat?"

"I'm makin' scones," replied Martha Jane.  "Some o' them yaller ones,
wot you gen'rally seems to fancy."

Colin stepped inside and deposited Mark's umbrella in the hat stand.

"You push off and continue the good work," he remarked.  "I'll find
my own way up."

Still grinning, Martha Jane closed the front door and shuffled along
the passage toward the kitchen.  Just as she disappeared there was a
sound on the landing above and Mark's spectacled face protruded
itself over the banisters.

"You've been a devil of a time coming," he observed.  "We were
beginning to think you must have had a breakdown."

"I like that!" retorted Colin, struggling out of his overcoat.  "Here
have I been chasing all round London after your infernal umbrella----"

"Oh, you've got it, have you?" interrupted Mark.  "That's topping.
You don't know how deeply indebted I am to you."

"Yes, I do," said Colin.  "Exactly half-a-crown--what I had to give
the cabman as a reward for his honesty."

Nancy's face appeared suddenly beside that of her employer and smiled
down at him in friendly welcome.

"Please don't start quarrelling about money," she said pathetically.
"I'm simply dying for a cup of tea."

There seemed to be something strangely familiar and attractive to
Colin in the mere sound of her voice, and, running lightly up the
staircase, he pressed both their hands in a simultaneous greeting.

"I'm so sorry," he exclaimed.  "I was forgetting the brutal way in
which Mark always treats his staff.  I suppose he has been working
you to death and half starving you at the same time."

"Of course I have," declared Mark.  "Look at her worn and haggard
appearance."

"Well, we haven't been exactly idle," admitted Nancy, laughing.  "All
the same, I think I am bearing up pretty well."

Mark led the way into the study, where a table was already laid, and
waved his hand toward the largest of the armchairs.

"You take the seat of honour, Colin," he said.  "It's a privilege we
always keep for distinguished strangers."

"There's no need to rub it in," objected Colin.  "I should have
looked you up ages ago if it hadn't been for my devotion to duty.
This is the first holiday I've had since I went to the Professor's."

"How are you getting on?" asked Nancy.

"Up to the present," replied Colin modestly, "I think I have given
what they call complete satisfaction."

"What's the old man like?" demanded Mark.  "Easy to live with?"

Colin hesitated.  "It all depends," he answered.  "We've managed to
hit it off well enough, but then I've rather gone out of my way to
humour his little weaknesses.  He's one of the sort that you've just
got to take or leave.  As long as you do exactly what he wants he's
kindness itself.  If any one tried to oppose him or contradict him I
should think he could be distinctly unpleasant."

"There must be a lot of people about like that," said Nancy.  "At
least, I seem to have run up against a good few."

"And how do you stand with regard to the job?" inquired Mark.  "I
suppose he doesn't let you into more secrets than he can possibly
help?"

"Oh, yes, he does," replied Colin.  "He lets me into everything.
I've soaked up so much knowledge the last three weeks that I'm
beginning to wonder whether there's anything left to learn."

Mark gazed at him with a certain amount of incredulity.  "Do you mean
to say that if he died to-morrow you would be in a position to carry
on his work?"

"I'd have a damn good shot at it, anyway," declared Colin.  "Of
course, I haven't a quarter of his ability, but he's discussed all
his ideas with me, and explained them in such detail that if I
couldn't make something or other out of them I should be next door to
an idiot."

Mark turned to Nancy and nodded his head.  "It's panning out just as
I prophesied," he said sadly.  "We sha'n't see much more of him at
Shadwell.  Before we can look round he'll be splashing about in a
Rolls-Royce and----"

His prediction was cut short by the sudden appearance of Martha Jane,
who lurched in through the doorway carrying a large tray and
breathing somewhat heavily from her exertions.

"I vote that we adjourn the discussion of my future," suggested
Colin, as they pulled up their chairs round the table.  "It's your
private affairs that interest me, Mark.  As the person responsible
for the engagement I want to know whether you are pleased with your
new assistant."

Nancy, who had seated herself in front of the tray, paused with the
teapot in mid-air.

"This is very embarrassing," she observed.  "Hadn't I better leave
the room for a few moments?"

"You go on pouring out," said Mark firmly.  "You can blush just as
well here as in the passage."  He helped himself to a scone and
pushed the plate across the table toward Colin.  "When you told us
you'd found an angel, my lad," he continued, "you were speaking the
literal truth.  I had no idea that there was another such woman in
the world apart from Mary."

"Don't listen to him," interrupted Nancy hastily.  "The truth is that
both he and Mrs. Ashton are so ridiculously good-natured that they
hadn't the heart to turn me away."

"I know Mary's opinion already," said Colin.  "I had a touching
little letter from her just before she went North.  She seems to
regard me as a highly successful understudy of Providence."

"And, by Gad, it's true!" broke in Mark with enthusiasm.  "I should
have been absolutely in the soup without Miss Seymour.  She's simply
splendid, Colin.  Down here at nine o'clock every morning, and
working away like a galley slave until seven or eight in the evening."

"Well, that's what I'm paid for," objected Nancy.  "And, besides, I
don't look on it as work.  I so enjoy the feeling that I'm doing
something useful, instead of sitting all day typing out a lot of
stories that nobody wants to read."

"What do the patients think of the arrangement?" asked Colin.  "I
gathered from Mr. Higgins that it's one of the principal topics of
local interest."

"It's been the best advertisement I ever had," replied Mark, with a
chuckle.  "I was a little doubtful at first, so I've told everybody
that Miss Seymour and Mary are first cousins.  We're rather strong on
the conventions in Shadwell, and that put everything on a nice,
respectable footing."

"I don't like tampering with the truth," said Colin.  "All the same,
it has its advantages at times."  He glanced mischievously at Nancy.
"In future, for instance," he added, "it will be obviously necessary
that we should both address you by your Christian name."

Nancy laughed.  "I never thought of that," she said.  "It shows how
unaccustomed I am to anything in the nature of deception."

"You'll soon improve," returned Colin hopefully.  "It's wonderful
what one can do after a month or two with the medical profession."
He leaned forward and selected another scone from the rapidly
dwindling pile.  "Now what about that theatre idea of mine?" he
continued.  "Can't you possibly manage it, Mark?  I'll do the thing
in a really generous way--stand you dinner and seats and drive you
both home in the car afterward."

Mark shook his head reluctantly.  "I'd come like a shot if I could,"
he replied, "but I've about twenty prescriptions to make up and a
dozen cases to attend to."  He paused.  "All the same," he added,
"there's no earthly reason why you shouldn't take Miss Seymour."

"Oh, that's not fair," protested Nancy.  "I can't go off and leave
you to do all the work."

Mark folded his arms.  "There's only one thing I demand from my
staff," he observed sternly, "and that is complete and unquestioning
obedience."  He turned to Colin.  "What you both want," he added, "is
some fresh air and a little healthy amusement.  Why not have a run
out into the country first?  It's a fine evening, and you can get
back up West in plenty of time for the theatre."

"Now I call that a jolly bright notion!" exclaimed Colin.  "What do
you say, Cousin Nancy?"

"It sounds most tempting," agreed Nancy.  "All the same, I think it
would be horribly selfish.  I am sure that if any one needs an
evening off it's the doctor.  The last thing I promised Mrs. Ashton
was not to allow him to overwork."

"I am the head of the family," insisted Mark, "and my orders are that
you leave this house directly you've finished tea.  Take her for a
good long spin to start with, Colin, give her a nice dinner, and then
get seats for something really frivolous and cheerful.  That's my
prescription, and I depend on you to see that it's properly
administered."

* * * * * * * * *

With her eyes shining, and her cheeks flushed by the wind, Nancy
stepped out of the car on to the comparatively deserted pavement of
Whitcomb Street.

"Oh!" she said with a faint sigh.  "That was simply heavenly!"

Colin, who had jumped down first to open the door, looked at her with
an approving twinkle.

"Not bad, was it?" he agreed.  "We've only been an hour and a half
and we must have done at least forty miles."

He glanced round in the direction of the Motor Club, outside which
they had alighted, and at the same moment a broad-shouldered,
seedy-looking gentleman in a dilapidated ulster suddenly appeared out
of the darkness.

"Oh, there you are, Joe," he continued.  "I want you to look after
the car for me.  We're dining and going to a theatre, so I don't
suppose I shall be back until half-past eleven."

"That's all right, sir," replied Joe comfortingly.  "You'll find me
'ere, no matter wot time you come."

"Now, where shall we make for?" inquired Colin, turning to Nancy.
"Unless you've any particular choice I suggest Romano's and the
Vaudeville."

Nancy looked a little doubtful.  "I'm thinking of my clothes," she
explained.  "I'm not fit to go anywhere really smart."

Colin studied her critically.  "Don't you believe it," he said.  "You
could walk straight into Paradise without even tidying up."

He slipped half-a-crown into Joe's hand, and, taking Nancy firmly by
the elbow, piloted her across the street in the direction of
Leicester Square.

Ten minutes later, escorted by a sympathetic manager, they were
making their way toward a small table in the balcony of the famous
Strand restaurant.

"You order the dinner," said Nancy, as they took their seats.  "I
always enjoy things much more if somebody else chooses them."

She leaned forward in her chair and looked down contentedly at the
animated scene below, while Colin picked up the menu and studied it
with becoming gravity.

"I think we'll have a little clear soup to start with," he began,
"followed by sole _à la bonne femme_, a roast grouse, and iced
meringues."  He paused.  "Do you prefer champagne or sparkling
Moselle?"

"I don't know," said Nancy frankly.  "I've never tasted either of
them."

"We'll have a half bottle of both then," said Colin.  "You can try
them and see which you like best, and I'll drink the other."

"By the way," he added, as the waiter hurried off with the order,
"have you been seeing anything of that friend of yours, Major
Fenton--the chap you introduced me to in Jubilee Place?"

For a moment Nancy remained silent.

"Why do you ask me that?" she inquired.

"Oh, I don't know," said Colin casually.  "It just happened to come
into my head."

She paused again.  "He has been round at the studio two or three
evenings," she said slowly.  "As a matter of fact, he was there last
night."

"I suppose he's heard all about your new job?"

She nodded.  "Doctor Gray----" she began.

"Make it Colin," he interrupted.  "I can't call you Nancy unless you
back me up."

"Well, Colin, then----"  She hesitated once more.  "There's something
I think I ought to tell you about Major Fenton, only--only it's
horribly difficult for me to know how to put it."

"Wait until you've had some dinner," he suggested.  "No one talks
comfortably when they're half starving."

She shook her head.  "No, now I've started I think I'd better go on
and get it over.  The first time I saw Major Fenton after we met him
together he naturally asked me who you were.  I told him what I knew
about you and how we'd become acquainted, and, although he didn't say
much, he seemed to think that I'd done wrong in asking you back to my
studio.  I suppose in a way he looks on himself as a sort of guardian
of mine."

"Perhaps he does," said Colin gravely.  "People who have lived a long
time in hot climates often suffer from hallucinations!"

"That didn't matter," continued Nancy, "but last night when he came
round he spoke about you again, and this time he said something that
made me really angry--something that I'm perfectly sure isn't true."

Colin was leaning toward her, his gray eyes alight with interest.

"What was it?" he demanded briefly.

"He--well, he didn't put it quite definitely, but he hinted that you
were not the sort of man to make a friend of; that you were leaving
the hospital on account of some dreadful scandal about one of the
nurses."

For a second Colin stared at her in blank amazement.  Then he
suddenly broke into a peal of laughter.

"Good heavens, Nancy!" he exclaimed.  "If you'd only seen 'em!"

"I didn't believe it, of course," she went on hurriedly.  "I was
certain he must be making some stupid mistake."

Colin's lips tightened.  "I object to people making mistakes of that
sort about me," he observed rather grimly.

Before Nancy could reply the waiter arrived with the soup, followed a
moment later by another, who proceeded to uncork and pour out the
wine.

"You mustn't take it too seriously," she continued, as soon as they
were alone again.  "It was a detestable thing of Major Fenton to say,
but I don't think he meant any real harm by it.  He explained that
he'd heard the story from somebody at his club, and that he'd only
repeated it to me because he felt that it was his duty.  As I told
you before, just because he once knew my father, he seems to have
some ridiculous notion that he ought to look after me."

Colin, who had been sprinkling a little pepper into his soup, looked
up with a smile.

"Well, don't let's waste our time discussing it any more," he said
cheerfully.  "It's just a silly lie, and, anyway, there are lots of
much pleasanter things to talk about."  He raised his glass.  "I'm
going to propose the health of our old pal 'Ginger Dick.'  He may
have his faults, but, after all, if it wasn't for him we shouldn't be
sitting here now."

"That's true," agreed Nancy.  "Here's to 'Ginger Dick."  She took a
long sip and then set down her glass.  "If that's sparkling Moselle,"
she added thoughtfully, "I don't think I'll bother about tasting the
champagne."

* * * * * * * * *

At about twenty minutes before midnight, faithful to his pledged
word, the reliable Joe slouched forward out of the shadows and
greeted them with a friendly salute.

"'Ere we are, guv'nor," he announced.  "All ready an' waitin' for
yer, as the grave-digger said."

He opened the door of the car for Nancy, and, making his way round to
the front, succeeded after two or three abortive efforts in starting
up the engine.

"She's a bit cold, like meself," he continued.  "It's bin freezin'
crool 'ard all the evenin', an' I reckon we both got a touch of it in
our innards."

"You must follow it up with something hot," said Colin, handing him
another half-crown.  "Rum's the best as long as you don't put too
much water into it."

"I ain't likely to," replied Joe, with a grin.  "There's quite enough
o' that done before we gets the blarsted stuff."

He pocketed the coin, and, closing the door after them, stepped back
on to the pavement.

"Good-night, sir, an' thank yer kindly.  Good-night, miss, an' Gawd
bless yer both."

"I like Joe," said Nancy, as they slid out into the glare and tumult
of Piccadilly Circus.  "Is that his profession--standing there all
night looking after cars?"

"That's his present profession," replied Colin, "but he's what you
might call come down in the world.  Before he took to drink he used
to be one of the best middle-weight boxers in England."

Nancy opened her blue eyes to their fullest extent.

"A prize-fighter?" she exclaimed.

Colin nodded.  "Joe Bates of Wapping.  One of the gamest men who ever
stepped into a ring."

"What made him take to drink?" inquired Nancy.

"I think it was chiefly the death of his wife," said Colin.  "Anyhow,
he went all to pieces about two years ago, and ended up by getting
run over in the Fulham Road.  They brought him along to St.
Christopher's, where we managed to patch him up.  I felt sorry for
the poor chap, and when he came out I got him that job at the Motor
Club.  As people go, I think he's by way of being rather grateful."

He swung clear of the traffic outside the Ritz, and with a warning
bark from the horn the little car leaped forward down the long,
brilliantly lit slope.

Turning up her coat collar with one hand, Nancy settled herself
contentedly in her seat.

"It's been a most exciting evening," she said.  "I've enjoyed every
single minute of it."

"So have I," agreed Colin with enthusiasm.  "What do you say to
repeating the experiment next week?"

"Only on one condition," replied Nancy.  "I've got to take my turn in
paying for dinner."

"But that's absurd!" protested Colin.  "I'm a great deal richer than
you are."

"No, you're not," was the indignant answer.  "Why, I'm simply rolling
in money.  I've no expenses now except the rent of my studio, and
Doctor Ashton pays me at least twice what I'm worth."

"I don't believe that," said Colin.  "Still, if you're determined to
be proud and ostentatious I suppose you must have your way."

He swerved to the left behind St. George's Hospital, and, cutting
through the select precincts of Belgrave Square, came out within a
few yards of the King's Road.  In another minute they were turning
the corner into Jubilee Place.

"Next week's a bargain, then," said Colin, as they stood facing each
other on the empty pavement.  "It's no good trying to fix a day at
present; I'll just ring up one morning and we'll arrange it over the
'phone."

Nancy nodded.  "That will be best," she said.  "You mustn't desert
the Professor--not unless he can manage all right without you."

She gave him her hand, which Colin squeezed in a friendly grip.

"Good-night, Nancy," he said.  "Sleep well, and when you see Mark,
tell him that for once in his life he actually prescribed the right
treatment."

He waited until the front door had closed behind her, and then,
having lit himself a cigarette, climbed back into the car, and
started off again in the direction of Campden Hill.

It was a few minutes after midnight when he let himself in at the
outer gate of the Red Lodge.  The light was still burning in the
hall, and, knowing from experience that the Professor frequently
continued his work until the early hours of the morning, he walked
straight through to the laboratory and tapped lightly on the door.

As he half expected, there was a creak of footsteps inside, and the
Professor himself, wearing an old Jaeger dressing gown, appeared on
the threshold.  At the same moment a peculiarly acrid and unpleasant
smell drifted past him into the passage.

"So you've come back, eh?" he said in his queer, high-pitched voice.
"I hope you enjoyed your evening?"

"I didn't do badly," replied Colin.  "I went to Shadwell, saw my
friends, had a forty-mile run in the car, and finished up with a
dinner and a theatre."

The old man nodded grimly.  "It sounds rather an exhausting form of
recreation.  I should imagine that after all that you must be quite
ready for your bed."

"Oh, I'm not tired," said Colin, "not in the slightest.  If you've
got anything on hand I should like to come in and make myself useful."

"You'll do nothing of the sort," returned the Professor.  "You will
help yourself to a whisky and soda, and then you will go straight
upstairs to your room."

Colin hesitated.  "And how about you, sir?  Surely you've done enough
work for to-day?"

"I shall be following you shortly," was the answer.  "I am only
waiting to see the result of a small experiment."

He nodded a curt good-night, and, stepping back again into the
laboratory, closed the door behind him.

Dismissed in this unceremonious fashion, Colin made his way into the
dining room, where he found a plate of sandwiches and a siphon set
out ready for him on a tray.  It was unthinkable that such an idea
could have occurred to the unaided intelligence of Mrs. Ramsay, and,
rather surprised at the Professor's consideration, he proceeded to
mix a drink, which he carried with him up the staircase.

His room was situated on the first floor--a large, comfortable
apartment looking out toward the back.  It had been fitted up since
his arrival with a gas stove, and, having lighted this and placed his
tumbler upon the dressing table, he began in a leisurely fashion to
get ready for bed.

The chief subject that occupied his thoughts was the revelation which
Nancy had made to him at dinner.  What on earth had induced Major
Fenton to concoct that ridiculous story about a scandal at St.
Christopher's Hospital?  That it was an invention of his own Colin
felt certain, and no man would take the responsibility of fathering
such a lie unless he had some particularly strong object in view.

Could he have fallen in love with Nancy himself?  If that were the
case it would certainly supply a possible motive.  Passion has a
queer effect upon some characters, and the mere thought of her making
friends with any one else might have filled him with such furious
resentment that he had clutched at the first conceivable chance of
breaking off their acquaintance.

It was a likely enough solution; and yet, somehow or other, it left
Colin unconvinced.  He had carried away a very unfavourable
impression of Nancy's self-adopted guardian, but it was an impression
that declined to fit in with this otherwise plausible theory.  Unless
his judgment were badly at fault, there was a hard, calculating
selfishness stamped upon every line of the man's face.  People of
that sort are not swept off their feet by sudden outbursts of
romantic jealousy, nor--which was another and extremely significant
consideration--do they concern themselves unduly over the welfare of
a dead friend's offspring.

It was this latter point, indeed, which puzzled Colin completely.  He
felt convinced that Major Fenton must have had some secret purpose in
hunting Nancy out and practically forcing his acquaintance upon her.
His story about a twenty-year-old friendship with her father would
have sounded well enough in a sentimental novel, but having seen the
gentleman for himself, and having had an illuminating example of his
ideas of honour and fair play, Colin found the explanation uncommonly
difficult to swallow.

Perhaps Inspector Marsden and his colleagues at the Yard would be
able to throw some light on the problem.  It would be interesting at
least to know a little about the Major's career, and whether his past
record was at all in keeping with this sudden excursion into
philanthropy.

There was another possible source of information in the person of Mr.
Medwin.  The two men were certainly acquainted, otherwise Fenton's
photograph would not have been adorning the mantelpiece in Albert
Terrace.  When he visited the house again he could easily find an
opportunity to make some casual inquiry concerning the original, only
it must be done in a sufficiently tactful manner not to arouse the
lawyer's curiosity.

In any case, this alternative course could be postponed until he had
received the Inspector's report.  The odds were that, if there was
really anything shady in Fenton's history, Marsden would succeed in
unearthing it, and since Nancy seemed to be thoroughly capable of
looking after herself, another week's delay was not likely to produce
any tragical consequences.

With this consoling reflection Colin donned his pyjamas, and, turning
out the fire, clambered into bed.  He was just in that pleasantly
drowsy stage when one feels half reluctant to fall asleep, and, lying
there with the light on, he allowed his thoughts to drift back
contentedly over the various details of his two meetings with Nancy.

It was an agreeable occupation, and the longer he indulged in it the
more he began to realize what a very necessary part of his life she
had already become.  A kind of instinctive friendship seemed to have
sprung up between them at their first encounter, and, although he had
been unable to see her again until to-day, the interval had certainly
not succeeded in making the faintest difference.

She was a girl in a thousand, there was no doubt about that!  Mark
evidently thought so, and, since he compared all women with Mary, his
standard was about as high as any one could reasonably demand.  How
enchantingly pretty she had looked as they had sat opposite to each
other at dinner.  He had only to shut his eyes and----

Hullo!  What the devil was that?

The sound had come from somewhere down below--a queer, half-deadened
noise, like the distant crash of breaking glass.

In a second Colin was out of bed and had flung open the door.  The
lights were still burning exactly as he had left them, and, striding
to the banisters, he peered over into the hall.  Nothing seemed to be
stirring; except for the steady ticking of the grandfather clock the
whole house was as silent as a tomb.

With a momentary feeling of relief he moved toward the staircase.  It
was probably only some small accident; the Professor had most likely
dropped a tumbler or broken a retort, and in the stillness of the
night the noise had been naturally exaggerated.  All the same, it
would be just as well to have a look round.

Running lightly down in his bare feet, he crossed the hall and
knocked at the laboratory door.

"It's I--Gray," he called out.  "Anything wrong, sir?"

As he spoke he turned the handle, and the next moment he found
himself standing in the open doorway, staring blankly in front of him.

The room was empty.

For the first time a real sense of misgiving suddenly took possession
of him.  He wheeled sharply round, and, hurrying back through the
hall, rapped loudly at the door of the study.

"Mr. Carter," he shouted, "are you there?"

There was no answer.

He caught hold of the brass knob, only to make another and still more
ominous discovery.  Somebody had turned the key from inside.

With a quick breath he stepped back a couple of paces, and then,
hunching up his shoulder, hurled himself against the panel.  Under
the impact of twelve stone and a few odd pounds the lock gave with a
splintering crash which echoed through the house.  The door swung
open, and at the same moment the shrill scream of a terrified woman
rang out from the top landing.

Clutching the broken woodwork to steady himself, Colin fumbled for
the switch.  His fingers closed on it in the darkness and, half
prepared as he was for some horror, an involuntary cry broke from his
lips as the whole room flared suddenly into light.

Face upward, in the centre of the French windows, lay the huddled
figure of the Professor.  One arm was twisted under him, and his
white hair was dabbled in a stream of blood which still oozed slowly
from a gaping wound in his forehead.




CHAPTER FIVE

At the sight of that hideous injury, all Colin's professional
training instinctively asserted itself.  Letting go the switch, he
sprang forward, and, heedless of the blood and broken glass, dropped
down on one knee beside the prostrate body.

It needed no medical knowledge to see that the case was hopeless.  A
terrific blow from some blunt instrument had smashed the whole front
of the skull, and portions of the crushed and bleeding brain were
even now protruding from the wound.  Death must have come with
merciful abruptness--a sudden and utter annihilation of every sense
and feeling.

Almost dazed by the blast of fury that swept through him, Colin
stumbled to his feet.  He glanced wildly round the room, and the
broken French window, one half of which was standing open,
immediately caught his eye.  Since the door had been locked from
inside, it was the only way by which the murderer could have escaped.
He had evidently darted through into the garden with the intention of
climbing the wall, and, moved by a desperate hope, Colin stepped
across the dead body and ran out on to the lawn.  A flood of
moonlight, streaming in through the bare trees, lit up the whole
desolate expanse of grass and shrubs.  Everything was perfectly
still, and, except for the faint rumbling of a cart in the distance,
the entire neighbourhood seemed to be plunged in absolute silence.

He was listening intently, with his eyes on the black line of bushes
opposite, when a slight noise in the room behind attracted his
attention.  He turned round instantly, and through the window he
caught sight of the panic-stricken figure of Mrs. Ramsay peering in
at the open doorway.

As he moved forward into the light she uttered a stifled scream.

"Don't be frightened," he said quickly.  "It's I--Doctor Gray."

Clutching at her dressing-gown with one hand, she pointed a trembling
finger toward the body.

"Oh, my Gawd, sir," she gasped, "what is it?  What's been happening?"

Colin stood in the window, his face white and set.

"The Professor has been murdered," he said.

She stared at him for a moment, as though his words conveyed no
meaning; then with a pitiful sound, like the whimpering of a beaten
dog, she staggered back against the wall.

Colin strode forward and took her by the arm.

"You must pull yourself together," he said curtly.  "This is no time
for hysterics.  I want your help--now--at once."

As he expected, his almost brutal words had the desired result.  She
stopped crying, and once more her terrified glance travelled round in
the direction of the dead man.

"Who--who killed him?"

Colin shook his head.  "I don't know.  When I came down the study
door was locked from inside.  I broke it open and found him lying
here--like this."

"It must have been the same man," she whispered; "the one who tried
to burgle his desk."  She caught hold of Colin's sleeve, and looked
up imploringly into his face.  "Oh, sir, can't nothing be done?
Isn't there----"

"I am going to telephone to the police.  While I'm doing it I want
you to stand outside in the hall, so that you can see into the room.
If you hear the smallest sound or movement in the garden call to me
at once."

She gazed fearfully toward the broken window.

"Do you think he's out there, sir, hiding in the bushes?"

"I think he's a quarter of a mile away by this time.  All the same,
until the police arrive the room mustn't be left unwatched for a
single moment."

He waited until she had obeyed his instructions, and then, with a
final glance round, walked swiftly down the passage and took off the
receiver.

"Get me on to Scotland Yard as soon as possible," he said.

There was a note of urgency in his demand which must have carried
conviction even to the mind of the clerk, for in something less than
ten seconds the reply came.

"Scotland Yard speaking.  Who's that?"

"Dr. Colin Gray.  Can you tell me if Inspector Marsden is still
there?"

"I think so.  Hold on a minute and I'll find out."

A pause followed.

"Hullo!" exclaimed a voice.  "I'm Marsden.  What's the matter,
doctor?  I didn't expect to hear from you again at this time of
night."

"It's a bad business," said Colin quietly.  "I'm speaking from the
Red Lodge, Campden Hill.  I have just found Professor Carter lying
dead in his study."

"Dead!" came the sharp rejoinder.  "How did he die?"

"He has been murdered."

He heard a sudden exclamation at the other end of the wire.

"Murdered!  Good God, doctor!  Are you certain of what you're saying?"

"Perfectly certain.  He has been murdered by some man who broke into
the house after I had gone to bed.  The whole front of his skull has
been smashed to pieces."

There was a brief silence, followed by a few indistinct words, as
though Marsden had turned round and was addressing someone else.
Then his voice came again, clear and peremptory.

"When did this happen?"

"About six or seven minutes ago."

"How did the man escape?"

"I think he ran out into the garden and climbed over the wall."

"Is there any one else in the house besides you?"

"There are two old servants.  One of them is watching the room now."

"You had better go back yourself, and stop there until we arrive.
Leave everything exactly as you found it.  Don't disturb the body and
don't touch or move a single object.  We shall be with you in a
quarter of an hour.  Do you quite understand?"

"Quite," said Colin.

He hung up the receiver as the detective rang off, and, shivering
slightly from the cold, made his way back to where he had left the
housekeeper.

"They're coming down almost at once," he said.  "I'll wait here and
let them in."

She moved back, as though glad to escape from the sight of the room.

"Then I'd better go up and get your dressing gown," she replied.
"You'll catch your death standing about like that with nothing on."

Colin nodded gratefully.  "You might fetch me some slippers, too,
while you're about it," he said.  "You'll find a pair alongside the
bed.  I turned out in such a hurry I forgot to put them on."

With trembling steps and holding tightly to the banisters, Mrs.
Ramsay slowly ascended the staircase.  She returned in a few minutes
carrying the desired articles, and, stepping forward to meet her,
Colin took them from her hands.

"Thanks so much," he exclaimed.  "Now I think the best thing you can
do is to get back to your room.  I expect the police will want to see
you when they come, but until then----"

Mrs. Ramsay shook her head.

"It wouldn't be no use, sir.  I couldn't close my eyes, not if you
was to offer me a thousand pounds."  She turned again toward the
stairs.  "Besides, there's Mrs. Wilson--the cook, you know, sir.
I've got to go and look after her."

"What's the matter?  Is she ill?" demanded Colin.

"I heard her screaming," was the answer.  "I shouldn't wonder if
anything had happened, what with being woke up sudden and her having
a weak heart."

"People don't often die from shock," said Colin.  "Take her up a drop
of brandy out of the dining room, and you had better have a little
yourself at the same time."

He thrust his feet into the slippers, and, putting on his dressing
gown, reentered the study.

Unlike most people whose ideas on the subject are drawn chiefly from
sensational novels, Colin knew that the surest way of assisting a
criminal was for some well-meaning amateur to conduct a few
preliminary investigations before the arrival of the police.  During
his four years at the hospital he had twice been called upon to give
evidence in cases of murder, and the experience had convinced him
that it was only when a properly qualified detective was first in the
field that any really valuable clues were likely to be forthcoming.
Marsden's urgent instructions over the telephone had therefore been
unnecessary; even without them he would certainly have waited for the
Inspector's appearance before attempting any further interference
with the existing condition of the room.

He walked across to where the Professor was lying and looked down
again at the body.  The sight filled him with a mingled grief and
anger that were almost unbearable.  He had revered the dead man with
all the ardour of a disciple, and, in addition to this lifelong
homage, their close intimacy during the last few weeks had produced
other and still stronger ties.  In spite of the old scientist's
rather dictatorial manner, his attitude throughout had been so
extraordinarily kind and generous that a very real if
half-unconscious affection for him had gradually sprung up in Colin's
heart.  The thought that the murder had been committed while he was
actually in the house only increased the horror and bitterness of the
whole affair.  No excuses could alter his feeling that he had failed
miserably--failed in the very duty for which he had been selected and
employed.

Self-reproaches, however, were of little use now, and with a
tremendous effort he wrenched his mind back to the immediate problem
that confronted it.  Why, in God's name, should any one have wished
to kill the Professor, and how had it come about that the latter's
body was lying where it did?  In order to reach the study from the
laboratory one had to pass through the whole length of the hall.
Colin's hearing was particularly acute, and he felt positive that the
creak of footsteps or the opening or shutting of a door would
instantly have attracted his attention.  Nothing of the sort had
happened.  Until that one crash of breaking glass the whole house had
been absolutely silent.

His eyes fell upon the damaged lock, and another question suddenly
presented itself.  Who had been responsible for turning the key?
Surely it could not have been the Professor.  If he had entered the
room expecting to find it empty, what conceivable reason could he
have had for fastening himself in?  If, on the other hand, he had
entertained even the remotest suspicion that somebody was hiding on
the premises, he would certainly have come upstairs before attempting
to approach the study.

It seemed more likely that the murderer had locked the door after
committing the crime, so that he might have a better chance of making
his escape.  There was a coolness about the proceeding which
suggested that he was fully aware of Colin's presence in the house,
and a conviction that the whole thing had been planned and carried
out with the most cold-blooded deliberation forced itself gradually
upon the young surgeon's mind.

Had Mrs. Ramsay been right?  Was it the same man who had ransacked
the Professor's desk?

If it were so--and all the circumstances seemed to point to that
conclusion--burglary and not murder had probably been the real object
of his visit.  There was evidently something in the place, some
document or paper, of which he was desperately anxious to obtain
possession.  Having failed to find it at his first attempt, he had
apparently returned to the house a second time in order to make
another and more exhaustive search.

By some fatal chance the Professor must have taken it into his head
to enter the study just after the intruder had succeeded in gaining
admittance.  On finding the window open he had naturally stepped
forward to close it, only to receive a murderous blow out of the
darkness, which had sent him crashing into the glass.

The one fact which refused to fit in with this theory was the entire
absence of any sound right up to the actual moment of the crime.
There must, of course, be some explanation, and Colin was puzzling
his brains in a vain attempt to discover it when the loud peal of a
bell suddenly jangled out from the kitchen.

Just pausing to gather his dressing gown about him, he hurried down
the passageway to the outer door, which he unfastened and opened.  A
large car was drawn up in the roadway, and five men, two of them
uniformed constables, were standing in a group on the pavement.

Inspector Marsden, who was in the centre, immediately came forward.

"Well, what's happened, doctor?" he inquired curtly.  "Anything fresh
to report?"

Colin shook his head.  "Only what I told you over the telephone," he
replied.  "The Professor is dead, and the man who murdered him has
escaped."

"That's enough to go on with, anyhow," returned the detective.
"Jackson, you and Roberts stop here for the present.  If any one
attempts to leave the house arrest them at once."

With an obedient salute the two constables fell back, and, followed
by his other companions, Marsden mounted the steps.

"This is Doctor Sinclair, our divisional surgeon," he announced.  "He
tells me that he has already had the pleasure of meeting you."

Colin shook hands with a tall, gray-bearded man, whose face seemed
vaguely familiar.

"And this," continued the Inspector, "is Detective Sergeant
Humphries, of the Finger Print Department.  Now I think the first
thing we'll do is to go in and have a look at the body.  I'll take
your statement as soon as the doctor has finished his examination."

Without offering any comment, Colin conducted them down the corridor,
and, leading the way across the hall, brought them to the door of the
study.

Marsden halted in the entrance, and stood staring silently at the
tragic spectacle in front of him.

"You followed my instructions?" he asked.  "Everything is exactly as
you found it!"

"Exactly," said Colin.

"Then I'll ask you two gentlemen to wait here for a moment.  There's
just one point I should like to make certain about before any one
touches the body."

He pulled out a notebook from his inside pocket, and, beckoning to
his colleague stepped forward into the room.

Doctor Sinclair moved across to where Colin was standing.

"I don't suppose you remember me," he said, "but I called in at St.
Christopher's last year in connection with one of your cases."  He
nodded toward the two detectives, both of whom were kneeling down
beside the dead man.  "This is a very terrible business," he added.
"I was horrified when I heard that it was Professor Carter."

Colin, whose mind was in no state for conversation, made an effort to
collect his thoughts.

"Did you know him personally?" he asked.

The surgeon shook his head.  "No," he replied.  "Like everyone else,
I was a great admirer of his work, but I never had the honour of
being introduced to him.  The police tell me that you were acting as
his resident assistant."

"I came here straight from the hospital," said Colin.  "I had been
with him for nearly a month."

"It seems such a particularly brutal and senseless crime," continued
the other, after a short pause.  "One would think that even the most
callous ruffian would hesitate about striking down an old man of over
eighty."  He glanced at Colin's dressing gown.  "I gather that the
murderer broke into the house after you had gone to bed?"

Colin was about to answer when the Inspector got up suddenly and
turned toward the door.

"We've seen all we want to for the present, doctor.  Perhaps you'll
be good enough to have a look at the body now, and let's hear your
opinion?"

The surgeon hurried forward, and, following him slowly into the room,
Colin seated himself on the corner of the sofa.  From this position
he was able to watch the proceedings of all three of his companions,
none of whom for the moment betrayed any desire to interrogate him
further.  Doctor Sinclair, after taking off his coat, became wholly
absorbed in his professional duties.  Marsden appeared to be busy
making notes, while the sergeant, who had produced an electric torch
and a large magnifying glass, stepped down into the garden and began
a minute examination of the still open French window.

At last, after a lapse of several minutes, the surgeon rose to his
feet.

"It is a clear case of deliberate murder," he said slowly.  "The
Professor was struck on the temple by some blunt weapon--probably a
jemmy.  There is no doubt that he was killed instantly.  I should
think he has been dead for about twenty minutes."

The Inspector turned to Colin.  "You were the first to view the
body," he remarked.  "Is there anything in the doctor's report with
which you are not in agreement?"

"Nothing," replied Colin.  "I came to the same conclusion myself
directly I examined the wound."

Marsden pulled a chair up to the table, and the sergeant, who had
been listening from the window, stepped forward and joined him.

"I want the full facts now, Doctor Gray," he said brusquely.  "Tell
us in your own words exactly what happened from the moment you
returned to the house."

Amid a profound silence, broken only by the occasional scratching of
the Inspector's pencil, Colin proceeded to relate his story.
Starting with his talk to the Professor at the laboratory door, he
went on step by step to describe the whole of his subsequent
experiences right up to the arrival of his present companions.  He
kept strictly to the bare facts, making no attempt to explain his own
views, and all three of his audience listened to him with an absorbed
interest, which showed itself plainly in their faces.

It was only when he had quite finished that the Inspector offered his
first comment.

"Well, I wish everyone could make a statement like that," he said
approvingly.  "It would save us a lot of trouble in the course of the
year."  He leaned forward, and ran his eye over the various notes
which he had jotted down while Colin was speaking.  "This other
burglary that the housekeeper referred to," he inquired; "when did
that take place?"

"I think it was about three months ago," said Colin, after a moment's
reflection.  "I wasn't here at the time; in fact, there was no one
else in the house except Mrs. Ramsay and the cook.  That was really
the chief reason why the Professor decided to engage an assistant."

"Why weren't the police notified?" demanded the Inspector.  "There
was certainly no report sent in to the Yard."

"The Professor declared that he didn't want to waste his time.  He
was a very busy man, and as nothing appeared to have been stolen he
decided to let the whole matter drop."

"Nothing stolen!" repeated Marsden, raising his eyebrows.  "Are you
perfectly certain about that?"

"It's what he told me, anyhow," replied Colin.  "According to him,
the only damage they did was to smash open his desk and search his
papers."

Both men glanced across the room in the direction of the oak bureau.

"Is that the desk?" inquired the Sergeant.

Colin nodded.

"Had he any idea what they were after?"

"Not the slightest.  All his papers which are of any scientific value
are kept in the laboratory.  I believe he had some money and
valuables in the safe, but they seem to have left that entirely
alone."

There was a brief silence, and then, without saying anything, the
Sergeant got up from his chair and walked over toward the two pieces
of furniture in question.  Marsden remained seated, his keen blue
eyes fixed thoughtfully upon Colin's face.

"What's your opinion, doctor?" he asked at last.

"I am inclined to agree with Mrs. Ramsay," said Colin.  "I think it
was the same man who broke into the house before.  He is evidently
searching for some particular paper or document, and as he couldn't
find it in the desk he came back a second time to try and open the
safe.  On his first visit he probably hadn't got the necessary tools
with him."

"And how about the murder?"

Colin hesitated.  "There's one thing I don't understand," he frankly
admitted.  "I left the Professor working in the laboratory, and it's
a mystery to me how he managed to reach the study without my hearing
him.  I was awake the whole time, and I can swear that there wasn't a
sound."

"Well, I can explain that to you," said the Inspector.  "Mr. Carter
didn't cross the hall; he entered the room by the window."

With a sudden exclamation Colin started to his feet.

"By Jove, what an idiot I am!" he exclaimed.  "I never thought of
that.  Of course, there's a side door from the laboratory into the
garden."

"I imagined that there must be," said Marsden, "and I haven't the
least doubt that we shall find it unlocked."  He got up from his
chair and glanced at the police surgeon, who was standing by himself
in front of the fire.  "I don't think we need keep you any longer,
Doctor Sinclair," he added.  "I'll let you know what time we fix for
the P.M. as soon as I've seen Ashford."

The surgeon, who seemed ready enough to depart, picked up his hat and
coat.

"You can tell him to 'phone me at my house," he replied.  "I shall be
there till midday for certain."

He nodded a general good-night, and, accepting Colin's offer to
escort him to the front door, accompanied the latter through the hall
and down the outer corridor.

"We shall be bound to come across each other again during the next
few days," he said as they shook hands.  "I only hope that when all
this is over we shall have the pleasure of meeting under less
distressing circumstances."

Colin returned some more or less suitably polite rejoinder, and,
shutting the door, made his way back to the study.

He found the two detectives standing in front of the safe, the
sergeant stooping down and apparently engaged in some experiment with
the lock.

Marsden looked round at his entrance.

"We'll leave Humphries to finish up here," he said.  "I want you to
take me to the laboratory; and afterward, if you'll call down the
servants, I'd like to have a few minutes' conversation with both of
them."

"I don't suppose you'll get much out of the cook," said Colin
doubtfully.  "According to Mrs. Ramsay, she's collapsed for the
night."

"She'll talk all right," was the somewhat cynical answer.  "Women can
always pull themselves together if there's a chance of using their
tongues."

He stepped forward briskly, and, following Colin to the back of the
house, turned down the side passage which led to the laboratory.

The door of the latter apartment was still open, and at the sight of
the big, brilliantly lit interior he pulled up with an exclamation of
surprise.

"Hullo!" he remarked.  "I'd no idea it was such a size.  The old man
must have been pretty well off if he could afford to run up places
like this."

He glanced round the room as though in search of the additional exit,
and, without waiting for his question, Colin pointed toward a high
screen which jutted out at right angles from the wall.

"It's behind there," he explained.  "I never thought of looking to
see if it was open.  The Professor told me that he only used it in
summer time."

"He used it to-night," was the detective's reply.  "If he hadn't he
would probably be alive now."

As he spoke he descended the steps, and, with Colin in close
attendance, strode confidently toward the spot.  They came to a halt
in front of a small oak door, flush with the wall, and, catching hold
of the handle, Marsden gave it a sharp turn.  The next moment a gust
of cold wind was blowing in their faces, and they were staring across
the lawn in the direction of the study windows, from which a flood of
yellow light streamed out into the darkness of the garden.

It was the Inspector who first broke the silence.  "That's clear
enough as far as it goes," he observed.  "The question is, Why did he
open the door at one o'clock in the morning?"

A possible explanation suddenly occurred to Colin.

"I shouldn't wonder if he wanted to let in a little fresh air.  He'd
been making an experiment, and there was a horrible smell in the room
when I spoke to him at the doorway."

"You've got it," was Marsden's laconic answer.  He pulled out an
electric torch, a duplicate of the sergeant's, and allowed the light
to play backward and forward over the patch of gravel outside.  "I
don't suppose there will be any footprints," he continued.  "It's
been freezing too infernally hard for that, and, in any case, we
shall only do more harm than good by trampling all over the place in
the dark."  He switched off the torch, and closing and locking the
door, put away the key in his pocket.

"We'll get back now," he added, "and if you'll give me a hand I think
we'll move the Professor's body into his own bedroom.  When we've
done that you can call down the servants."

They returned to the study, where they found Humphries still
examining the safe, and after the Inspector had exchanged a few words
with his subordinate, he and Colin set about their task.

Lifting the frail, bloodstained figure between them, they carried it
slowly up the staircase as far as the first landing.  The Professor's
room was situated right at the end of the corridor, a large, sparsely
furnished apartment with an old-fashioned four-poster in the farther
corner.  They laid their burden on the bed, and Marsden stood up, cap
in hand, while Colin sponged away the blood and covered over the body
with a clean sheet.

"It's a wretched sort of ending to a life like his," said the
detective, with an unexpected touch of feeling.  "One of the greatest
scholars in the world, so they tell me; and look at him now--knocked
on the head and done for, just like any common drunk in a street
fight!"  He paused.  "I'm not a rich man," he added, "but I'd give a
couple of months' pay to put a rope round the neck of the party who
did this."

He walked to the door, and, replacing his cap, glanced up at the
landing above.

"You might give the servants a call now, doctor," he said.  "Don't
frighten 'em; just say that if they feel up to it I'd like to have a
nice friendly little chat in the study."  He dived into his pocket
and once more pulled out his notebook.  "By the way, can you tell me
the name and address of the Professor's solicitor?  We shall have to
get hold of him the first thing in the morning."

"It's a Mr. Medwin," said Colin.  "He lives close by here in Albert
Terrace, but I'm hanged if I can remember his number."

"That doesn't matter," returned Marsden.  "I can easily look him up
in the telephone directory."

He jotted down the name, and, replacing the book in his pocket, laid
his hand on Colin's arm.

"There'll be no need for you to stay up any longer," he said.  "Both
Humphries and I have got plenty to keep us busy until breakfast time.
You turn in and get some sleep as soon as you've brought down the
servants."

Colin, who was beginning to feel distinctly weary, contented himself
with a nod.

"You'll know where to find me," he said, pointing to his room.  "If
there's anything you happen to want just give me a call."

He left his companion at the end of the passage and mounted the
second flight, which led up to the servants' quarters.  Somewhat to
his surprise, he found Mrs. Ramsay and the cook, both fully dressed,
standing on the small landing at the head of the stairs.

"We couldn't stop in bed," explained the former, "not after we heard
the bell ring.  Oh, sir, what do the police say?  Have they----"

"The Inspector wants to have a few minutes' talk with both of you,"
he said.  "Of course, if Mrs. Wilson doesn't feel well enough----"

The cook drew herself up with a suggestion of injured pride.

"I know my duty, sir," she remarked.  "If the police wishes for my
hevidence they shall have it heven if I drop dead on the carpet, the
same as my poor mother did before me."

There being apparently nothing further to be said, Colin conducted
his charges as far as the study, where he found the two detectives
waiting to receive them.  He remained just long enough to make the
necessary introductions, and then, availing himself of Marsden's
suggestion, returned upstairs again to his own room.

Now that his services were no longer needed an irresistible reaction
had suddenly set in.  He felt tired out in mind and body, and,
scarcely conscious of anything but an intense desire for sleep, he
threw off his dressing gown, and, for the second time that evening,
clambered thankfully into bed.

* * * * * * * * *

It seemed to him as though he had scarcely laid his head upon the
pillow when he was abruptly aroused by a touch on the shoulder.  He
sat up with a start, and, rubbing his eyes, perceived a burly and
familiar figure standing beside him in the gloom.

"Hullo, Inspector!" he exclaimed.  "What's the matter?  Anything
wrong?"

"Only the time," returned his visitor.  "It's just gone eight, and as
we're expecting Mr. Medwin at nine I thought I'd better give you a
knock-up."

With rather a rueful laugh Colin threw back the clothes.

"How about breakfast?" he inquired.  "Have you made any arrangements?"

"The cook's on the job," was the encouraging answer.  "I was careful
to keep on the right side of her last night, and she's promised us a
dish of eggs and bacon at a quarter past."

"I'll be there," said Colin, thrusting a leg over the side.  "How did
you and the sergeant get on after I'd gone to bed?"

"Well, we haven't altogether wasted our time," said Marsden, turning
toward the door.  "I won't hang about in your way now, however.  You
shall have the news--such as it is--while we're waiting for the
solicitor."

He disappeared with a friendly nod, and, after indulging in a cold
tub and a somewhat hasty toilet, Colin followed him downstairs to the
dining room.

His arrival synchronized almost exactly with that of Mrs. Ramsay, who
appeared from the kitchen carrying a well-laden tray.  She arranged
the contents on the breakfast table, which was already set out, at
the same time expressing an apologetic hope that if there were any
shortcomings they might be attributed to the natural agitation of
herself and the cook.  She then retired, and with an air of
businesslike alacrity the two detectives drew up their chairs.

"This will just suit my complaint," observed Marsden, uncovering the
eggs and bacon.  "I was never a believer in working on an empty
stomach, and I reckon Humphries here is pretty much of the same
opinion."

"There were some sandwiches and whisky on the sideboard last night,"
said Colin.  "I ought to have told you before I went to bed."

"Oh, we found them all right," returned Marsden with a smile.  "And,
for the matter of that, some very excellent cigars, too."  He helped
his companions to a generous portion each, and transferred the
remainder to his own plate.  "I only wish," he added grimly, "that
we'd been equally successful in our professional discoveries."

"Have you any clue at all?" asked Colin.

"Depends on what you call a clue," was the answer.  "I can tell you
one thing for a certainty.  Whoever broke into the house was an old
hand at the game, and, what's more, a chap who knew his job from A to
Z."

"Why do you think that?"

"Well, you're not likely to find an amateur burglar who can cut out a
pane of glass without making a sound, nor yet one who wears gloves so
as to hide his finger prints.  Besides, no one but an expert
cracksman could possibly have forced the lock of the safe."

"I didn't know it was forced," said Colin.

"One bolt had gone, anyhow; and a very neat bit of work it was, too,
eh, Humphries?"

The sergeant, whose mouth was full, confined himself to an
affirmative grunt.

"That rather knocks the bottom out of my theory," said Colin, after a
short pause.

"It simplifies things a good deal from our point of view," returned
the Inspector.  "Directly we can get a crime into a particular class
we're half way toward finding the man who did it.  You see, there are
never more than a certain number of skilled burglars out of prison,
and it's the Yard's business to keep a pretty close eye on what
they're up to.  Roughly speaking, a case like this narrows itself
down to about twenty or thirty likely parties.  By to-night they'll
all have been put through it, and if there's a single one who can't
account exactly for what he was doing he'll--well, he'll be what the
newspapers call 'detained for further inquiries.'

"Do you think it was the same man who broke in before?" asked Colin.

Marsden looked doubtful.  "It may be, of course, and if that's so
there's probably more in the case than appears on the surface.  A man
like the Professor might very well have had papers and secrets that
certain people were anxious to get hold of, and it's quite on the
cards that they might have taken in a professional thief to do their
dirty work for them.  The trouble is that at present we know
practically nothing about his private life."

"I can't help you there," said Colin.  "I believe that Mr. Medwin was
the only person who was at all in his confidence."

"Well, Mr. Medwin will be able to answer for himself in a few
minutes.  Our next best hope is to get on to the track of this old
manservant Kennedy.  He seems to have been with the Professor for
about forty years, so if he's still alive he might be able to give us
some useful information."

"I expect Mrs. Ramsay or the cook could let you have his address."

"I asked them last night, but neither of them has the least notion
where he is.  From the way they spoke I gather that there was
precious little love lost between them.  However, he will probably
show up as soon as he reads about the murder, and, if not, we
oughtn't to have much difficulty----"

A ring at the front door bell interrupted his words, and, glancing at
the clock, he gulped down the remainder of his tea.

"I wonder if this is our man," he added.  "You don't often find a
solicitor ahead of his time."  He turned to Colin as Mrs. Ramsay's
steps were heard crossing the hall.  "Just a word of caution, doctor.
He knows nothing about the murder yet, and I've told the old lady to
keep her tongue quiet while she's showing him in.  Leave me to break
the news if you will; I've a fancy to see how he takes it."

Colin's only reply was a nod, and the three of them sat in silence
until the door opened and Mrs. Ramsay appeared on the threshold, with
the massive form of Mr. Medwin looming up behind her.

The solicitor, who was wearing a frock-coat and carrying a top hat in
his hand, took a couple of paces forward.  Then with an air of
surprise he came to a sudden halt.

The Inspector rose instantly.

"Let me introduce myself, Mr. Medwin.  I am Inspector Marsden, of
Scotland Yard."

Mr. Medwin bowed, his close-set eyes travelling swiftly over the
other occupants of the room.

"Good morning," he said, in that peculiarly suave voice of his.  "May
I inquire what all this signifies?"

"Professor Carter has been murdered."

Marsden's answer came with startling bluntness, and there could be no
question as to the effect that it produced.  An expression of
incredulous amazement flashed across the big man's face, and for a
moment he stood gripping his hat and staring blankly at the speaker.

"Murdered?" he exclaimed at last.  "Impossible!  There must be some
mistake."

"It's not the sort of thing that lends itself to mistakes," returned
the detective.

Mr. Medwin drew in a long breath, and Colin, who was watching
intently, saw that he was making a tremendous effort to recover his
self-control.

"I think I had better sit down for a moment," he said slowly.

He moved forward, and, laying his hat on the corner of the table,
sank into the vacant chair from which Marsden had just arisen.

"You must excuse me," he continued.  "I feel half stunned at this
appalling news.  The Professor was one of my most valued friends."
He moistened his lips and glanced up suddenly at the detective.
"When did it happen?" he demanded.

"Last night," was the reply, "or, to be more exact, about a quarter
to one this morning."

"Why wasn't I sent for before?"

Marsden stroked his moustache, and eyed the other with a kind of
dispassionate interest.

"Well, Mr. Medwin, I appreciate the importance of your testimony, but
as I happen to be responsible for this case you must permit me to
conduct my investigation in the way that I consider best."

Instead of betraying any resentment at the snub, the solicitor merely
nodded.

"Quite so," he assented readily.  "Your first step would naturally be
to go into all the circumstances of the murder, and I was forgetting
for a moment what a great deal of work it must have entailed."  He
paused.  "Have you made any discoveries?" he asked.  "Anything that
could possibly be described as a clue?"

"Several," replied Marsden.  "But I think it will save time if I give
you the full details straight away.  There are several peculiar
features about the affair, and it's not much use discussing them
until you are in possession of the facts."

Mr. Medwin folded his arms.

"Just exactly as you prefer," he remarked.  "Please consider me
entirely at your service."

Without wasting any more words Marsden entered upon a brief
description of everything that had taken place from the moment when
Colin had returned to the house.  The curt and matter-of-fact fashion
in which he told his story seemed somehow or other to heighten its
dramatic horror, and, in spite of the solicitor's expressionless
face, it was easy to see the strained attention with which he was
following every word.  Once or twice he seemed to be on the point of
asking a question, but on each occasion he apparently changed his
mind at the last moment, as though unwilling to interrupt the
narrative.

"As far as I can see at present," concluded Marsden, "there are two
probable lines of inquiry, both of which I propose to follow up.
Either it was an ordinary case of burglary, or else the thief was
after some particular object that he believed to be hidden in the
study.  With regard to the actual murder, I am inclined to think that
it was more or less of an accident.  The silly fool got rattled when
the old man came in at the window, and smashed his head in before he
realized what he was doing.  He has probably been cursing himself
ever since."

"I should say that your first suggestion was the right one," remarked
Mr. Medwin.  "An old-fashioned house like this, shut away from the
road, is exactly the sort of place that a professional burglar would
select.  It's very improbable there's anything more in it than
that--a sordid attempt at house-breaking, ending up in a brutal and
bloody murder."

"Well," returned Marsden slowly, "I'm not altogether satisfied on the
point.  Take the question of this previous attempt.  Granting it was
the same man, why did he content himself with merely examining the
desk?"

The lawyer glanced swiftly in the direction of Colin.

"Is that what the Professor told you?" he asked.

Colin nodded.

"He said the same thing to me," continued the other, "but I remember
wondering at the time whether his statement could really be trusted.
Like so many gifted men, he was curiously careless in the matter of
money.  It's quite possible that he may have had a bundle of notes in
some drawer that he remembered nothing about."

"And you think that, having whetted his appetite, the thief came back
for more?"

Marsden put the question almost casually.

Mr. Medwin spread out his hands.  "Surely it's a more likely theory
than to imagine the existence of some mysterious object that nobody
has ever heard of?"

"I suppose that if the Professor had had any specially valuable paper
or secret in his possession he would probably have mentioned the
fact?  I gather that you were entirely in his confidence?"

"Entirely, as far as his business arrangements were concerned."

"And how about his private affairs?"

The solicitor paused.  "I am as much in the dark as you are with
regard to them.  On anything that concerned himself Mr. Carter was
one of the most reticent men who ever lived."

"So I understand from Dr. Gray," returned the Inspector.  "All the
same, we shall have to look into the matter, and I should think the
easiest way of doing it would be to get in touch with his old
servant, Kennedy.  Do you happen to know where he can be found?"

Colin, who was watching closely, thought that he detected a faint
change of expression in the solicitor's face.  If so, it passed away
instantly.

"I haven't any idea," was the reply.  "I am afraid it's very likely
that he's dead.  He was partly paralyzed when he left the Professor's
service, and I don't imagine he would have lasted for more than a few
months."

The Inspector walked to the window and for a moment or two stared
thoughtfully out into the garden.

"What about the estate?" he asked, turning round suddenly.  "Who
comes into the property?"

Mr. Medwin shrugged his shoulders.  "There again I am completely at
sea.  I presume that it passes to the next of kin, but who that
fortunate person may be I haven't the remotest notion."

"Hasn't Mr. Carter made a will?"

"Not that I'm aware of.  I suggested to him several times that he
ought to take some steps in the matter, but he always made the excuse
that he was too busy to be bothered about it at the moment.  As so
often happens in these cases, the opportunity has now gone by for
ever."

"Then if no one comes forward the money passes to the Crown?"

"That is so; but it's not a situation which is likely to occur.  In
view of the large fortune at stake some claimant is certain to put in
an appearance."

The Inspector raised his eyebrows.  "A large fortune, eh?" he
repeated.  "Can you give us any idea of what it amounts to?"

Mr. Medwin reflected.  "The Professor has been saving money for
years," he said slowly.  "He drew a big income from his various
patents, and his personal expenditure was comparatively trifling.
Some of his experiments were naturally rather costly, but, all the
same, there can be no doubt that he was an extremely wealthy man.  As
a rough estimate I should say that he was worth at least a couple of
hundred thousand pounds."




CHAPTER SIX

"We find that Professor Carter was wilfully murdered by some person
or persons unknown."

The foreman of the jury, a stout, pompous little man who was
evidently pleased with his temporary importance, announced the
verdict in a loud and impressive voice.

A moment's silence followed as the Coroner wrote down the words, and
then, amid a general murmur of voices and shuffling of papers, the
crowded court commenced to break up.

Colin, who was sitting on one of the back benches, remained in his
place while the building slowly emptied itself.  At last, just as it
was clearing, the Inspector and Mr. Medwin appeared together in the
gangway, and, picking up his hat, he stepped out to join them.

The solicitor was the first to speak.

"An unsatisfactory verdict," he observed, "but, considering the
entire lack of any definite evidence, I suppose it was the only one
that could be expected."

"I've no complaint to make," remarked Marsden.  "I should say that it
summed up the situation exactly."

"Well, you're as much concerned with finding out the truth as either
of us," returned the other, "but I must confess to being a little
disappointed that we've made no further progress.  It seems
extraordinary that a crime like this can be committed, and that there
should be absolutely no clue to the murderer."

"It's a remarkable case all round," agreed Marsden.  "One of its most
peculiar features is the fact that no one has yet come forward to
claim relationship with the Professor.  I suppose you've discovered
nothing fresh about his private affairs since our conversation
yesterday?"

"Nothing," was the answer.  "If I had I should have informed the
Coroner.  My own opinion is that before long we are bound to get on
the right track, and in the meanwhile the only thing to do is to go
on with the business of winding up the estate.  I am working in
conjunction with the solicitor for the Treasury, and he assures me
that we shall be allowed plenty of time to make the most exhaustive
inquiries before the Crown takes any steps to put forward a claim."
He turned to Colin.  "By the way, I wanted to have a talk with you,
Gray," he added.  "I understand that your arrangement with the
Professor was only a verbal one, but, all the same, I think you are
at least entitled to six months' salary.  I will discuss the point
with the Treasury, and, should they raise no objection, I will take
the responsibility of forwarding you a cheque."

"It's very good of you," said Colin coolly, "but if you won't think
me ungrateful I would much prefer that you allowed the matter to
drop.  I am not in need of money, and the small amount of work I did
has already been exceedingly well paid for."

Mr. Medwin smiled benevolently.

"Just as you please," he observed.  "It's refreshing to come across
any one who takes such a modest and unmercenary view of their
services."  He paused.  "I have no idea what your plans are," he
continued, "but should you be anxious to obtain some particular
appointment I shall be only too delighted to do anything I can to
assist you.  I know that Mr. Carter entertained the very highest
opinion of your abilities."

"I am not looking out for a new job at present," replied Colin
bluntly.  "I am going to find the man who murdered the Professor.
There'll be time enough to think about my own affairs after he's been
tried and hanged."

As he spoke the court clock chimed the hour, and with a sudden air of
surprise Mr. Medwin pulled out his watch.

"One o'clock," he exclaimed.  "I didn't realize it was so late.  I
have promised to lunch with a client of mine, so I'm afraid I must
hurry off."  He shook hands with each of them in turn.  "I need
hardly say I wish you both every success in your investigations.  You
will no doubt keep me informed of any discoveries you make, and
sooner or later, if we all work together, I feel convinced that the
truth will come out."

With a friendly nod he turned toward the door, and the next moment
Colin and the Inspector were left alone.

"I don't know why it is," said Colin.  "I've nothing against that
chap, but somehow or other I feel dead certain that he's a wrong 'un."

"We shall be very unpopular if we stop and discuss the matter here,"
replied Marsden.  "They've been waiting to shut the court for the
last five minutes."

"Well, suppose we go and have some lunch," suggested Colin.  "I know
quite a decent place round the corner in the High Street, and there
are one or two things I'd like to have a talk about if you're not in
a great hurry."

"I was going to propose it myself," replied Marsden.  "I've got one
of our men coming down to take some photographs at the Red Lodge this
afternoon.  He'll be along about a quarter to two, so that will just
spin out the time until he arrives."

They left the court, and a few minutes later they were seated at a
table in a discreet little French restaurant, the stout proprietress
of which greeted Colin with a motherly and familiar smile.

"It's curious you should have said that about our legal friend,"
began Marsden, as soon as they had given their order.  "I don't set
much store myself on what people call instincts; I've seen too many
of 'em go wrong.  All the same, from the moment I clapped my eyes on
this fellow Medwin I've had a sort of feeling that he was keeping
something up his sleeve."

"Something to do with the murder?" demanded Colin.

Marsden broke off a bit of crust and chewed it thoughtfully.

"On the whole I should say not," he replied.  "There's no getting
away from the fact that he was knocked all of a heap when he heard
the news.  I'm more inclined to think that he's up to some
hanky-panky with regard to the old man's money.  He may have a notion
who the rightful heirs are, and, if so, he's probably lying low with
the idea of making a bit out of it himself."

"What sort of a standing has he got in his profession?" asked Colin.

"Oh, good enough as far as it goes," returned the detective.  "Still,
I thought there'd be no harm in making a few inquiries, so I've asked
Ainsworth to tackle the job himself.  It will have to be done
carefully, of course; if Medwin got wind of the fact he'd probably
kick up the devil of a dust."

"Are you any further on at all with regard to the murder?" asked
Colin.

Marsden gave a warning glance in the direction of the returning
waiter, and for several minutes the two of them remained silent,
while a deftly moving Italian attended to their needs.

"There's no point in informing the rest of the world," remarked
Marsden, as soon as they were alone again, "but, to tell you the
truth, we seem to be up against a blank wall.  I didn't say too much
to the Coroner, chiefly on account of the newspapers.  Some of them
are always waiting for a chance to dig out the old stunt about the
incompetence of Scotland Yard, so in a case like this it's just as
well to give the impression that we're keeping something in the
background.  As a matter of cold fact, I only wish we were."

"What about those pet black sheep of yours?" inquired Colin.
"Haven't you succeeded in rounding them up yet?"

"Oh, we've rounded 'em up all right.  We've scraped through our list
of regulars with a fine pocket-comb, and if any of them had so much
as a finger in the job I'll eat my hat in this restaurant."

"Then you've changed your opinion?" said Colin.  "You're beginning to
believe----"

Marsden shook his head.  "No," he interrupted doggedly, "I'll stake
my reputation that the man who opened the lock of that safe was a
professional cracksman.  He may have been a foreigner, of course, and
if that's the case it would account for the fact that none of our
people here know anything about him.  However, I've cabled to Paris
and New York, and several other places, to ask them if any of their
own experts are missing, and it's quite possible I may get an answer
from them that will put us on the right track.  If I do I'll send you
along a line."  He paused to refill his glass.  "By the way," he
added, "where shall I be able to find you?"

"I've taken a room at the Kensington Palace Hotel for a day or two,"
said Colin.  "I've really made no plans yet.  As I told Medwin, I
mean to see this thing through before I attempt to settle down to any
fresh work."  He pushed away his plate, the contents of which he had
hardly tasted, and lighted himself a cigarette.  "How about the
Professor's old servant?" he asked.  "Any news of him yet?"

"That's another of our failures," admitted the detective wryly.
"Ainsworth's men have been ransacking the country, but so far they
seem to have drawn an absolute blank."  He stopped suddenly, and,
putting his hand in his pocket, produced a rather crumpled envelope.
"Talking of Ainsworth, I've got something here for you.  It's the
report we promised you the other day about some party you wanted us
to look up.  I'd have posted it on before only you told me that you
weren't in any particular hurry."

He passed over the note, and, hastily expressing his thanks, Colin
tore open the flap.  In the rush and excitement of recent events his
interest in Major Fenton had been temporarily forgotten, but the mere
mention of the subject was quite sufficient to arouse all his
previous curiosity.

He extracted the sheet of paper which the envelope contained, and,
unfolding it with eager fingers, spread it out before him on the
table.  It was just a single page of neat typewriting, without any
address or date.


    Major F. is the only son of the late John Mordaunt F., of
    Cheltenham, Glos.  He is forty-three years of age.  He was
    educated at Cheltenham College.  Entered the 17th Lancers, but
    resigned his commission as a captain on account of financial
    difficulties.  Was in India for several years and also in Canada.
    It is believed that he was chiefly engaged in training and
    selling polo ponies.  Rejoined the Service during the war and
    rose to his present rank.  Since then his only occupation appears
    to have been betting at race-meetings.  He is connected with an
    undesirable element on the Turf, and his general reputation is
    not of the best.  As far as this country is concerned, however,
    there is no record of his having been connected with any criminal
    proceedings.  He is an amateur yachtsman, and the registered
    owner of a small auxiliary engined boat called _The Swallow_,
    which is at present lying in Hole Haven.

    This paper is to be destroyed as soon as its contents have been
    noted.


As Colin reached the concluding paragraph the Inspector rose from his
chair.

"I hope you've got the information you wanted," he said.  "I must be
off now, or I shall be late for my appointment.  Are you coming along
up to the house?"

Colin thrust away the paper in his inside pocket.

"As a matter of fact," he said, "I'd half promised to go down to
Shadwell.  My pal, the doctor there, is very keen to know the result
of the inquest.  Still, if there's any way in which I can be of
help----"

Marsden beckoned to the waiter.

"No, no," he interrupted.  "You stick to your arrangement.  We're
only going to take a few photographs of the study, just to show the
exact position in which the body was lying.  They may come in useful
later on."

He asked for the bill, which, in spite of Colin's protest, he
insisted upon paying, and, leaving the restaurant, they stepped out
on to the crowded pavement.

"I'm making for the station," explained Colin.  "My car's having some
new valves fitted, so I shall go down by train."

"Well, so long for the present," was the Inspector's reply.  "I'll
let you know at the hotel directly there's any news, and if you
should want to get in touch with me yourself you've only got to ring
up the Yard.  Even if I'm not there they can always send me a
message."

With a parting handshake he disappeared among the traffic, and a few
minutes later, having purchased a ticket for Shadwell, Colin was
descending the steps which led down to the underground railway.

As the train rumbled eastward he again pulled out the paper which
Marsden had handed him, and read it through carefully a second time.
Brief though it was, it certainly presented Major Fenton in a far
from flattering light.  Apart from its own uncomplimentary phrases,
it suggested that the account of himself which he had given to Nancy
was probably quite untrue.  Whatever his exact reasons for going
abroad might have been, it was clear that they had nothing to do with
the demands of military service.  That he had only returned to
England in the spring was also apparently a piece of deliberate
fiction.  Unless the police were wrong, he had been a conspicuous
figure at race meetings ever since the conclusion of the war;
conspicuous, too, in a fashion which seemed to clash rather badly
with the chivalrous role he had adopted in his relations toward Nancy.

Had he really been acquainted with her father at all?  It was a
question which Colin had already asked himself on several occasions,
and in view of what he had just read his doubts on the subject became
more pronounced than ever.  The details of the story were so
improbable, and the professed motive so extremely unlikely, that in
the absence of any other evidence except the Major's own statement
all his beliefs inclined in the opposite direction.

It seemed to him that Nancy ought certainly to be enlightened
concerning the somewhat unreliable nature of her "guardian's" claims.
The job was not a particularly attractive one, for she had given him
no authority to make inquiries, and the character of an unauthorized
Paul Pry is about the last that any one would wish to assume.
Besides, there was the awkward fact that Fenton had already cautioned
Nancy against him, and it might well appear to a third person that in
bringing this counter-charge he was merely gratifying his own private
resentment.

Still, even at the risk of being misunderstood it was clearly his
duty to put her on her guard.  He would show her the report, and tell
her frankly how it had come into his possession, and if the
consequences proved to be unfortunate he must put up with them as
best he could.

It was at the precise moment when he had arrived at this decision
that the train ran into Whitechapel station.  He got out in company
with a number of other passengers bound for the less fashionable
quarters of East End London, and, crossing the line by a covered
bridge, descended into the narrow and dimly lit vault where
passengers to Shadwell await their destiny.

As he reached the platform the figure of a man sitting by himself on
a solitary bench suddenly attracted his attention, and, stepping
promptly forward to the seat, he gave its occupant a sounding slap on
the shoulder.

"Cheer up, Joe," he said.  "There's sure to be a train some time
to-day."

Mr. Joseph Bates--for it was none other than the ex-pugilist--jumped
to his feet with a grin of welcome.

"Well, I'm blarsted," he exclaimed.  "Caught me proper, that you did,
sir.  Who'd ever have thought o' meeting you 'ere?"

He held out a large and not over-clean hand, which Colin shook
heartily.

"I was just saying to meself only yesterday," continued Joe, "some
time when I get a free mornin' I must do a trip up to the 'orspital
an' tell the doctor abaht my bit o' good luck."

"What's that?" demanded Colin, taking a seat beside him on the bench.
"Have you fallen in love, or is somebody offering you a job at a
brewery?"

"You'd never guess," returned Joe with a chuckle, "not if you was to
try for a month o' Sundays."  He removed a short clay pipe from the
corner of his mouth and spat contentedly on to the platform.  "I gorn
back into the perfession, guv'nor, that's wot I done."

Colin eyed him incredulously.  "That's a good one, Joe," he observed.
"Who are you going to fight--Jack Dempsey?"

"'Tain't a joke, guv'nor.  I'm back in the old business again, gospel
truth I am, but not as wot you might call a principal."  He paused,
as though to give full weight to his coming disclosure.  "You've
'eard tell o' Solly Moss and the Palace o' Sport?"

"What, the new boxing ring in Whitechapel?"

"That's it--that's the place I'm gettin' at.  Well, the very day
after I see'd you and the young lady ahtside the club, who should I
run across in the street but old Solly Moss 'isself.  'Im an' me was
pals once, before 'e come up in the world, an' 'e's got a good 'eart,
Solly 'as--especially for a Sheeny.  We 'as a bit of a talk like, an'
a couple o' drinks, an' he says to me, 'Joe,' 'e says, 'you come
along dahn to my 'all, an' damn me if I don't find you a job.'  An'
wot's more, 'e's done it, guv'nor.  I'm caretaker, chucker-aht, and
one o' the two official seconds, with thirty bob a week an' me name
on the bleedin' programme."

"I congratulate you," said Colin.  "It must be an interesting job,
but it sounds to me as if it was a bit underpaid."

"There're pickin's," returned Joe, with a wink.  "A good second can
do a lot toward pullin' orf a fight, an' it gen'rally means arf a
crown when you 'appen to be in the winnin' corner.  Besides"--he
licked his lips--"me bein' in wot you might call an official
position, folks as is interested in the game likes to make 'emselves
civil.  Why, this 'ere job will be worth quarts an' quarts o' beer to
me every week."

As he spoke the train steamed into the station, and with a
simultaneous movement both of them rose to their feet.

"Where are you off to?" asked Colin.  "I get out at Shadwell."

"That's my mark, too," replied Joe.  "I gotter go an' see the bloke
wot supplies us with our jellied eels.  They ain't bin up to standard
lately, an' old Solly, 'e's arsked me to call rahnd and tell 'em wot
'e can do with 'em."

They took their seats along with the rest of the passengers, and a
few minutes more brought them to the equally grimy platform which
serves to connect Shadwell with the outside world.

As they mounted the long flight of steps up to the street Colin again
addressed his companion.

"It's no use your coming to the hospital now, Joe," he said.  "I've
left there for good."

"Started one of your own, sir?" inquired Joe innocently.

"Not yet," replied Colin.  "I am what you might call marking time at
the moment, but I expect I shall be settling down again soon, and
when I do I'll let you know my address.  However, I shall probably
see you again before then.  I am sure to be down here a good deal
with my friend Doctor Ashton, and one afternoon I'll walk over to
your place and see if there's anything doing.  I'd like to have the
gloves on again, just for a bit of practice."

"You come along, guv'nor," returned Joe with enthusiasm.  "There's
gen'rally one or two useful lads messin' arahnd, and we'll fix you up
with some bloke who can take a decent punch."

They surrendered their tickets to the porter on duty, and, having
passed through the doorway, Colin stopped for a moment on the
pavement outside to light himself a cigarette.

He was in the act of throwing away the match when he happened to
glance across the street.  As he did so he caught sight of two men
who were standing in the doorway of a small public house opposite.
To an ordinary observer there was nothing particularly striking about
their appearance, except for the fact that one of them was unusually
well dressed.  If they had been Indians in full war-paint, however,
the effect upon Colin could hardly have been more remarkable.  He
remained stock still, his eyes riveted upon the taller of the pair.
Although the latter's face was half turned away, there could be no
possible mistake.  It was Fenton himself, the very man of all others
who chiefly occupied his thoughts.

"Anything wrong, guv'nor?" inquired Joe curiously.

The sound of his companion's voice restored Colin's faculties at
once.  With a quick movement he caught hold of the other's arm, and,
drawing him along the pavement for a few paces, pulled up behind the
shelter of a deserted cart.

"Joe," he said, "you see those two fellows over there in the door of
the pub?"

Mr. Moss's lieutenant squinted furtively round the backboard.

"Wot abaht 'em?" he demanded.

"Have you any idea who either of them is?"

"Dunno the torf," was the answer.  "T'other one's a bloke they call
'Spike' Cooper."

"Is he a friend of yours?"

Joe laughed derisively.  "Not much.  I ain't pertic'ler, but I likes
to draw the line somewhere."

"Oh, he's a bad lot, eh?"

"That's as it may be," replied Joe cautiously.  "I ain't sayin'
nothing, not one way nor the other, but any'ow, I don't fancy 'is
comp'ny."

From the security of his retreat Colin subjected "Spike" Cooper to a
critical examination.  He was a tough-looking customer with broad,
powerful shoulders and a lean, mahogany-coloured face.  In spite of
his somewhat shabby clothes he was evidently on familiar terms with
Fenton, for he lounged back against the wall with his hands in his
pockets and a half-smoked cigarette hanging from the corner of his
lips.

Colin turned to Joe.  "Where did you come across him?" he asked.

The ex-pugilist wrinkled his forehead.  "Well, I can't say to rights.
I think it was the Blue Boar at Shoreditch.  'E's bin 'anging arahnd
these pubs for the last two months, though where 'e come from afore
that Gawd knows.  Some kind of a Yank, I reckon, judgin' by 'is talk."

Colin took another long and deliberate stare at the oddly assorted
couple.

"Joe," he said, "will you do something for me?"

"You ain't no call to ask that," returned Joe a little reproachfully.

"I want to know all I can about that chap.  I want you to follow him
round and find out who his pals are and where he's living.  Do you
think you could manage it without giving away the show?"

Joe's eyes brightened.  "That's orl right, guv'nor," he replied
encouragingly.  "Jes' you push orf an' leave the job to me.  I'll
pick up 'is tracks now, after this 'ere cabinet council's over.
There ain't no 'urry abaht them there jellied eels."

"You're a brick, Joe," said Colin gratefully.  "If you do happen to
find out anything you might call round at Doctor Ashton's.  You know
his house in the High Street?"

Joe nodded.

"If I'm not there you've only got to leave a message that you want to
see me and I'll be over at the Palace as soon as I get it."  He put
his hand in his pocket and pulled out a couple of one pound notes.
"Better take these," he added.  "You might want to do a little
bribery and corruption."

Joe accepted the money and slipped it inside his belt.

"You leave it to me, guv'nor," he whispered, "and don't you start
worryin' if you don't 'ear nothin' fur a day or two.  'E's the sorter
cove that's got to be 'andled cunnin', but I'll run 'im dahn right
enough afore I done with 'im.  I'll stick to 'im like 'is bleedin'
shadder."

As he spoke the two men opposite moved forward out of the shelter of
the door.  They stood for a moment on the edge of the pavement,
exchanging a few final remarks, and then, with a curt nod to his
companion, Fenton stepped into the roadway, and began to cross the
street in the direction of the station.

Keeping well behind the cart, Colin waited until he was safely in the
booking-office.

"We seem to be in luck, Joe," he observed cheerfully.  "The pubs are
shut, so if our pal's got a home he's probably on his way there now."

He nodded toward the retreating figure of Mr. "Spike" Cooper, who
with his hands still in his pockets was sauntering away casually up
the street.

"It ain't unlikely," returned Joe, with an appreciative grin.
"Any'ow, we'll 'ave a nice little walk rahnd the 'ouses, an' if we
don't do nothing else, we'll get 'old of a decent thirst."

He knocked out his pipe, and, thrusting it into his pocket, drifted
off inconspicuously amongst the stream of passers-by.

The whole thing had happened so quickly that up till then Colin's
chief feeling had been one of complete surprise.  Left to himself,
however, the real significance of Fenton's appearance in this
out-of-the-way neighbourhood suddenly came home to him with
convincing force.  Shadwell was about the last part of London that
such a man would be likely to patronize unless he had some extremely
definite reason for undertaking the journey.  Only one reason
suggested itself to Colin, namely, the presence of Nancy at Mark's
house.  That was certainly sufficient to account for the Major's
visit, though why he should be standing in the door of an adjacent
pub, talking to an obvious ruffian like Mr. "Spike" Cooper, was
another problem to which no immediate answer seemed to be forthcoming.

Pondering over this point as he walked toward the surgery, Colin felt
exceedingly thankful that he had had the happy inspiration to
despatch Joe in pursuit of the stranger.  If some underhand business
were going on in connection with Nancy, it would be just as well to
make certain whether this sinister-looking individual had anything to
do with the proceedings.  Of course, it was quite possible that the
two men had met merely by chance.  Being mixed up with the Turf,
Fenton no doubt possessed a number of undesirable acquaintances, and
he might have stumbled across one of them accidentally just as he was
about to enter the station.  That, indeed, seemed to be the most
likely explanation, but, even so, any information that Joe could pick
up would certainly not be wasted.  If it served no other purpose, it
would probably assist in opening Nancy's eyes to Fenton's true
character, and for the moment, at all events, that was the principal
object which Colin had in his mind.

On reaching the front gate of the surgery he found its owner standing
on the doorstep, in the act of bidding good-bye to a patient.  Almost
simultaneously the latter took his departure, and with a hail of
welcome Mark stepped forward to greet him.

"The very lad I wanted," was his opening remark.  "In fact, I was
just going to ring up the hotel and see if I could get hold of you."

"I knew you were keen to hear about the inquest," replied Colin,
"and, being a gentleman of leisure, I thought I might as well oblige
you."

Mark drew him into the house, and relieved him of his hat and stick.

"Come along upstairs," he whispered.  "Nancy's doing the books, and
there are half-a-dozen blighters in the waiting room, but I must hear
what's happened, even if it ruins the business."

He led the way to the study, where they found Nancy seated at a
roll-top desk, with a couple of formidable ledgers spread open in
front of her.  She glanced up at their entrance, and then, laying
down her pen, swung round smilingly in her chair.

"You must tear yourself away from work for a minute or two," said
Mark.  "Colin has come to report progress."

He dropped down on the sofa, and, pulling out his pipe, began hastily
stuffing it with tobacco.

"Fire ahead," he continued.  "Let's have the whole story.  I'm dying
to hear what's happened, and it will just give me time for a
comfortable smoke."

"I'm going to shake hands with Nancy first," said Colin.

He crossed the room, and, having performed the operation, very
deliberately seated himself beside her on top of the padded brass
fire-guard.

From this position he proceeded to give them a brief but lucid sketch
of what had taken place at the inquest.  He described the evidence of
the various witnesses, the summing-up of the Coroner, and the final
and unsatisfying verdict of the jury, concluding with a short account
of how he had met Mr. Medwin and the Inspector after it was over and
the views which they had expressed with regard to the situation.

"So, you see, we are more or less at a stop for the moment," he
finished.  "The police aren't likely to do much until they find the
Professor's old servant or get an answer to their cable, and as for
Medwin--well, I don't believe he cares the least whether the
murderer's discovered or not.  The money is what he's interested in,
and both Marsden and I have got a notion that he's playing some
low-down game of his own."

"What sort of game?" inquired Nancy, who had been listening to the
whole narrative with absorbed interest.

"We don't know, but Marsden thinks he may have some idea who the
rightful heir is, and that he's lying low until he sees the chance of
pulling off a fat commission."

Nancy opened her eyes in astonishment.  "Surely he wouldn't be so
dishonest!" she exclaimed.

"I hope not," replied Colin; "but, after all, he's a lawyer."

Mark hoisted himself up in his chair.  "I protest," he said.  "I am
not going to have Nancy's ingenuous mind corrupted by any beastly
cynicism."  He turned to Colin.  "And how about you?" he added more
seriously.  "This infernal business must have played the mischief
with all your plans."

"Oh, I'm just marking time," said Colin.  "I mean to see this thing
through before I attempt to do anything else."

Mark nodded approvingly.  "That's right," he remarked.  "That's your
job, plain enough."  He glanced at Nancy.  "I'm afraid our idea won't
work," he added.

"Is it a secret?" demanded Colin.

"Well, as a matter of fact I was going to ask you whether you could
do us a good turn.  If you're busy, however----"

"I should have to be devilish busy to let you down," said Colin.
"What's the trouble?"

"It's Mary's mother," was the answer.  "There's been some unexpected
development in the case, and they have got to operate the day after
to-morrow.  Mary is desperately anxious for me to go up, and I can't
possibly get away unless I can find someone to look after the
practice.  I thought that you might be able to manage it, but----"

"'But' be blowed," interrupted Colin.  "I only want to be around in
case Marsden needs me, and I shall be quite as handy here as at the
Palace Hotel.  How long do you expect to be away?"

"I don't suppose I shall be more than a couple of days.  It just
depends whether the operation is a success."

"Well, consider that settled," said Colin.  "It won't interfere with
my plans in the least; in fact, I shall be only too glad to have
something else to think about."

Mark got up from the sofa, and, crossing the rug, held out his hand.

"Put it there, my son," he said gratefully.  "You're a good pal, and
the family thanks you."

Colin laughed.  "You'd better wait till you come back," he replied.
"You'll probably find that I've cured half your patients."

"I don't care a hang about what you do with them," said Mark
callously.  He turned toward Nancy.  "I shall leave you in charge of
each other," he added.  "You must keep Colin posted in his job, and
he must look after you and try to make himself agreeable."  He
paused, and added chaffingly, "I don't know whether Major Fenton will
approve of the arrangement, but I'm afraid we've hardly time to
consult him."

There was a brief but pregnant silence.

"Major Fenton?" repeated Colin blankly.

Mark chuckled.  "You've met him, haven't you?  A kind of adopted
uncle of Nancy's.  He rolled up here quite unexpectedly about
half-past twelve this morning.  I suppose he really came to see
whether the place was respectable or not, and on the whole I think we
managed to set his mind at rest.  Anyhow, he made himself extremely
pleasant, so of course I asked him to stop to lunch."

Colin flashed a quick glance at Nancy, who was looking distinctly
uncomfortable.

"Oh," he said, "that explains things.  I thought I caught sight of
him in the street just as I was leaving the station."

"He appears to take a great interest in Nancy," pursued Mark, with a
mischievous smile, "but somehow or other she doesn't exactly seem to
appreciate it."

"I didn't invite him here," protested Nancy, "and I don't think he
had any right to come."

Before Mark could reply there was a tap outside, and the harassed
features of Martha Jane intruded themselves round the door.

"If you please, doctor," she said, "there's another four patients in
the waiting room.  That makes nine altogether."

"Oh, damn!" said Mark.  "I suppose I must go down and see them.
You'll stay to tea, Colin, of course?"

"If I'm not in the way," was the answer.  "Perhaps I'd better go out
for a stroll and come back."

"You stop here and talk to Nancy," replied Mark.  "There's no hurry
about the books, and she can save me a lot of trouble by explaining
how we run the practice.  She really knows rather more about it than
I do."

He knocked out his pipe, and, thrusting it into his pocket, hurried
off downstairs on the heels of Martha Jane.

Colin closed the door and came back to where Nancy was sitting.

"So Fenton's sense of duty is still in good working order," he
observed.

With a little impatient gesture Nancy brushed aside a stray curl.

"I was very annoyed at his coming down here," she said.  "If I'd
thought for a moment that he was going to do a thing like that I
shouldn't have given him my address."

Colin took up his old position on the fire-guard and looked
thoughtfully into her indignant blue eyes.

"What did he want, Nancy?" he asked.

"Oh, it was only to invite me to dine and go to a theatre with him on
Wednesday.  Of course, he could just as well have written to me or
rung me up on the telephone."

"And did you accept?"

Nancy shrugged her shoulders.  "I couldn't very well help it.  He
asked me while we were at lunch, and I didn't like to say I was
engaged, because Doctor Ashton would have known it was untrue."

"Otherwise you would have refused him?"

Nancy nodded.  "It may seem ungrateful, but as a matter of fact I
don't want to see Major Fenton again.  I never liked him very much,
and the last time I was with him he----"  She hesitated.  "Oh, well,
he was different in a way, and, to put it quite plainly, I liked him
even less.  Besides, I haven't forgotten the horrid things he said
about you."

Colin searched in his pocket and pulled out the report which Marsden
had given him.

"That makes my job a bit easier," he remarked.

She gazed curiously at the slip of paper.

"What's that?" she demanded.

Colin sat back, still holding it in his hand.

"I've been doing a quite unpardonable sort of thing, Nancy," he said.
"Before I tell you, will you promise to forgive me?"

"Certainly," she said, smiling.  "I can always forgive anything
that's really unpardonable.  It makes one feel so nice and generous."

Without waiting for further encouragement Colin plunged at once into
a full description of how he had taken advantage of the Inspector's
half-joking offer to make some inquiries with regard to Fenton's
character and reputation.  He told the whole story quite simply,
allowing his own motives in the matter to be taken for granted, and
ended by reading her the report.

Nancy, who had listened to him gravely, made no comment until he had
finished.

Then with a quaint and rather rueful little laugh she looked up into
his face.

"It's a disappointing world, isn't it?" she said.  "I did honestly
believe that there was something kind and unselfish about his
original intentions."  She paused.  "And you say you saw him in the
street?  Why, he must have left here over an hour ago."

"I saw him all right," repeated Colin.

He went on to describe his meeting with Joe and the interesting
events which had ensued on their arrival at Shadwell station.

"I may be prejudiced," he concluded, "but I'm beginning to think that
he's an even bigger scoundrel than the police give him credit for.
Anyhow, it's perfectly plain that he's been lying to you from start
to finish."

"But why should he?" objected Nancy.

It was Colin's turn to hesitate.  "Well, after all, you're rather
pretty, you know," he said lamely.

Nancy laughed again.  "I've no doubt you're right," she said, "but I
don't see that it solves the difficulty.  He couldn't have known what
I was like when he came and hunted me out."

"No, that's true," admitted Colin.  He got off his seat and paced
slowly up and down the room.  "There's something behind all this,
Nancy," he added; "some infernal mystery that we don't understand."

"There is," agreed Nancy; "but I mean to understand it, and very
soon, too."

Colin stopped.  "You're not thinking of keeping that appointment?"

She nodded.  "Of course I'm going to keep it.  If I don't, how can I
find out what he wants?"  She rose from her chair and came forward to
where Colin was standing.  "I--I'm awfully grateful for what you've
done," she said shyly, "and I can't tell you what a comfort it is to
know that I've got someone who's ready to help me."  She paused.
"All the same," she added, "I'm not in the least frightened of Major
Fenton.  I've had a lot of practice in looking after myself."




CHAPTER SEVEN

With an inward sigh of relief Colin opened the door of the surgery,
and beckoned to the solitary old woman who was still sitting grimly
in the corner of the waiting room.  She was the thirty-fourth patient
he had interviewed that morning, and the prospect of a well-earned
lunch with Nancy was beginning to dangle pleasantly in front of his
exhausted spirits.

The old woman entered the surgery, and, after placing a bulky string
bag upon his consulting table, deposited herself in an armchair
alongside.

Colin took his own seat and smiled at her encouragingly.

"Well, mother," he said, "what's the matter?"

The patient folded her hands.  "I've bin pizened," she said.  "That's
wot's the matter with me, young man.  I've bin pizened."

Colin sat back and nodded gravely.  "When did this happen?" he
inquired.

"Ha!" said the lady, rather bitterly.  "That's the very pint I'm
comin' to.  Are you a pertickler friend o' Doctor Hashton's?"

"I am," said Colin.  "That's why I'm taking his practice."

"In that case," continued the visitor, "I don't mind telling you,
young man, that it was 'im as done it."

"What, poisoned you?" exclaimed Colin.  "Surely not."

The lady reached for her bag, and, after fumbling among its contents,
produced a half empty bottle of medicine.  She handed this to Colin,
who examined the label.

"Are you Mrs. Jones?" he inquired.

"That's right, young man," was the answer.  "Mrs. Jones o' Baxter's
Rents, and there ain't no one in Shadwell wot can say to the
contrary."

"And why do you think that Doctor Ashton has poisoned you?"

Mrs. Jones leaned forward mysteriously and tapped the bottle.

"You can see for yourself, young man.  'E's given me the wrong
medicine.  Mind you, I don't say that 'e done it a purpose.  I expect
'e was a bit 'urried and made a mistake.  All the same, there ain't
no gettin' away from it.  'E's given me the wrong medicine, an' I'm
pizened."

Colin extracted the cork and took a sniff at the contents.

"It seems all right to me," he observed.

"There's nothing wrong with the smell," admitted Mrs. Jones.  "It's
the colour wot I'm speakin' about."

"What's the matter with the colour?" demanded Colin.  "Some of the
best medicines are red."

"Not mine," returned Mrs. Jones doggedly.  "My medicine's yeller,
always 'as bin.  The moment I set me eyes on that bottle I says to
meself, ''E's made a mistake.'"

"Then why on earth did you take it?"

Mrs. Jones looked a trifle surprised.  "Well, young man, I'd paid
ninepence for it, an', not knowin' then as it was pizen, I didn't see
no reason for wastin' the money."

"And you say it made you ill?"

"It's only through the mercy o' Gawd that I'm sittin' 'ere now," said
Mrs. Jones impressively.  "D'rec'ly the third dose passed me lips I
come over queer."

Colin poured out a little of the medicine into a glass and tasted it
judiciously.

"I don't think you've any reason to be anxious, Mrs. Jones," he said.
"Doctor Ashton was only trying you with a new prescription.  It's a
very good one indeed, but I suppose it doesn't quite suit your
constitution."

Mrs. Jones looked round and lowered her voice.  "If that's the case,"
she demanded, "why 'as 'e run away?"

"He hasn't run away," said Colin.  "He's coming back to-morrow or the
next day.  He's only gone up north to look after his wife's mother."

There was a pause.

"Well," said Mrs. Jones doubtfully, "I 'as my own opinions on that
point, but seein' as 'ow you're a friend of 'is I don't blame you for
standin' up for 'im.  Besides, between you an' me, young man, I
wouldn't get Doctor Hashton into trouble, not on no account.  We all
make mistakes at times, even the best of us.  You give me a bottle o'
the yeller medicine, the same as I always 'as, an' I sha'n't say no
more about it."

"Right you are," said Colin.  He rose from his chair, and, crossing
to the cupboard where Mark kept two or three innocuous and highly
coloured mixtures ready made up, filled a bottle with the desired
specific.

Mrs. Jones inspected it with approval.

"I'm much obliged to you, young man," she observed.  "Hall's well
that hends well, as the sayin' is.  You can tell the doctor from me
that 'e won't 'ear no more o' this, so 'e can come back 'ome just as
soon as ever 'e likes."

She tucked away the bottle in her bag and made her exit through the
side door, which Colin had stepped forward to open for her.  As she
passed out Martha Jane appeared in the passage.

"Are you ready for lunch, sir?" she inquired.

"I'm more than ready," said Colin.  "I'm positively aching for it."

Martha Jane nodded sympathetically.  "It must be 'ard work for a
young gentleman like you, sir, 'avin' to sit there and listen to all
them diseases.  You go along into the dinin' room and I'll run up and
tell Miss Nancy.  I sha'n't keep you waitin' more than a couple o'
minutes."

Colin returned to his desk, and, having completed his report, with a
brief entry on the subject of Mrs. Jones, made his way out into the
hall, where he encountered Nancy in the act of descending the
staircase.

"I'll be with you in a second," he said.  "I'm just going to remove
the germs."

He hurried across to the cloak room, and, after changing his coat and
indulging in a welcome bout with a basin of hot water, emerged again
in a hungry but contented humour.

Nancy was already seated at the table, looking disturbingly pretty in
her severe and businesslike costume.  Although, on his arrival at the
surgery, they had spent a crowded quarter of an hour together,
opening the post and discussing the day's work, this was the first
opportunity they had had for anything like a private conversation.

"Well," she inquired cheerfully, "how have you been getting on this
morning?"

Colin sank into the vacant chair and stretched out his hand toward
the whisky.

"I'm still alive," he said, "but that's about all.  Every day, in
every respect, my admiration for Mark grows deeper and deeper."

Nancy pushed across the soda.  "I often wonder he hasn't broken
down," she said.  "It's only sheer good nature and kindness that keep
him going.  He comes in to lunch every day and says the most
blood-curdling things about the patients, but in his heart he just
loves them all."

"I know he does," returned Colin, "and I've been trying to copy his
example.  It's thirsty work, though, when you come to people like
Mrs. Jones."  He took a long drink and set down the tumbler.  "By the
way, is there any news from him?"

"Not yet," said Nancy.  "The operation was to be at ten o'clock, and
he promised to wire directly he knew the result.  We shall probably
get a telegram this afternoon."

Colin attacked the roast chicken, which Martha Jane had cooked to
perfection, and passed over a generous helping.

"And what about last night?" he inquired.  "I had no time to ask you
anything this morning, but I'm longing to hear how Fenton behaved
himself."

"Well, to begin with," said Nancy, "he asked me to marry him."

Colin paused in the act of dissecting a wing.

"Did he, by Jove!  I hope you told him to go to blazes?"

"Something rather similar," said Nancy, "only I tried to put it as
nicely as possible."

"And how did he take it?"

Nancy paused.  "It may sound conceited," she replied, "but I should
say he was more angry and disappointed than any one I ever saw in my
life."

"I can quite believe it," said Colin.  "You're just the sort of girl
who'd make a man feel like that."

She shook her head.  "I'm not trying to be modest, Colin.  I know I'm
pretty--even other women have told me so--but I assure you my looks
have got nothing to do with the matter.  Do you suppose that a girl
doesn't know when a man is really in love with her?  Major Fenton
doesn't care that for me."  She snapped her fingers.

"I shouldn't wonder if you're right," agreed Colin.  "A chap with a
face like that could hardly have much capacity for romance.  I should
say that champagne was more in his line."

"All the same," said Nancy, "he's quite serious about wanting to
marry me, and, what's more, he's made up his mind that he's going to
do it."

"How do you mean?" inquired Colin.  "Did he turn nasty when you told
him it was a wash-out?"

"Very nasty," said Nancy calmly.  "He accused me of all sorts of
things, my chief crime being that I've allowed myself to be
influenced by you."

"Well, I don't want to brag," admitted Colin modestly, "but I've
certainly done my best.  Does he know that I'm taking Mark's
practice?"

She nodded.  "Yes, I'd told him at the beginning of dinner.  I
suppose that was what put the idea into his head."  She stopped.
"Colin," she said, "don't think me stupid and melodramatic, but do
you know, I am really rather frightened.  There was something in the
way he spoke about you, something that made me feel as if--oh, I know
it sounds ridiculous--but as if you were in actual danger."

Colin sat back and smiled contentedly.  "This is too good to be
true," he observed.  "I've been longing to punch his head ever since
he told you that lie about my leaving the hospital."

"But you don't understand," persisted Nancy.  "He wouldn't try
anything himself, of course; he's much more likely to pay someone
else to do it.  You go about alone all over the place, and in a rough
neighbourhood like Shadwell----"

"You needn't be anxious," interrupted Colin.  "I shall keep my eyes
open, I promise you.  If Fenton's got hold of the idea that I'm in
his way, I can quite believe he'll stick at nothing."  He paused.
"What beats me altogether," he added, "is why he wants to make you
his wife.  You haven't the least doubt that he's really in earnest?"

"Not the least.  He even went so far as talking about a special
license, and suggesting that we should be married this week."

"That makes it fishier still," said Colin, frowning.  He stared
thoughtfully at his plate for a moment or two, and then suddenly
pushed back his chair.  "I know what I shall do," he continued.  "I
shall tell Marsden the whole story and ask him for his advice.  I'm
perfectly certain there's some damned crooked business at the back of
it."

"But you can't possibly bother the police," objected Nancy.  "After
all, Major Fenton has only asked me to marry him, and there's nothing
very criminal in that."

"Depends on what you call criminal," said Colin.  "I should say he
deserved ten years for his confounded cheek."

As he spoke the door opened and Martha Jane inserted her head.

"Would you like any sweet?" she inquired.  "There's a nice plum tart
in the kitchen if either of you fancy a bit."

Colin glanced at his watch.

"It sounds alluring," he said, "but I don't think I can spare the
time.  I must start out on my round at half-past, and I shall have to
run through the cases first and see what I've got to take with me."

He rose from his chair, Nancy following his example.

Martha Jane looked at them both with disapproval.

"You're as bad as the doctor, every bit," she observed.  'Ow do you
expect to keep well if you don't feed proper?  What with this here
snatching and picking it's a wonder to me that you ain't all in your
graves."

"You might give us an extra good tea to make up for it," suggested
Colin.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," said Nancy.  "I'm afraid I shall be out
when you get back.  I've promised to go round and see old Mrs.
Merivale, one of Mark's patients."

"Oh!"

Colin's face fell.  "That's a blow," he said sadly.  "I can never
enjoy my tea properly unless someone pours it out for me."

"I daresay Martha Jane will do it if you ask her nicely," said Nancy.
"In any case, I'll try and get back in time for the second cup."

With an encouraging smile she passed out into the hall, and, having
paused to light himself a cigarette, Colin returned to the surgery.

Half an hour later, with Mark's black bag in one hand and a stout
stick in the other, he set forth into the chill and uninviting
atmosphere of the December afternoon.  He was not disturbed by
Nancy's vague alarm with regard to his personal safety, but his
practice took him into a pretty rough neighbourhood, and a good tough
ash seemed to him a distinctly suitable companion.

As it turned out, however, the precaution was an unnecessary one.
During his long ramble through the lowest parts of Shadwell he met
with nothing but good-natured civility.  Wherever he went, down
sordid alleys and up rickety staircases, a friendly welcome
invariably awaited him.  His experience at the hospital had given him
the knack of getting on readily with poor people, and, since he had
done the same round on the previous day, he was already on familiar
terms with most of his patients.

By the time he returned to the surgery it was close on five o'clock.
Darkness was rapidly setting in, and the feeling that his out-of-door
duty was over for the day seemed to lend an additional attraction to
the warmth and comfort of the brightly lit hall.

As he closed the front door Martha Jane emerged from the kitchen.

"A man came to see you just after you'd gone out, sir," she informed
him.  "Party of the name of Bates.  Said he'd call again."

Colin, who had heard nothing of Joe since they had parted outside the
station, received the news with no little interest.

"Did he mention any particular time?" he asked.

"No, sir.  'E just said 'e'd look round again later."

"Well, let me know at once if he does," he replied.  "I'll see him
immediately, no matter how many people are waiting."

Martha Jane nodded.  "There's a letter and a telegram come for you
too, sir.  They're over there on the hall table."  She paused.
"Per'aps as Miss Nancy's out you'd like your tea in the surgery?"

"Yes, that will be best," said Colin.  "You can bring it along in as
soon as it's ready."

He divested himself of his coat, and, crossing to the table, picked
up the telegram.  As he expected, it bore the Lincoln postmark, and
with eager fingers he slit open the flap and pulled out the contents.


    "Operation a complete success.  Shall be home to-morrow about
    one.--MARK."


He turned to Martha Jane.

"This is from Doctor Ashton," he said.  "Everything has gone off
splendidly, and he hopes to be back to-morrow."

"'E would," was the answer.  "Wild 'orses wouldn't keep 'im from
work, not so long as 'e's got a breath in his body."

Colin laughed, and, taking up the letter, walked forward into the
surgery.  A bright fire was burning away cheerfully in the grate,
and, having flicked on the electric light, he seated himself at his
desk and proceeded to open the envelope.

A single glance at the letter inside showed him that it was from
Inspector Marsden.


    "SCOTLAND YARD,
  "Thursday, December 12th.

    "DEAR DOCTOR GRAY,--You will be interested to hear that we have
    at last managed to pick up the tracks of William Kennedy,
    Professor Carter's servant.  It seems that he has been very ill,
    and for the last two months has been living in an out-of-the-way
    village in Hertfordshire under the care of an old female cousin.
    The latter, who is apparently unable to read, had heard nothing
    about the murder, and it was only last night that Kennedy was
    informed of the facts.  I am making arrangements to motor down
    and interview him to-morrow, don't suppose I shall be back at the
    Yard until the evening, but if you would care to look in any time
    after six I shall be pleased to see you and to let you know the
    result of my journey.

  "I am,
        "Yours sincerely,
        "JAMES MARSDEN."


With considerable satisfaction Colin folded the letter and put it
away in his pocket.  It was a relief to know that things were moving
at last, for, even if Kennedy were unable to throw any direct light
on the murder, the information he could supply with regard to the
Professor's private life might well be the starting-point for further
discoveries.

He was pondering over the possibilities of the situation when Martha
Jane arrived with his tea.  She had evidently accepted her
appointment as Nancy's understudy in a serious spirit, for she not
only filled his cup, but stood by with watchful solicitude until she
was certain that he was provided with everything that he required.

Just as she was turning to leave the room there came a ring at the
bell.

"I wonder if that's our friend Joe Bates," said Colin.  "If it is,
bring him in at once."

There was an interval of nearly a minute, and then, looking rather
flushed and ruffled, Martha Jane reappeared, closing the door behind
her.

"It ain't 'im," she announced; "it's a patient.  'E's waiting
outside."  She nodded toward the hall.

"Oh, hang it all!" exclaimed Colin.  "This is my hour off.  I'm not
going to see any more patients until six.  Why on earth didn't you
tell him?"

"Tell 'im!" repeated Martha Jane indignantly.  "I told 'im right
enough."

"And do you mean to say he won't go away?"

"'E just pushed me on one side and sat himself down," was the answer.
"'E says 'e means to wait 'ere until you come out."

Colin rose to his feet, and, swiftly crossing the room, threw open
the door.

A man who was seated on one of the hall chairs jumped up at his
appearance.  He was a rough-looking customer of the longshoreman
type, with a deep scar on one side of his face and a dirty
handkerchief knotted round his neck.

Colin walked up to him.

"What do you mean by forcing your way into the house?" he demanded.
"If you want to see me you can go round to the surgery and wait until
it's open."

The intruder stood his ground, fumbling awkwardly with his cap.

"No offence, doctor," he muttered.  "If I done wrong I asks yer
pardon."

"Well, you heard what I said," returned Colin.  "There's the door
behind you."

The man still made no attempt to move.  "Don't be 'ard, doctor," he
said hoarsely.  "I want yer to come along and see a pal o' mine, a
pore bloke wot's 'ad a haccident dahn at Truscott's wharf."

Colin shook his head.  "I can't manage it now," he said.  "I've got
to be here at six to see my patients."

"You can be back before then, doctor," persisted the other eagerly.
"It's only a step from 'ere--s'elp me Gawd, it is."

"I know the place," said Colin.  "It will take a good twenty minutes
to get there."

"'E ain't on the wharf now," explained the other.  "We've carried 'im
along to 'is own 'ouse."

"Where's that?" demanded Colin.

The man hesitated.  "It's dahn at the bottom o' Flood Lane.  One o'
them old 'ouses backin' on the river."

Colin recognized the spot from his description--a ruinous and
half-deserted slum, most of which had already been demolished.
Before he could speak, however, the visitor resumed his petition.

"For Gawd's sake come along an' 'ave a look at 'im, guv'nor.  We
can't find no other doctor, an' 'e's sufferin' somethin' crool."

Colin glanced at his watch.  "Oh, very well," he said curtly.  "I
sha'n't have time to attend to the man properly, but if I find it's a
matter for surgical treatment I'll give you a note to the hospital.
Just wait here and I'll be with you in a minute."

He stepped back into the consulting room, and, crossing to the
opposite door, summoned Martha Jane.

"When Miss Nancy comes in," he said, "you might tell her that I've
been called out on an urgent case.  I'm only going as far as the
bottom of Flood Lane, so I shall be back by six."

He thrust one or two articles which might be needed into his bag,
and, hurrying out again into the hall, unhooked his hat and coat.

"What sort of injury is it?" he asked, as the front door closed
behind them.  "A broken leg or something of that kind?"

His companion, who was slightly ahead of him, pushed open the small
iron gate and turned to the left in the direction of the river.

"No," he answered slowly, "'e ain't broke nothing--leastways, not as
I knows of.  The pain's inside of 'im, so 'e says.  Twisted 'is guts,
I reckon, from the way 'e's carryin' on."

He relapsed into silence, and, checking his pace a few yards farther
on, led the way down a dark and narrow alley.

They emerged on to a desolate strip of waste land, where stray piles
of brick and other refuse were dotted about forlornly under the light
of a solitary street lamp.  Exactly opposite them were the partly
demolished remains of a large warehouse, with two crazy and
tumble-down houses still standing alongside.  Behind these, half a
mile wide, ran the dark and sluggish current of the Thames.

Colin's guide pointed across toward the dilapidated dwellings.

"That's the 'ouse," he observed, "the end one o' them two.  You want
to step careful, doctor; there's a number o' bad places abaht 'ere."

He set forward again, picking his way deliberately between the heaps
of débris and the numerous pools of dirty water which infested the
whole district.  Colin followed close behind him, and after several
minutes of this unpleasant progress they came out on to a muddy and
deserted roadway which ran parallel with the river.

Colin glanced back over the route they had come.  "A nice open
situation," he remarked, "but I should think that the people who
lived here were rather apt to break their necks."

"It's an orkard spot to get to in the dark," admitted his companion.
"You'll be all right though, doctor.  I'll see yer back meself as far
as Flood Lane."

He crossed the road and advanced toward the houses, one of which
appeared to be uninhabited.  A dim light was burning on the ground
floor of the second, and, mounting the broken step, he rapped twice
on the door with his knuckles.

After some delay it was opened by a gaunt, haggard-looking woman, who
held up the candle she was carrying and peered suspiciously into the
darkness.  She evidently recognized the visitor, for without
inquiring his business she stepped back silently against the wall.

"That's 'is wife," observed the man, turning to Colin.  "She's a bit
queer in the 'ead, so you won't get nothing out of 'er."

He moved aside to make room for Colin's entrance, and then, closing
the door behind them, addressed himself to the woman.

With a furtive nod she started off along the passage, at the end of
which there was another room facing the front door.

Colin, who had turned to follow her, took a pace forward.  It was
only one pace, for as his foot touched the ground something soft and
heavy came down with a blinding thud on the back of his head.  Half
stunned by the blow, he pitched forward full length on to the rough
and uncarpeted boards, and at the same instant two men sprang forward
out of the room, and flung themselves heavily on top of him.

What happened during the next few minutes seemed to belong to the
world of nightmare.  He had a vague impression of fighting
desperately with fists and teeth and feet; then a savage hand gripped
him by the throat, and everything was wiped out in a sudden and
suffocating blackness.

* * * * * * * * *

"I tell yer I knows 'im.  It's the swine that was 'elpin' the cops
when they pulled 'Ginger Dick.'"

The hoarse voice, which sounded very far away, penetrated slowly into
Colin's mind, and, opening his eyes, he stared up at the speaker.

He was still in the passage, stretched out flat on his back, with his
ankles tied together and his arms bound tightly to his sides.  Three
men were standing round him, and, in spite of the dim light and the
almost stupefying pain in his head, he had no difficulty in
recognizing them.  The bloodstained face that was scowling at him had
been engraved on his memory ever since the day when he first met
Nancy.  It belonged to the ruffian who had led the attack on Marsden
and had kicked him in the ribs when he was lying helpless on the
ground.  The other two were the plausible visitor to the surgery and
Mr. "Spike" Cooper.

It was the latter who replied to the first man's outburst.

"What the hell's that got to do with it, anyway?" he drawled.  "I'm
here on business, and it don't matter a cuss to me whether he's your
long-lost brother."

"It matters to me though," growled the other.  "I 'ad somethin' up
against 'im before, an' now 'e's bashed 'alf me faice in with 'is
blarsted boot.  Taike that, yer swine!"

He lifted his foot, but before he could accomplish his genial purpose
a violent shove from "Spike" Cooper sent him staggering against the
wall.

"None o' that, you fool!  Didn't you hear what the boss said?  If
there's any marks on his body we don't get the money."  He turned to
the man with the scar, who had watched the fracas with cynical
indifference.  "No good messing about, Jake.  Catch hold of his feet
and we'll cart him down straight away."

Suiting the action to the word, the two of them raised him quickly
from the floor and carried him forward through the open doorway.
With a muttered oath the third accomplice pulled himself together and
lurched in after them.

All effective resistance being out of the question Colin made no
attempt to struggle or cry out.  He felt certain that death was very
close at hand, and his whole being was racked with a sick fury as he
thought of the easy way in which he had allowed himself to be trapped.

Through his half-closed eyes he saw that the room which they had
entered was in a state of indescribable filth.  The floor was
littered with empty bottles and old newspapers, the damp plaster was
peeling off the bare walls, and the small window, which apparently
looked out on to the river, was thickly coated with grime.

In the left-hand corner the raised flap of a trapdoor was just
visible in the gloom.  His two bearers dropped him unceremoniously on
the boards alongside, and with a curt air of authority "Spike" Cooper
jerked his thumb toward the hole.

"You get down first, Jake," he said, "and we'll lower him through."

Jake accepted the order without comment, and, swinging himself into
the opening, began slowly disappearing from view down the rungs of a
rusty iron ladder.

A moment later there came a muffled voice from below.

"Right you are, mate."

Dragging Colin's feet toward the edge, the other two men jerked him
roughly from the ground.  The next instant his legs were dangling in
space, and with the iron rungs bumping against his back he slid
rapidly down into the darkness below.

Just before he reached the bottom he felt himself clutched round the
waist by a pair of strong arms.  Then he was lifted clear of the
ladder, and dumped heavily on to a damp stone floor.

After a brief interval "Spike" Cooper also descended, and, producing
an electric torch, switched on the light.  Colin saw that they were
in a large cellar, the walls of which were dripping with wet slime.
Except for the trapdoor there appeared to be only one other
opening--a heavily barred grating some eight feet from the floor.

Bending down over his prisoner, "Spike" Cooper flashed the light full
in his face.

"That was a dandy fight of yours, mister," he drawled slowly, "and
I'm real sorry we got to put you through it."

Colin looked up at him unflinchingly.  "You seem to take a long time
about committing a murder," he said.  "Why don't you finish the job
and clear out?"

The other shook his head.  "That's just the trouble," he replied,
with a touch of regret in his voice.  "In order to suit the party
that's arranging this little affair you got to be found
drowned--picked out of the Thames.  See, mister?"

Colin glanced round, and in a sudden flash the real meaning of the
dripping walls became hideously apparent.  With a strong effort he
managed to control his voice.

"So that's your plan, is it?" he said.  "I'm to be left here until
the cellar's flooded?"

"Spike" Cooper nodded.  "It's a dog's trick," he admitted
reluctantly, "but I guess you'll find it as easy a death as any
other.  Soon as the water's up level with that grating it pours in
here like a Gawd-damned Niagara."  He paused.  "What I'm buckin' up
against," he continued, "is your having to lie here a couple of hours
waiting for the tide.  Seems to be kinder cruel, that."

In spite of the grim prospect in front of him, Colin laughed.

"Thank you very much," he replied.  "I hope that when you're hanged
death will be instantaneous."

They were interrupted by an impatient movement from the other man.

"Come along, Spike," he growled.  "Wot the hell's the use o' standin'
'ere jawin'?"

"I guess you're about right," was Mr. Cooper's philosophical answer.

He bent forward once more, and, having satisfied himself that the
cords were properly fastened, turned to follow his companion, who was
already halfway up the ladder.

Colin watched them disappear through the opening above, then the
trapdoor closed down, leaving him in complete darkness.

A moment later he heard a grinding clang as a rusty bolt shot home
into its socket.




CHAPTER EIGHT

The study clock chimed out the hour of seven, and, laying aside the
paper she had been looking at, Nancy got up from her chair and walked
to the window.  She drew back the blind, and stood there for a minute
gazing down at, the lighted pavements, where the usual throng of
poorly dressed women were drifting to and fro, intent upon their
evening shopping.  Then with a puzzled and rather anxious expression
in her face she turned toward the door, and, descending the
staircase, made her way along the passage as far as the kitchen.

She found Martha Jane standing at the sink, peeling potatoes.

"I can't think what can have happened to Doctor Gray, Martha," she
said.  "I'm really beginning to get worried about him."

"Don't you upset yerself, miss," was the reassuring answer.  "'E'll
be along safe enough in a minute or two."

"I hope so," said Nancy.  "All the same, it seems rather
extraordinary.  You tell me he said he'd be home by six, and here it
is just gone seven."

"You can't pay no 'eed to what doctors say," began Martha Jane.  "Not
that they ain't as truthful as other gentlemen, but----"

She was interrupted by a ring at the back-door bell, and, wiping her
hands on her apron, departed to answer the summons.  Nancy heard the
low rumble of a man's voice, followed almost immediately by the sound
of returning footsteps.

"It's the same party that called before, Miss Nancy.  A man of the
name of Bates.  The doctor said he wanted to see 'im special, so I
s'pose I'd better ask 'im to wait."

"What, Joe Bates the prize-fighter?" exclaimed Nancy.  "Oh, please
bring him in at once.  He's the very person I should like to have a
talk to."

Martha Jane disappeared again into the scullery, and a moment later a
burly figure in a cap and muffler followed her diffidently into the
light.

Nancy welcomed him with an encouraging smile.

"We have met before, Mr. Bates," she said.  "I don't suppose you
remember, but it was one night in Whitcomb Street, when I was in the
car with Doctor Ashton."

Joe grinned a trifle nervously.  "That's right, miss," he observed.
"I ain't forgot yer--not me."  He pulled off his cap and scratched
the back of his closely cropped head.  "I got a bit o' noos for the
doctor," he continued.  "D'you happen to know when 'e's likely to be
in, miss?"

"That's the very point we were talking about," replied Nancy.  "He
went out at half-past five and he left a message that he would be
back by six at the latest."

Joe stared at her.  "Well, that's a bit queer," he remarked.  "'E
ain't the sort to say a thing and then not do it."

"It's queerer than it looks," was Nancy's answer.  "Six o'clock is
the time at which he sees his outdoor patients.  He wouldn't forget
that, however busy he was."

"Did 'e tell yer where 'e was goin' to?"

"He told me," broke in Martha Jane.  "Some 'ouse down at the bottom
of Flood Lane."

A swift change manifested itself in Joe's face.  "Flood Lane!" he
almost shouted.  "You're sure 'e said Flood Lane?"

"Of course I am.  I ain't deaf, Mr. Bates."

Joe took no notice of the snub.  "Wot made 'im go there?" he demanded.

"'E was fetched," replied Martha Jane with some asperity.  "Fetched
by a party who hadn't no better manners----"

"'Ere," interrupted Joe, "wot was the bloke like?  You answer me
quick."

Martha Jane flushed indignantly, but before her lips could frame a
protest she was forestalled by Nancy.

"It's all right, Martha.  Mr. Bates is afraid that something may have
happened to Doctor Gray, and he wants to help us.  That's so, isn't
it?"  She turned quickly to Joe, who nodded his head.

"Well," replied Martha Jane, in a slightly mollified voice, "'e was
just a rough common-looking man the same as you can see 'anging about
the street corners I'd know 'im anywhere, though, if only by the scar
on 'is face."

There was a half-stifled oath from Joe.  "Jake 'Udson!" he cried.
"Jake 'Udson it was for a million!"  He clenched his fists and glared
savagely at the two women.  "Nah ye can see why he ain't come back."

Nancy's heart was beating swiftly, but to all outward appearance she
remained perfectly cool.

"Don't waste time," she said.  "Tell me what you mean at once.  I
know that you're a friend of Doctor Gray's, and I know that he asked
you to follow a man outside the station."

Joe moistened his lips.  "That's it, miss.  A bloke of the name o'
'Spike' Cooper.  'E's 'and an' glove with this 'ere Jake 'Udson, an'
there ain't two dirtier blackguards, not in the 'ole o' London."

Nancy's face had gone very white.  "Do you know this place--Flood
Lane?" she demanded.

"It's where 'Spike' Cooper's lodgin'," was the answer.  "Leastways,
not Flood Lane itself, but dahn in one o' them old 'ouses backin' on
the river.  I seen 'im go in there twice with me own eyes."  He
pulled on his cap and half turned toward the door.  "I'll get inside
some'ow, miss.  I'll learn wot they done to the doctor if I got to
pull the blarsted place down."

Nancy stepped forward.  "Wait a minute," she said quickly.  "I'm
coming with you."

Joe turned and stared at her incredulously.  "You comin' with me?" he
repeated.  "Why, wot'd be the good o' that, miss?"

"I can use a revolver," said Nancy curtly, "and there's one upstairs
in the doctor's room.  You stop here while I fetch it."

There was something so imperative in her manner that Joe attempted no
further argument.  Removing his cap again, he seated himself
obediently on a chair, and, leaving him and Martha Jane to keep each
other company, Nancy hurried from the kitchen.

Going straight to the cloak room, she slipped on a mackintosh over
her indoor costume and, after rapidly donning a hat, ran up the
staircase to the study.  From the top drawer of the writing table she
took out a small Service revolver which Mark had once exhibited to
her with some pride as the actual implement with which he had
formerly waged war against the Flanders rats.  There was a box of
cartridges alongside, and after filling all six chambers she thrust
the weapon into her pocket, and swiftly made her way downstairs again
to the kitchen.

Joe, who was still sitting where she had left him, rose up at her
entrance.  It was Martha Jane, however, who was the first to speak.

"You can't go off like this, Miss Nancy," she exclaimed.  "Let me
fetch a policeman to come with you."

Nancy shook her head.  "There's no time for that," she replied.
"Besides, what can we possibly say to a policeman?  If we tried to
explain he'd only think we were mad."

"You're right, miss," broke in Joe.  "This 'ere's a job wot's got to
be done quick, an' the sooner we get to it the better."

"Come along then," returned Nancy.  "I'm ready."

She led the way out through the scullery door and, pulling open the
iron gate, turned to Joe, who had followed closely on her heels.

"You give the orders," she said, "and I'll do whatever you tell me."

The light of the street lamp was shining full upon her face, and Joe
paused for a moment to inspect her admiringly.

"You got some sense, you 'ave," he observed, "and guts too."

"I hope so," said Nancy.  "Anyhow, I've got the revolver, and that
seems to me to be almost as useful."

With a chuckle Joe swung on to the pavement, and, turning to the
left, headed eastward in the direction of Flood Lane.

"It's this way, miss," he continued, after a short pause.  "Seein' as
'ow we're workin' in the dark in a manner o' speakin,' it ain't no
use makin' plans, not till we reach the 'ouse.  The first thing we
gotter do is to get inside.  It don't sound like an easy job, but
then, yer never knows."

"How many of them do you think there are?" asked Nancy.

"I bin watchin' the place for two days, an' I ain't seen no one
except 'Spike' Cooper an' this 'ere Jake 'Udson.  I reckon I can
'andle them easy enough so long as they don't start usin' their
knives.  If they does--well, that's where that gun o' yourn may come
in 'andy."

"Shall I give it to you?" suggested Nancy.

Joe shook his head.  "No," he replied.  "I likes to 'ave me 'ands
free.  You stick to it, miss, but don't you begin pluggin' 'oles in
'em, not unless I tips you the orfice.  We don't want no inquests,
not if we can get 'old of the doctor withaht."

They turned into Flood Lane and, passing rapidly down the narrow and
evil-smelling thoroughfare, emerged on the broad stretch of waste
land that bordered the river bank.

"That's where we gotter go to," said Joe, pointing across to the
black outline of the warehouse.  "There's a way over right enough,
but I guess we'd better stick to the road.  If any one 'appens to be
looking out they're less likely to see us."

He struck off to the right, and, keeping well under the shadow of the
opposite wall, guided Nancy cautiously forward until they reached the
muddy road which ran parallel with the river.  Crossing this, he
gained the broken pavement on the farther side, and continued his
advance until they were within a few yards of the warehouse.

"It's the second 'ouse you come to from 'ere," he whispered.  "I bin
thinkin' it over, an' if you ain't afraid, miss, it seems to me the
best plan's for you to go on a'ead, an' knock at the door.  If they
sees you alone they may open it jest to find out wot yer after."

"What shall I say?" inquired Nancy.

"Don't you say nothin'.  I'll be 'anging arahnd close be'ind, and
before they shuts it again I'll 'ave me foot inside.  We'll do the
talkin' then."

Nancy nodded, to show that she understood, and, walking on bravely
through the gloom, pulled up in front of the suspected dwelling.  A
glimmer of light in the front room revealed the presence of a
dilapidated knocker.  She drew in a long breath, which seemed to
steady her throbbing heart, and then, stepping forward, gave a couple
of sharp raps.

Almost at once she became conscious that someone was inspecting her
from inside the window.  The scrutiny must have lasted for several
seconds, then the face was suddenly withdrawn, and a moment later she
could hear the approach of shuffling footsteps.

After another pause the door began to open.  It went back slowly
until there was a space of about six inches, and through the gap a
pair of suspicious eyes peered out at the visitor.

"Well," demanded a croaking voice, "wot d'yer want 'ere?"

Even if Nancy had been prepared with a reply she would have had no
time to deliver it.  Silently as a tiger Joe leaped forward out of
the darkness, and, bringing every ounce of his weight to bear at the
right moment, hurled himself against the panel.  There was a shrill
cry and the sound of a heavy fall as the door crashed inward, then
Nancy found herself clutching the railings and staring at the vague
outline of two figures who seemed to be scuffling furiously on the
floor of the passage.

She was recalled to action by the voice of Joe.

"I got 'er," he gasped triumphantly.  "Come along in, miss, an' shut
the door."

Snatching out her revolver, Nancy stepped across the threshold, and
with commendable coolness proceeded to carry out his instructions.
The task only occupied her a moment, but by the time she had
finished, Joe was on his feet again, swearing softly to himself and
sucking vigorously at his left thumb.  "Bit me to the bone, the
'ell-cat," he observed.  "And I 'andled 'er gently, too, jest 'cos
she 'appened to be a woman."  He paused, and, bending forward,
listened intently.  "Darned if it don't seem as if she was alone in
the 'ouse," he added.

Nancy advanced to where he was standing, and in the flickering
candle-light which came out through the open door of the room looked
down at the prostrate figure on the ground.  It was that of a gaunt,
middle-aged woman, clad in a dirty dressing gown, with dishevelled
hair streaming over her face and neck.  A rolled-up handkerchief had
been thrust into her mouth, and her wrists were tied together by the
scarf which had formerly decorated Joe's neck.  Out of her bloodshot
eyes she glared up malevolently at the pair of them.

Nancy drew back with a shudder.  "I hope she isn't much hurt," she
faltered.

"'Urt?" repeated Joe indignantly.  "It's me wot's 'urt, not 'er.  Got
'er teeth in while I was tyin' 'er up an' 'alf gnawed me blinkin'
thumb off!"  He rummaged in his pocket, and, after a moment's search,
produced a stray length of cord.

"What are you going to do?" asked Nancy.

"Tack her feet together and lock 'er in the room," was the answer.
"I'm goin' over this 'ouse from top to bottom, an'----"

"Look!  Look!"  With a horrified expression in her face Nancy was
pointing down toward the floor.  Joe's eyes followed the direction of
her finger, and a sudden oath escaped his lips.

"Blood!" he cried.  "An' wet blood, too!"

He stepped into the room, and, snatching up the candlestick from the
table, hurried back with it into the passage.

"Do you see?" whispered Nancy.  "There's a trail of it--all along up
to the door."  She put her hand to her breast and fought back the
numbing fear that seemed to be clutching at her heart.

With blazing eyes Joe turned on the prostrate woman.

"You she-devil!" he roared, shaking his fist.  "If any 'arm's come to
the doctor through you an' your filthy mates, I'll rip the skin off
all three of yer."

Before the word had left his lips Nancy was already at the farther
door.

"Quick, Joe!" she cried piteously.  "Quick!  Bring the candle."

In two strides the prize-fighter was beside her.

"You stand back," he commanded hoarsely, and, thrusting the
candlestick into her hands, gripped hold of the knob.

As the door swung open Nancy raised the light.  Its faint gleam
flickered round the sordid room, disclosing the damp and peeling
wallpaper and litter of empty whisky bottles which lay about the
floor.

Joe's glance travelled swiftly from one corner to another.  "There's
no one 'ere," he muttered.  "We'd best try the floor above."

Nancy caught him by the sleeve. "Listen," she cried tensely.  "What's
that?"

From below came an unmistakable sound--the steady but muffled splash
of running water.

For a second they both stood there motionless, then, with a sudden
exclamation, Nancy pushed her way past and stumbled blindly forward
toward the trap-door.

"Joe," she gasped, "he's down there!  I know it.  I feel it."  She
sank on her knees, and setting the candle on the floor beside her,
began tugging desperately at the iron bolt.

Recovering from his momentary amazement, Joe hurried to her
assistance.

"'Ere," he growled, "let me get at it."

He seized hold of the rusty stanchion, and with a vicious jerk
wrenched it backward.  Another heave and the heavy flap rose slowly
into the air, revealing a black, yawning gap and the top rungs of an
iron ladder.

Stretched out at full length on her face, Nancy thrust the candle
over the edge.  The light gleamed upon a rush and eddy of
chocolate-coloured water, and then suddenly a frantic cry broke from
her lips.

"Colin!  Colin!"

With a violent imprecation Joe pushed her on one side.

"'Old on," he roared down the trap.  "I'm comin'."

He swung himself through, and dropping with a loud splash into the
swirling waters, scrambled desperately toward the opposite corner,
where a man's head and shoulders were just visible in the gloom.
Another minute and he would have been too late, for even as he
reached the spot a fresh torrent surged in through the opening, and
with a choking sob Colin swayed forward and collapsed.

Keeping his own feet with difficulty, Joe clutched hold of the
drowning man and dragged him to the surface.  In doing so he made the
discovery that Colin's arms were lashed to his sides, and the full
nature of the task that confronted him flashed grimly across his mind.

As a veteran boxer, however, the power to think quickly and coolly in
moments of danger had practically become an instinct.  He realized
instantly that there was only one chance of escape for both of them,
and that was to cut through the cords before the incoming water rose
above their heads.

Swinging his half-conscious companion round, he propped him against
the wall.  Then, freeing one hand, he dragged out the clasp-knife
which he always carried in his pocket, and wrenched open the blade
with his teeth.

As he did so, Colin by great effort managed to force a few words from
between his chattering teeth.

"There's another on--round my feet.  Cut that too if you can."

"Right you are!" shouted Joe encouragingly.  "Keep it up, doctor, and
I'll 'ave you loose in a couple o' shakes."

With feverish haste he accomplished the first part of his task, and
then, taking a deep breath, plunged his way down through the water
until his fingers encountered the second cord.  One vicious slash
severed the wet strand, and, uncoiling it as rapidly as he could, he
struggled back to the surface, puffing and gasping for air.

Quick as he had been, there was scarcely a second to spare.  The
water was already up to his chin, and Colin, although his legs and
arms were now free, was far too numbed and exhausted to make more
than the feeblest efforts on his own behalf.

Summoning every ounce of his strength, Joe lifted the latter bodily
in his arms.  Then with swaying steps he stumbled forward in the
direction of the trapdoor, where the little yellow flame of the
candle which Nancy was holding flickered and gleamed above their
heads.

"Get 'old of the ladder, guv'nor," he panted.  "Get 'old of it
some'ow and I'll shove yer up."

Colin heard, and with blue and stiffened fingers caught desperately
at the rungs.

At the same moment he glanced up toward the trap, and there, sharply
illuminated in the candle-light, he saw Nancy's face bending down
toward him.

With something between a sob and a laugh she stretched out her hand.

"Stop as you are now," came Joe's voice.  "I'm goin' to stoop down so
as you can get on top of me.  All you've gotter do is to keep yerself
stiff."

There was a splash, and a second later Colin's ankles were encircled
in a powerful grip.  Then his feet were resting on Joe's shoulders,
and inch by inch he felt himself hoisted upward, until Nancy's
fingers closed tightly round his wrists.

Another heave from below and the upper half of his body was through
the trap.  He thrust out a hand to steady himself, and as he did so a
sudden wave of giddiness overcame him, and he sank sideways into
Nancy's arms.




CHAPTER NINE

"Colin, Colin dear!  It's all over.  You're safe up here with us."

He opened his eyes, to find his head resting upon Nancy's shoulder,
and the dripping figure of Joe just emerging through the trap.  For a
moment he made no attempt to move, then, as the truth of the
statement became increasingly clear to him, a contented sigh escaped
his lips.

Nancy drew him still closer, her soft cheek pressing against his.
"Are you much hurt?" she whispered.

Though feeling curiously disinclined for conversation, Colin managed
to find his voice.

"I don't think so," he said weakly.  "What I really want is a good
stiff drink."

Joe, who had stepped out on the floor, and picked up the candle,
glanced hastily round the room, then with a sudden exclamation he
darted across toward a shelf by the bed.

"'Ere we are!" he cried triumphantly.  "'Ere's the very thing!"

He wrenched out the cork from a half-empty bottle of rum, and
hurrying back to where Colin was lying, dropped down on one knee
alongside of him.

"'Ave a go at this, doctor," he urged.  "Nothing like rum to warm yer
up when you're wet through."

He tilted forward the bottle, and, putting his lips to the neck,
Colin gulped in a generous mouthful.  The raw spirit sent a
comforting glow all through his chilled and exhausted body, and with
a fresh effort he struggled up into a sitting position.

"Thank you both," he gasped, with the ghost of a smile.  "Sorry not
to have said it before, but I'm only just beginning to get my
bearings."  He stared a little dizzily from one to the other of them.
"Where are 'Spike' Cooper and his friends, and how in the name of all
that's wonderful did you manage to find your way here?"

"It was Joe," said Nancy.  "He had been watching this house for the
last two days, and he had seen them go in and out.  When you didn't
come back he felt sure you must have been trapped."

"So we just come along to see wot was 'appening," continued Joe,
removing his mouth from the bottle.  "And bleedin' lucky we did, too,
judgin' by the way things was shapin'."

Colin passed his hand over his forehead.  "But how did you get in?"
he asked.  "What have you done with the others?"

"There wasn't no others," explained Joe.  "Only a bitin', scratchin'
she-devil."  He got up suddenly, and, tiptoeing lightly to the door,
peered out into the passage.  "Yus," he added, "she's still there,
blarst 'er."

"It's the old woman who opened the door," explained Nancy.  "Joe tied
her up and gagged her so that she shouldn't be able to interfere.
There doesn't seem to be any one else in the house."

"Then the quicker we get out of this the better," exclaimed Colin.
"They've probably only gone round to the nearest pub, and now the
cellar's flooded they may be back any minute."

"It's all right," said Nancy.  "I've got Mark's pistol with me."

"You would have," returned Colin admiringly.  "All the same, it would
be madness not to make a bolt for it while we've got the chance.  We
shall have plenty of time to talk when we're safe outside."  He
extended an arm to each of them, and with their joint assistance
scrambled painfully to his feet.  "You'll have to help me along at
first," he added; "my legs are so cramped I can hardly move a step."

"I was afraid they'd killed you," said Nancy, with a queer little
gulp.  "There was blood all along the passage."

"Oh, that wasn't mine," returned Colin reassuringly.  "That belonged
to one of the other gentlemen whom I happened to kick in the face."

"We may as well taike this with us," observed Joe, stuffing the
remainder of the rum into his pocket.  "Nah, doctor, you 'ang on
tight to me, an' don't you worry yerself abaht nothin'.  We ain't
bein' stopped this journey, not if we runs into the 'ole stinkin'
pack of 'em."

He slipped an arm like a steel cable round Colin's waist, and,
preceded by Nancy carrying the candle, they staggered out into the
corridor.

"Don't you mind treadin' on 'er," continued Joe, as they approached
the squirming figure on the floor.  "She's one o' them wild cats that
it don't pay to be perlite with."

Colin himself was in no mood for superfluous courtesy, but a timely
swerve enabled him to avoid the opposite extreme, and the next minute
they had hobbled down the steps, and were standing on the pavement.

Blowing out the candle, and placing it on the ground, Nancy closed
the door behind them.

Joe held out his free hand toward her.  "Better let me 'ave the gun,
miss," he remarked.  "We might meet 'em before we gets to Flood Lane,
and, seein' as they means mischief, the only thing to do is to shoot
quick."

Nancy handed it over without a word, and, crossing to the railings,
took up her position on the farther side of Colin.  The latter put
his other arm round her shoulder, and in this somewhat huddled
formation the three of them started off at a slow pace along the
front of the warehouse.

It was a painful journey as far as Colin was concerned, for with
every step he took the blood began to circulate more freely through
his numbed limbs, causing him such intense agony that at times he
could hardly suppress a groan.

In order to take his mind off his sufferings he began to tell them
his story, jerking it out in broken and disconnected phrases as they
limped their way slowly forward through the darkness.  He described
how he had been stunned in the passage by a blow from a sandbag, and
how, on coming round, he had recognized "Spike" Cooper and the man
who had led the attack on Marsden in the King's Road.  He went on to
give them an account of the way in which he had been thrust down into
the cellar and left there to drown, and of how, after what seemed
like hours of vain struggling, he had at last succeeded in getting on
his feet, just before the water began to pour in through the opening.

"I don't know why I took the trouble," he finished, "except that one
doesn't like to go under without a last kick.  I never dreamed that
there was the faintest chance of my being rescued.  When I heard you
opening the trap I made certain that it was only Cooper and the
others come back to watch me drown."

As he spoke they reached the entrance to Flood Lane, and with a grunt
of relief Joe slipped the revolver into his pocket.

"Better not be seen carryin' a gun 'ere," he observed.  "There might
be a cop at the corner, and I reckon we want to get you back 'ome as
soon as possible."

"You needn't worry about me," said Colin encouragingly.  "This little
stroll has just saved my life."

He was, as a matter of fact, already beginning to walk more easily,
and by the time they came out at the top of the lane into the main
road he found himself able to dispense with Nancy's assistance.

Even so, with two of the party drenched to the skin, they certainly
presented an unusual spectacle.  It takes something extremely
out-of-the-way, however, to excite much comment in Shadwell High
Street, and, except for one or two curious glances which were cast at
them as they passed under the street lamps, they managed to reach the
surgery without attracting any particular attention.

"I expect I can find you a change, Joe," said Colin, as Nancy pulled
out her key.  "Doctor Ashton has lots of old clothes kicking about,
and I'm sure he won't mind my pinching a suit for you."

Joe shook his head.  "It's very good of you, guv'nor, but I won't
come in, not if ye don't mind.  I gotter be at the Palace by eight
o'clock, an' I can get me duds dried there while the boxin's on.
They won't be none the worse for a bit o' washin'."

"Oh, but you must, Joe," exclaimed Nancy, in some distress.  "You
can't go about in those wet things.  You'll catch your death of cold."

Joe chuckled hoarsely, and patted the bottle in his side pocket.
"Not me, miss," he replied.  "I ain't the sort as ketches cold, not
when I got 'alf a bottle o' rum on me."  He turned to Colin.  "You
ain't sittin' dahn under this, doctor?" he added.  "You let me know
when ye feels up to it, and I'll be round 'ere in a brace o' shakes.
We'll smash the guts outer them two for this night's work, or my name
ain't Joe Bates."

"I'll fix up something of the sort if I can," said Colin hopefully.
"I've got a notion, however, that it's rather a bigger business than
it looks, so you mustn't be disappointed if we have to bring the
police in."

"Jest as you thinks best, guv'nor," was the regretful answer.  "I
know yer wouldn't spoil a bit o' sport, not if you 'adn't got some
good reason for doin' it."

He raised his hand in a parting salute, and, before either of them
could say another word, turned swiftly round and slipped out through
the iron gate.

"I hope he'll be all right," said Nancy.  "He's terribly wet, poor
man, and that wretched woman bit his thumb right down to the bone."

"That won't worry Joe," replied Colin reassuringly.  "It takes a
motor bus to knock him out."

He shivered slightly as he spoke, and with a hurried movement Nancy
turned the key and pushed open the door.

"Now, Colin," she said, "you're under my orders.  The first thing
you've got to do is to come straight up and have a hot bath.  Then
you must get into bed at once, and I'll bring you something to eat."

"Make it bread and milk," said Colin pleadingly.  "I've got such a
confounded headache I couldn't face anything more exciting than that."

Taking his arm, Nancy helped him up the staircase to his bedroom,
where she lighted the fire and left him to undress.  Then, after
turning on the bath, and putting everything in readiness, she
hastened downstairs to the kitchen.

Martha Jane, bursting with curiosity, greeted her in the doorway.

"I seed you takin' 'im upstairs, miss.  However did 'e come to fall
in the river?"

"He didn't," said Nancy.  "He has been nearly murdered down in one of
those old houses by the warehouse.  They tied him up in a cellar
where the water came in, and left him to drown."

Martha Jane threw up her hands.  "Well, I never!" she exclaimed.
"And 'im such a pleasant-spoken gentleman, too."  She paused to
recover her breath.  "Who do you reckon done it, miss?  Some o' them
Bolsheviks?"

"Joe knows who they are," replied Nancy, "and I've no doubt the
police will be able to get hold of them.  Meanwhile, what we've got
to do is to make Doctor Gray some nice hot bread and milk.  He's
having a bath now, and I'll take it up to him as soon as he's in
bed."  She glanced at the kitchen clock and a sudden resolve came
into her mind.  "I think I'd better stay here myself, Martha," she
added.  "I can easily sleep in Mrs. Ashton's room, and then I shall
be able to answer the telephone if there are any night calls."

"I shall be thankful to 'ave yer, miss," was the relieved answer.
"You never know what may 'appen, and if the doctor was to die in 'is
bed I should be that scared I shouldn't know which way to turn."

"Oh, there's no fear of that," replied Nancy, smiling.  "You go along
and cut up some bread while I put the milk on."

A quarter of an hour later, carrying a daintily laid tray, she
mounted the staircase and tapped at Colin's door.

"Come in," he called out, and, entering the room, she found him
sitting up in bed and smoking a cigarette.

"Oh, I'm pretty well all right now, except for my head," he replied
cheerfully in answer to her inquiry.  "Lucky for me it's a good thick
one, or I believe that chap would have fractured my skull."

"I'm not going to let you talk," said Nancy severely.  "You've got to
eat this and go right off to sleep.  I've arranged to stay here
to-night so that you won't have to bother about the 'phone."

"I promise I'll be good," said Colin obediently, "but there are two
things I want to speak to you about, and they'll neither of them take
long."

Nancy glanced at her watch.  "I will stop five minutes," she said,
"just while you finish your bread and milk."

She sat down on the edge of the bed and helped herself to a cigarette
from the case which he held out to her.

"In the first place, I've got to apologize for being an idiot," he
began.  "If I'd had the sense to listen to your warning I shouldn't
have given you and Joe all this confounded trouble."  He dipped his
spoon into the basin and looked at her thoughtfully.  "Well," he
added, after a pause, "what do you think of our friend Major Fenton
now?"

"I think he ought to be shut up in an asylum," said Nancy.  "Any one
who tries to commit a murder for such a ridiculous reason as me must
be as mad as a hatter."

Colin shook his head.  "Fenton isn't mad," he said quietly.  "He's
just an ordinary blackguard, and rather a clumsy one at that."

Nancy stared at him in bewilderment.  "Then why----" she demanded.

"I don't know if you've ever read Boswell," continued Colin, "but
Doctor Johnson says that it sharpens a man's wits wonderfully if he's
just on the point of being hanged.  You can take my word for it that
the same thing's true about being drowned.  I did a lot of thinking
while I was down in that cellar, and I've come to the conclusion that
we're up against something much bigger and more complicated than
we've got any idea of."

Nancy sat motionless, her blue eyes fixed steadily on his.

"I don't quite understand," she said slowly, "but I somehow feel that
you're right."

"I won't try to explain now," replied Colin.  "My head's aching too
badly for one thing, and in any case I am going to turn the whole
business over to Marsden to-morrow, and I would rather wait until I
hear what he's got to say about it."  He paused.  "Besides," he
added, "I have only another three minutes, and there's something much
more important I want to discuss."

"What's that?" inquired Nancy.

"Come a little closer," said Colin.  "It's confidential."

Nancy moved forward obediently, and with a sudden movement Colin
pushed aside the tray and took hold of her two hands.

"It's just this," he whispered.  "I love you so much that I don't
know whether I'm sitting in bed or whether I've died and gone to
heaven."

Nancy looked up into his face, a faint smile quivering round the
corners of her lips.

"I think you must be in bed, Colin.  They don't wear pyjamas in
heaven."

He leaned toward her.  "Say you care for me, Nancy, even if it isn't
true."

She shook her head.  "I told you I was no good at pretending.  I have
loved you shamelessly ever since that first day in the King's Road."

With a deep, contented laugh Colin drew up her hands until they
rested on his shoulders.  "So have I," he confessed, "but I only
realized it while I was waiting to be drowned.  I think I must be the
biggest fool in England, but I'm certainly the happiest."

He kissed her lips with a passionate tenderness, and then, slipping
his arms round her, held her close to him, his face resting against
hers.

For a moment or two they remained quite still, then very gently Nancy
raised her head.

"I don't know much about concussion, Colin," she said, "but I'm quite
sure that this isn't the right treatment for it."

"I haven't got concussion," returned Colin.  "What I'm suffering from
is an acute form of heart trouble."

Nancy stroked his cheek with her small, cool fingers.

"My poor darling," she whispered.  "I will do everything I can for
you to-morrow--I promise you that--but I _must_ run away now and let
you go to sleep.  I don't want you to be seriously ill, Colin,
especially when you've just found out that you love me."

"Perhaps you're right," admitted Colin reluctantly.  "The worst of it
is we shall have precious little time to ourselves until Mark comes
home, and after that I shall have to dash up to Scotland Yard."

Nancy tucked in the bedclothes, and then, bending over, dropped a
soft little kiss on his forehead.

"Never mind," she said happily.  "There'll be lots of days after
to-morrow."

She walked to the doorway, and for a moment stood there, looking back
at him with a world of love and tenderness in her eyes.  Then very
softly she stepped out into the passage and closed the door behind
her.

* * * * * * * * *

When Colin woke next morning it was with a vague feeling that
something extraordinarily pleasant had happened to him.  For several
seconds he lay still, wondering what it could be; then, as the truth
suddenly occurred to him, he started up from the pillow and opened
his eyes.  Two agreeable discoveries awaited him.  His headache had
gone, and Nancy, fully dressed and holding a cup of tea in her hand,
was standing beside the bed.

"I was just going to take it away again," she said, smiling.  "You
looked so beautifully comfy I hadn't the heart to wake you."

Colin reached out an arm and imprisoned her left hand.

"Tell me quick, Nancy," he said.  "It _is_ true about last night,
isn't it?  I'm terribly afraid that perhaps I fell asleep and dreamed
it all."

She shook her head.  "No, Colin," she said.  "It's quite true.  You
sat up in bed and made love to me in the most passionate manner.  I
don't know whether you really meant it or whether it was because you
had had a blow on the head."

Colin leaned forward, and, taking the cup out of her hand, deposited
it carefully on the table beside him.  Then he drew her gently down
on to the bed, and, putting his arms around her, pressed his lips to
hers.

"I think you must be better," said Nancy, as soon as she was at
liberty to speak.

"I'm not only better," declared Colin.  "I'm perfectly well.  I
believe an occasional smack from a sandbag would do me all the good
in the world."

Nancy parted his thick curly hair, and very carefully examined the
back of his head.

"You've got a nasty lump there still," she said.  "Hadn't you better
stop in bed until Mark comes?"

"Good Lord, no!" returned Colin.  "I'm going to get up and do my job.
There'll be all last night's patients to see as well as to-day's, and
I don't want to land Mark with a double dose of work."

"Well, if you really mean it," said Nancy.  "I must go downstairs and
get things ready.  I haven't even opened the letters yet."

"Just one more kiss first," pleaded Colin.

"Only one, then," said Nancy firmly, "and that must be the last until
this afternoon.  If you don't treat me with proper respect while I'm
your secretary I shall report you to the Medical Council."

For a man who during the last twenty-four hours had looked straight
into the face of death, and had also discovered that he was deeply in
love, it must be admitted that Colin got through the morning's task
with considerable credit.  It was no light session either, for, in
addition to his ordinary round of visits, he was faced, as he had
predicted, by an exceptionally heavy list of callers, several of whom
were still indignant over their fruitless vigil on the previous
evening.  An occasional glimpse of Nancy, however, as she gravely
entered the surgery with some necessary reference or address, was
sufficient to refresh his energies, and by one-thirty his somewhat
exhausting programme was practically complete.

He was, indeed, in the very act of dismissing his last patient when a
taxicab drove up to the door, and the sturdy, untidy figure of Mark
bundled out on to the pavement.  Nancy must have seen him, too, from
the study window, for as the front door opened Colin heard her voice
in the hall, and the next moment the pair of them entered the surgery.

Mark thrust out his hand and wrung Colin's heartily.

"I needn't ask how everything is," remarked the latter.  "You look
too damn cheerful for anything but good news."

"That's right," returned Mark, tossing his hat on to a chair.  "The
operation went off like clockwork, and I left the old lady sitting up
in bed having a cup of tea with Mary.  She'll be as fit as a fiddle
in another fortnight."  He stepped forward to the table and glanced
casually down at the consulting book.  "By Jove, you've had some
patients," he exclaimed.  "I hope you haven't been bored stiff."

Nancy's lips twitched, and, as though moved by a similar impulse,
Colin suddenly burst into a chuckle of laughter.

"No," he replied drily, "I can't exactly say I've been bored."

Mark looked questioningly from one to the other of them.  "What's the
joke?" he demanded.

As he spoke Martha Jane appeared in the doorway.  "Lunch is ready,"
she announced, "if you'd like me to bring it up."

Colin slipped his arm through Mark's.  "You shall hear all about it
when we've had something to eat," he answered.  "I've been healing
the sick ever since half-past nine, and I'm beginning to faint for
want of nourishment."

"I'll go along to the cellar and get out a bottle of fizz," suggested
Mark.  "I think you and Nancy are both entitled to a drink."

Once more Colin laughed appreciatively.  "Yes," he said, "under the
circumstances I suppose we are."

* * * * * * * * *

"And now," observed Mark, as he pushed his coffee cup away half an
hour later, "I'd like to know what you two sunny-hearted infants were
giggling at when I made that innocent remark in the surgery."

Colin glanced at Nancy.  "Shall I tell him?" he asked, "or will you?"

"Oh, you," said Nancy decisively.  "The police will want to know all
about it, so it's just as well you should have a rehearsal."

"The police!" exclaimed Mark.  "Good heavens, I hope you haven't been
sending out prussic acid in mistake for magnesia?"

"It's worse than that," said Colin cheerfully.  "However, if you hang
on tight to your chair and don't interrupt I think you may be just
able to bear it."  He paused.  "Joking aside, Mark," he added more
seriously, "we seem to have struck something really ugly in the way
of trouble, and I want your opinion and advice pretty badly."

At the sudden change in his voice Mark sobered down instantly.

"Well, if you mean that, my son," he said, "get on with it at once."

"It's chiefly about Nancy's guardian," continued Colin.  "You
remember him, the chap who came to lunch?"

Mark nodded.

Going back to their first meeting in Jubilee Place, Colin began very
carefully and deliberately to relate everything he knew about Major
Fenton, of which Mark was still in ignorance.  He described how the
man had originally forced his society upon Nancy by pretending to
have been acquainted with her father, and how, on discovering who
Colin was, he had endeavoured to prejudice her mind against him by
inventing that absurd story about a scandal at St. Christopher's
Hospital.  He went on, step by step, to trace the various
developments that had followed--his own inquiries at Scotland Yard,
Fenton's abortive proposal to Nancy, his suggestive meeting with
"Spike" Cooper outside the public house, and the improvised
engagement of Joe Bates in the role of an amateur detective.

Having thus cleared the ground, he proceeded to give a curt account
of what had taken place on the previous evening.  He spoke very
quietly and simply, but the details were dramatic enough in
themselves without any word-painting, and it was easy to see the
profound amazement with which Mark drank in his story.

So thunderstruck, indeed, did the latter appear to be that nearly a
minute must have elapsed after Colin had finished speaking before he
attempted to offer his first comment.

"Well, I'm blessed!" he exclaimed.  "And they call this a civilized
country!"

"Oh, it's civilized enough," returned Colin carelessly.  "If I hadn't
been able to get some bread and milk and a hot bath when I came back
I should probably be down with double pneumonia."  He lighted another
cigarette and leaned inquiringly across the table.  "Those are the
facts, anyhow, Mark.  And now I'll be much obliged if you'll let me
know what you make of 'em."

Mark took off his spectacles and polished them deliberately with his
handkerchief.

"There's one thing that's perfectly plain," he said.  "The sooner
Fenton's in Broadmoor the better for you and Nancy."

"You think he's insane then?"

Mark received the question with a stare of astonishment.  "Insane!"
he repeated.  "Why, what the devil else can he be?"

"You have seen him yourself," persisted Colin.  "Did you notice
anything the least queer about him?"

Mark paused.  "No," he said slowly.  "Now you come to mention it, I'm
hanged if I did."

"Nor I," was Colin's rejoinder.  "I quite agree with you that he
ought to be shut up, only I think it's Dartmoor and not Broadmoor."

"But, hang it all," broke in Mark, "a sane man doesn't try to have a
perfect stranger murdered just because he's a little sore at being
turned down by a girl."

"He doesn't," admitted Colin.  "There must be some other reason that
we know nothing about, and that's why I'm going to turn the whole
thing over to Marsden.  If I thought that it was merely a personal
matter between him and me I'd go round and knock the stuffing out of
him myself."

Mark replaced his spectacles with an air of bewilderment that was
almost comic.

"The more one thinks over it," he said, "the more incomprehensible it
seems.  For one thing, why should he connect you with Nancy at all?
You have only seen each other about three times."

There was a pause.

"Well as far as that goes," replied Colin, "he may have a better
reason than you imagine."

Mark glanced at Nancy, who had turned a delicate shade of pink.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed.  "You don't mean----"

"Yes, I do," replied Colin; "we fixed it up last night over the bread
and milk, and I'm so happy that I could get up and dance round the
room."

He stretched out his arm, and taking Nancy's hand across the table,
bent over and kissed the tips of her fingers.

"Well, if that isn't the limit!" ejaculated Mark bitterly.  "I leave
my practice in your hands, trusting to your honesty, and when I come
back I find you've pinched the one thing I value most--the only
perfect secretary a doctor ever had."

Nancy turned toward him with a startled expression.  "Oh," she cried
remorsefully, "I never knew you'd look at it like that."

Mark got up from his chair, and stepping toward her with a twinkle in
his eyes, laid his hand affectionately on her shoulder.

"My beloved child," he said, "I was only joking.  I shall just hate
losing you, and so will Mary, but, thank God, we're neither of us
quite such selfish pigs as to grudge you the happiness you deserve."

He picked up the champagne bottle and tilted the few remaining drops
into his empty glass.

"Colin, my lad," he said, "here's my blessing and my congratulations!
Nancy's a million times too good for you, but----"

As he spoke the telephone bell rang sharply, and Colin, who was
sitting nearest the door, jumped to his feet.

"I'll go," he said.  "You finish your speech, Mark.  It would be a
pity to break off just when you're getting really truthful."

He hurried out into the hall and took down the receiver.

"Is that 276 Shadwell?"

"It is," he answered.

"Inspector Marsden of Scotland Yard speaking.  Is Doctor Gray in?"

"He's not only in, but he's talking to you," returned Colin.

"I thought it was your voice," came the reply.  "Look here, doctor,
I've got back a bit earlier than I expected, and I want to see you as
soon as possible.  Can you come up to the Yard straight away?"

"I can be there in half an hour," said Colin.

"That will do all right.  Don't be later if you can help it.  I've
been let in for an unexpected appointment at four o'clock, and there
are several things I'd like to talk to you about first."

"Well, if it comes to that," remarked Colin, "there's something I'm
pretty anxious to discuss with you."

"Anything serious?" rapped out the other.

"Only that somebody tried to murder me last night."

"_Tried to murder you!_  Who was it?"

"Seems to have been a syndicate," was the answer.  "The principal
parties were two gentlemen called 'Spike' Cooper and Jake Hudson,
both of this parish.  The third one was the same cheery sportsman who
kicked you in the tummy."

He heard a muttered exclamation at the other end of the telephone.

"You had better not say any more now.  Come along up immediately.  If
this is true it's of the utmost importance."

"Yes," said Colin drily.  "It struck me that way too."

He replaced the receiver, and, turning round, found Mark and Nancy
standing in the doorway.

"I have been summoned to Scotland Yard at once," he informed them.
"Marsden seems as anxious to see me as I am to see him."

"Perhaps he's got hold of some clue about the murder?" suggested Mark.

"I shouldn't wonder," said Colin.  "I know he went down into the
country to look up the Professor's old servant this morning, and he
certainly spoke as though things were beginning to move."  He turned
toward the pegs and started to unhook his hat and coat.

"How are you going to get there?" inquired Mark.

"Oh, I've brought the car along with me.  It's only round the corner
at Higgins's place."

"You'll promise to be careful, won't you?" said Nancy rather
anxiously.  "I hate to let you out of my sight until those three men
have been arrested."

"You needn't worry about them," returned Colin with a laugh.  "They
must have found out by now that they made a bloomer last night, and
it's a hundred to one that the whole lot have skedaddled."

"Major Fenton won't have run away," persisted Nancy.  "He has no idea
that you saw him talking to Cooper, and there's nothing else to
connect him with the affair."

"No, that's true," admitted Colin.  "He must be feeling as sick as
the devil, and probably in a blue funk as well, but the only thing he
can do is to sit tight and hope for the best."

"Anyhow, he'll be lying fairly low for the moment," agreed Mark.
"You bung along off, my son, and get back as soon as possible.
You'll find Nancy and me here, unless we've burst with curiosity."

It was exactly on the stroke of a quarter past three when, with a
sharp blast from his horn, Colin shot past the policeman on duty and
pulled up neatly in the centre court of Scotland Yard.  Before he
could attempt to dismount two indignant constables were alongside of
him.

"Who are you?" demanded one.  "Don't you know it's against the
regulations to bring in a car without permission?"

"Sorry," said Colin penitently.  "The fact is, I've got a very urgent
appointment with Inspector Marsden.  He telephoned me to be here at a
quarter past without fail."

"Well, you take my advice and be a bit more careful the next time,"
observed his interrogator, "or as likely as not you'll find yourself
in trouble."  He turned to his companion.  "Better take him up at
once.  The Inspector's in his room."

Climbing out of the car and following his guide, Colin ascended the
flight of stone stairs until they reached the same apartment to which
Marsden had conducted him before.  Having inquired his name, the
constable rapped loudly, and in answer to a peremptory invitation
pushed open the door and stepped briskly forward.

"Doctor Gray to see you by appointment, sir."

Marsden blotted the letter that he was writing and got up from his
desk.

"Come along in, doctor," he called out; and then, as Colin entered,
he pulled forward a chair and motioned the constable to withdraw.

"Take that seat," he added, directly the door was shut.  "There's no
time to waste, and I want to hear your story before we discuss
anything else.  Don't hurry, though; tell it me in your own way, just
as you did when you described the murder."

Colin laid his hat on the floor, and, thrusting his hands in his
pockets, commenced to speak.

In very much the same words that he had used to Mark he repeated the
whole history of Fenton's relations with Nancy and himself, taking
the utmost care to omit nothing which might have any conceivable
bearing on the case.  Then, still in the same methodical and detached
fashion, he went on to relate the remainder of his story, while all
the time the Inspector sat by in grim silence, his hard blue eyes
fixed intently on his companion's face.

"I don't know how it strikes you," observed Colin, when he had quite
finished, "but Nancy and I have been chewing it over pretty
thoroughly, and we both think that it would take a damn sight more
than a mere fit of jealousy to make Fenton risk his neck.  We feel
certain that there must be something much bigger at the back of it
all, but beyond that we're absolutely gravelled."

Without replying, Marsden leaned forward and pulled open a drawer in
his desk.  He turned over some of its contents, and then, taking out
an unmounted photograph, handed it to Colin.

"Do you recognize that?" he asked.

Colin sat up, with a sudden start of surprise.

"Recognize it!" he exclaimed.  "Of course I do.  It's 'Spike' Cooper."

"You're sure?"

"Positive.  You don't suppose I'd forget his infernal face?"  He
inspected the picture carefully for several seconds, and then passed
it back.  "Where did you get hold of this?" he asked.

"It was sent to me three days ago by the Canadian police.  Perhaps
you would like to hear the letter that came with it."

He dived into the drawer again, and produced an official-looking
sheet of blue paper.

"With reference to your inquiry of the 3d ult.," he read, "we now
enclose the photograph, record, and finger prints of Luke Hammond,
which were not included in our reply of the 15th.  We have since
ascertained that Hammond has left Canada and is probably in London."

"And what _is_ his record?" demanded Colin.

"Quite a useful one in its way," was the dry answer.  "Two terms of
imprisonment for housebreaking and one of ten years for robbery with
violence.  Our friends at Montreal seem to regard him as one of the
show cases in their collection."

"Fenton has been in Canada," remarked Colin; "at least, so it said in
that report you gave me.  They probably met each other over there."

"Not a doubt of it," returned the detective, "and, what's more, I
shouldn't be much surprised if he came to England on Fenton's
invitation."

There was a pause.  "We seem to be getting on," remarked Colin, "but,
all the same, I'm hanged if I can make head or tail of it even now.
Why on earth should a cashiered major and a Canadian crook be
thirsting for my blood?"

Marsden replaced the paper and shut the drawer.

"Doctor Gray," he said, "have you any objection to leaving this
entirely in my hands for the next twenty-four hours?  I shall give
instructions at once for the arrest of Cooper and Hudson, and you can
take it from me that there are not likely to be any more attempts on
your life.  If it would make you more comfortable, I will arrange for
you to be shadowed from the moment you leave this office."

"Good heavens, no!" exclaimed Colin.  "It would make me feel as if I
were a co-respondent in a divorce case.  I should like to have had
five minutes alone with the blighter who hit me on the head, but if
it can't be managed I'm quite content to leave him to you."  He took
his hands from his pockets and sat up in his chair.  "And now," he
added, "what have you got to tell me?  I'm dying to hear if you found
out anything from this chap Kennedy."

Marsden glanced at his watch.  "I have found out a good deal," he
said, "and it was because I was anxious to talk it over with you that
I asked you to come round.  As things have turned out, however, it
seemed to me more important that I should hear your story first.  I
am afraid now that we must put off our discussion until to-morrow.  I
have an appointment with the Commissioner in a few minutes, and it
will probably be a couple of hours before I am free."  He paused.  "I
don't mind telling you one thing, doctor, and that is that there are
going to be some developments in this case that will probably give
you the biggest surprise of your life."

Colin received the news with apparent calmness.  "Really!" he
observed.  "Well, I ought to be able to stand them.  I've had plenty
of practice one way and another."

Marsden turned to a memorandum tablet that was lying on his desk, and
studied it for a moment in silence.

"I want you all three to be here at two o'clock to-morrow
punctually," he said, "you and this man Bates and Miss Seymour."  He
picked up a pencil.  "By the way, has Miss Seymour any other
Christian name besides Nancy?"

Colin shook his head.  "Not that I know of."

"And her exact age?"

"She will be nineteen on the third of February."  Marsden jotted down
his reply, and then sat frowning thoughtfully at the pad.

"I suppose there's no more information you can give me in connection
with her--no little fact or detail that you've forgotten to mention?"

Colin reflected.  "By Jove, yes!" he exclaimed suddenly.  "I've never
told you that we're going to be married."

Allowing for the Inspector's naturally reserved manner, the effect of
these few words was extraordinary.  He pushed back his chair, stared
for a moment half incredulously, and then, slapping his knee, broke
into a loud and prolonged chuckle of laughter.

Before either of them could speak again there was a tap outside, and
an apologetic constable presented himself in the doorway.

"Beg pardon, sir," he said, "but the Commissioner is ready to see
you."

With an abrupt change of manner Marsden rose to his feet.

"Thank you, Jackson," he said.  "I will be down immediately."

Then, as the door closed, he took a step forward, and with another
hearty chuckle gripped hold of Colin's hand.

"I congratulate you with all my heart, doctor," he said. "Unless I'm
a damned fool, you're the luckiest man in England."




CHAPTER TEN

"More coffee?" suggested Mark.

Colin pushed over his cup, and, having taken possession of the last
slice of toast, proceeded to scrape out the remainder of the
marmalade.

"I seem to be eating rather a lot," he observed apologetically.  "I
suppose it's the result of being in love."

Mark laughed and glanced at the clock.  "It seems to have affected
Nancy in the same way.  Anyhow, this is the first time I've ever
known her late."

"You mustn't be brutal to her," said Colin; "it's all my fault.  I
took her out to supper after the theatre last night, and we didn't
get back to her place until nearly one o'clock.  I expect she was a
bit sleepy this morning."

"Well, I'll try and overlook it for once," replied Mark generously.
He produced his pipe, and, after stuffing the bowl with tobacco,
tossed the pouch across the table.  "What are your plans for this
morning?" he inquired.

"I've got to find Joe," was the answer.  "Marsden wants him at the
Yard at two o'clock, so I must go along to the Palace and see if I
can get hold of his address."

"You had better tell him to come here at half-past twelve," said
Mark.  "He can have some lunch with us, and then you can all go up
together in the car."

"That's a bright idea," agreed Colin.  "I'm afraid that, in one way
and another, I'm becoming a bit of a nuisance, though."

"Not the slightest," returned Mark.  "I'm enjoying myself immensely.
It's so dull down here as a rule that any little thing like a love
affair or an attempted murder is a perfect godsend."

He sauntered off to the surgery, and a few minutes later Colin,
having scribbled a brief note to Nancy and left it on the hall table,
was striding along the street in the direction of the Whitechapel
Road.

No one could describe the thoroughfares through which he had to pass
as picturesque or engaging, but in the crisp morning air, and with a
yellow sun shining down from overhead, the two-mile walk was not
without a certain attraction.

He was in the kind of mood, indeed, in which even the Dead Sea or the
Sahara Desert would probably have appeared to possess some favourable
features.  Ever since he had discovered his real feelings toward
Nancy the whole world seemed to have become an extraordinarily
interesting and exciting place.  At the present moment, both these
sensations were intensified by the prospect of his approaching
interview with Marsden.  From the way in which the detective had
spoken there could be little doubt that he had made some important
discoveries, and the mere thought that in a few hours he might be
helping to track down the Professor's murderer was sufficient in
itself to set every nerve in Colin's body tingling with a fierce
elation.

Half-an-hour's walk brought him to the Palace, a gaudy structure
wedged in between two public houses.  The only person about who
appeared to have any connection with the establishment was an elderly
man with a bucket of paste, who was leisurely engaged in affixing a
poster to one of the two boards which decorated each side of the
entrance.

Colin pulled up alongside of him.

"Do you happen to know where Joe Bates lives?" he asked.

The other paused in his work, and eyed him with some suspicion.

"Yus," he replied, "an' wot abaht it?"

"Nothing much," returned Colin.  "I happen to be a pal of his, and I
want to see him.  My name's Doctor Gray."

The elderly man's expression changed instantly.  "Ow," he remarked,
"that's orl right.  I've 'eard 'im speak o' you.  You're the bloke as
mended 'im up when 'e was in 'orspital?  Thinks the world o' you, Joe
does, an' no error."

"Well, in that case," said Colin, "perhaps you will trust me with his
address?"

"Why, o' course," was the answer.  "No offence, mister, but I didn't
know who you was when you come askin' fust.  Might 'a' been one o'
these 'ere blarsted rate collectors."  He laid down his brush, and,
stepping out on the pavement, pointed across toward a narrow turning
on the opposite side of the road.  "You foller that," he said, "an'
when you come to the last 'ouse on the right jest give a couple o'
taps on the front winder."

Colin thanked him, and, crossing the street, made his way down the
alley in question, until he arrived at the farther end.  Joe's
residence proved to be a single-fronted dwelling of grimy brick, the
ground floor window of which opened on to the street.  A square of
not over-clean muslin had been nailed up inside, in order to secure
the owner's privacy, but at Colin's second knock this obstruction was
cautiously lifted, and Joe's face peered out inquiringly through the
dirty glass.

On recognizing the visitor, it disappeared again at once, and the
next moment a burly figure in trousers and shirt sleeves swung open
the front door.

"Couldn't believe me own eyes, doctor," announced the prize-fighter
with a grin of welcome.  "'Ow the blazes did you manage to find your
way 'ere?"

"I got your address from an elderly gentleman who was shoving up
bills outside the Palace," said Colin.  "He wouldn't part with it
until I told him who I was."

"Ah, that'd be old Tom," returned Joe, nodding his head.  "'E ain't
the sort to let 'is mouth flap, not unless 'e's sure of 'is comp'ny."
He stepped back into the passage, holding open the door.  "Come along
in, doctor.  I ain't got much of a place, but, such as it is, you're
more than welcome."

Colin followed his host into a tiny apartment on the left, on the
walls of which were nailed up a number of coloured prints,
representing various well-known boxers in highly aggressive
attitudes.  In the centre of the room stood a deal table, containing
a couple of bottles of Bass and the smaller half of a brown loaf.  A
bed, a dilapidated chair, and an old packing-case, full of odds and
ends, completed the remainder of the furniture.

"I was jest goin' to 'ave me breakfast," explained Joe, indicating
the refreshments.  "If you'd fancy a drop, guv'nor, I can borrow a
glass from the bloke upstairs."

"Not for me, thanks," said Colin.  "I always go to sleep if I drink
beer in the morning, and besides, I have only looked in to tell you
that you'll be wanted this afternoon."

Joe's eyes glistened.  "Goin' to shove it across 'em?" he inquired
eagerly.

"I wish we were," was Colin's reply, "but I'm afraid it's nothing as
exciting as that.  The fact is, I had a talk with Inspector Marsden
yesterday, and he wants you and me and Miss Seymour to meet him at
Scotland Yard at two o'clock."

For a moment Joe seemed somewhat taken aback.

"If them's the orders," he said at last, "there ain't no more to be
said abaht it.  I never thought to see meself walkin' in there,
though, not of me own accord."

"They'll be civil enough," said Colin.  "They only want to hear your
story about getting me out of the cellar."

"I daresay you're right," admitted Joe doubtfully.  "I ain't got
nothin' special against the perlice; all I says is that the less you
'as to do with 'em the better." He paused.  "Wot's the programme,
guv'nor?  Do I jest step up to the front door an' 'and in me card?"

"Doctor Ashton suggested that you should come round to the surgery.
Then you can have some grub and drive up with us."

Joe shook his head.  "Thankin' yer kindly, but if it's all the same I
reckon I'll meet yer there.  I gotter couple o' torfs comin' to the
Palace for a lesson this mornin', an' it means a quid to me if I let
'em knock me abaht a bit."

"That's all right," said Colin, "as long as I can depend on you to
keep the appointment."

"I'll be there, doctor," replied Joe.  "I'll be there, honest to
Gawd.  You bring the young laidy along in the car, and yer'll find me
sittin' on the Embankment waitin' for yer."

Satisfied with this assurance, Colin took his departure, and,
retracing his steps to the end of the street, made his way back to
Shadwell by the same route that he had come.

As he opened the door of the house he saw to his surprise that the
note which he had left for Nancy was still lying on the hall table.
Before he had time to realize anything further Mark suddenly appeared
from the surgery.

"Hullo!" exclaimed Colin.  "I made sure you'd be out on your round."

"So I ought to be," replied Mark, "but, as a matter of fact, I was
waiting for you."

"What's the matter?"

"I'm rather worried about Nancy.  She's never turned up, and there's
been no message from her."

Colin's whole figure stiffened abruptly.

"No message?" he repeated.

"Nothing.  I can't understand it at all.  If she's ill, surely she'd
have let us know."

Without a word Colin swung round sharply, and, striding toward the
pegs, unhooked his coat.

"What are you going to do?" demanded Mark.

"I'll get out the car and drive up there at once," he said.  "Can you
stop in for another twenty minutes?  I'll telephone you directly I
find out what's the matter."

Mark nodded.  "Keep steady, old son.  I expect it will be all right.
There's probably some quite simple explanation."

Colin moistened his lips.  "We were mad ever to let her leave the
house," he said hoarsely.  "If any harm's come to her I'll kill
Fenton with my own hands."

As he spoke the clock on the stairs chimed out eleven-thirty, and,
turning hastily to the door, he hurried out again into the street.

If there is any truth in the theory that each of us possesses a
guardian angel, the fact that a quarter of an hour later Colin drew
up safely at the corner of Jubilee Place must be regarded as an
amazing tribute to the efficiency of his own particular escort.

Leaving the car in the gutter, he jumped out on to the pavement, and
the next moment he was mounting the narrow staircase which led up to
the first landing.

There were two studios on this floor, the one which Nancy rented
being distinguished by a small brass knocker.  Catching hold of the
knob, Colin rapped loudly, and then, bending down, lifted up the flap
of the letter box.

"Nancy," he called out, "are you there?  It is I--Colin."  There was
no answer.

He straightened himself slowly, and as he did so the door of the
second studio was pulled back and a girl appeared in the opening.
She was a fair-haired, cheerful-looking girl, wearing a brown overall
and smoking a cigarette.

"Excuse my butting in," she said, "but do you want to speak to Miss
Seymour?"

Colin took off his hat.  "I do," he said, "rather particularly."

"Well, I'm afraid it's no good waiting," was the answer.  "She went
out just after eight o'clock this morning, and I know she won't be
back till late, because she asked me to take in a parcel for her."

"I suppose you don't happen to know where she was going to?" asked
Colin.  "Please forgive my curiosity, but I am a friend of Doctor
Ashton's, for whom Miss Seymour works, and as she hasn't turned up
and has sent no message, we are both feeling rather anxious about
her."

"She has gone to see her lawyer," replied the girl.  "He sent a car
around to fetch her, that's why she went off in such a hurry."

Colin stared at her in astonishment.  "Her lawyer?" he repeated.

"That's what she told me.  I think from the way she spoke he wanted
to see her suddenly about some important business.  Anyhow, I know
the chauffeur brought a letter with him, because she had it in her
hand."

"Did you notice the man?" demanded Colin, "Would you be able to
describe him again?"

The girl raised her eyebrows.  "I don't suppose so," she said coolly.
"He was on the landing, but it doesn't happen to be a habit of mine
to stare at chauffeurs."

With a big effort Colin pulled himself together.

"I beg your pardon," he said.  "Perhaps I ought to explain.  Miss
Seymour and I are engaged to be married, so you will understand why
I'm feeling worried about this sudden disappearance of hers."

The girl looked up at him sympathetically.  "Why, of course," she
replied, "but surely there's no reason to be alarmed?  I expect she
intended to ring up when she reached the lawyer's office, and then
something came along and put it out of her head.  She has probably
done so by now."

"It won't take me long to find out, anyhow," said Colin.  He paused.
"Are you likely to be at home the rest of the day?" he asked.

His companion nodded.  "Yes," she said.  "I live here.  I'm an
artist."

"Then, just in case Miss Seymour does come home, would you mind
asking her to let Doctor Ashton know immediately?"

"Certainly I will," said the girl.  "Even if I don't hear her, she's
sure to look in in order to see about the parcel."  She hesitated.
"I--I should like to congratulate you, if I may," she added.  "I
don't know Miss Seymour very well--I have only been in this studio a
few weeks--but one's merely got to speak to her to see that she's a
perfect dear."

In spite of his anxiety, Colin smiled at her gratefully.

"Thank you so much," he said.  "I'll tell Nancy what a brick you've
been."

He shook her hand and, leaving her standing in the doorway, hurried
downstairs again into the street.

There was a chemist's shop at the corner which boasted a public
telephone, and, entering the box, he rang up Mark.

"No news here," came the reply in answer to his first inquiry.  "How
about you?"

In a few words Colin acquainted him with the story he had just been
told, giving the bare facts exactly as he had heard them from the
girl.

"It seems a devilish queer business," was Mark's comment, after a
short pause.  "What are you going to do about it?"

"I know the name of her lawyer at Helston," said Colin.  "It's
Penwarren.  I shall send a telegram at once to find out whether he's
in London."

"And suppose he's not?"

"In that case there's only one explanation.  She's in the hands of
that brute Fenton, and----"

"Look here," broke in Mark, "shall I come up and join you?  I can
easily put off my round until this evening."

"I would rather you stayed at the surgery for the present," replied
Colin.  "A message might come through from Nancy any time, and I
shall have to give Penwarren your address so that he can have
somewhere to reply to.  I'll ring you up again about half-past one,
before I see Marsden.  We ought to have an answer by then."

"I'll be here," said Mark.  "Don't you worry more than you can help.
Even if you're right, Nancy can't be in any real danger; the police
will have her back in a few hours."

"Please God," said Colin fervently.

He replaced the receiver, and, leaving the shop, walked on quickly up
the King's Road until he reached the post office.  Here, after
destroying two previous attempts, he wrote out the following wire,
which he signed in Mark's name:


    "I shall be very grateful if you will let me know immediately
    whether Mr. Penwarren is in London and whether he has any
    business to discuss with Miss Nancy Seymour.  Miss Seymour is in
    my employment.  The matter is extremely urgent."


He handed this to the girl behind the counter, and, having paid for a
reply, made his way back to where he had left the car.

He had done everything he could think of for the present, but the
knowledge of this fact deepened rather than lessened his anxiety.
The whole affair was so extraordinary that he had an instinctive
feeling that there must be something evil at the back of it.  Was it
likely or even possible that the summons which Nancy had received
could really have come from Mr. Penwarren?  Even if he were in town,
for what conceivable reason could he have sent to fetch her at eight
o'clock in the morning?  And yet, knowing Nancy's character, it
seemed equally incredible that she should have left the studio under
such circumstances, without being absolutely convinced that the
message was a genuine one.

If she had fallen into a trap, there could be no doubt whose hand had
set it.  The affair in Flood Lane proved that, whatever motive lurked
behind Fenton's proceedings, he had now reached a point where nothing
would be allowed to stand in his way.  He was certainly quite capable
of having abducted Nancy, though, in view of the hue and cry which he
must have known would immediately follow, it was difficult to imagine
how he could have hoped to avoid discovery.  From all appearances it
seemed to be either the work of a madman, or else the final stroke in
some deliberate scheme, the apparent weaknesses of which had been
carefully guarded against.

It was the dread of this latter alternative which was clutching at
Colin's heart as he once more reached the corner of Jubilee Place.
Should it prove to be the true explanation, every minute was
obviously of the greatest value, and the prospect of remaining idle
for the next two hours filled him with an almost intolerable revolt.

Unless he could get hold of Marsden personally, however, it seemed
useless to communicate with the police until he had received a reply
from Helston.  They were not likely to take action on mere suspicion,
especially when the Inspector himself had promised to be on the spot
at two o'clock.  As to whether there was any chance of his arriving
earlier Colin had no idea, but, since the only other course was to do
nothing, he decided that he might just as well drive up to Whitehall
straight away.

With this resolve he started the car, and, turning down through
Burton Court on to the Embankment, swung round to the left in the
direction of Westminster Bridge.  A sharp run of about seven minutes
brought him to the Yard gates, where, as usual, a couple of
stalwart-looking constables were standing on duty.  Colin recognized
one of them as his acquaintance of the previous day, and with a
friendly nod he pulled up alongside.

"That's all right, sir," observed the man approvingly.  "No objection
to your coming in now we know who you are."

Colin leaned forward from the driving seat.

"Do you happen to know whether Mr. Marsden is about anywhere?" he
asked.  "He made an appointment with me for two o'clock, but
something rather important has cropped up, and if possible I should
like to see him at once."

"He hasn't been in this way," was the policeman's answer, "but he
might have come along by one of the other entrances.  You can go
inside and inquire, if you like.  The officer on duty will be able to
find out for you."

Colin thanked him, and, steering his car through the gates, came to a
halt in front of the broad flight of steps which led up to the main
door.

Another constable advanced inquiringly.

"I don't think so," he replied, in answer to Colin's question; "but
if you like to wait a moment I can let you know for certain."

He disappeared within the building, returning after a short absence
with a significant shake of his head.

"No one's heard anything of him yet, sir.  They expect him at two
o'clock, though."

"I know," said Colin.  "I've got an appointment with him."  He
paused.  "Can I leave the car here until then?"

The constable scratched his head.  "Well, this ain't exactly a
garage," he replied doubtfully.  "Still, if you back her up quite
into that corner----"

He turned aside as he spoke, and, pocketing the five shillings which
Colin slipped into his hand, sauntered back to his former position.

* * * * * * * * *

With the best part of an hour and a half before him Colin came out
into Whitehall and paused irresolutely on the edge of the pavement.
Of all the tasks with which an impatient man can be confronted, that
of killing time is perhaps the most trying.  He was not in the least
hungry, and, in any case, there was something ghastly in the thought
of sitting all that while in a half-empty restaurant, brooding
miserably over what might have happened to Nancy.  If he wished to
keep his nerves steady, it seemed to him that some form of exercise
was imperatively needed, and, without hesitating further he made his
way across Parliament Green, and struck off westward along the
Embankment.

The soundness of his instinct was proved by the fact that when he
arrived back at Westminster Bridge, after a vigorous tramp of about
six miles, he felt that, whatever the next few hours might bring, his
mind and judgment were once more under proper control.  The hands of
Big Ben were already at five and twenty minutes to two, and, knowing
that there was a public telephone in the station, he crossed the road
and entered the box.  After a brief delay he succeeded in getting
Mark's number.

"That you, Colin?" came the latter's voice.  "Yes, I've just got an
answer to the wire.  It arrived a few minutes ago.  If you hold on
I'll read it out to you." There was a pause.  "'Mr. Penwarren is ill
in bed at Helston.  As far as we are aware he has had no
communication with Miss Seymour for the last eighteen months.  Should
be glad of an explanation.'"

"It's only what I expected," said Colin quietly.  "There must be
something wrong, or Nancy would have let us know long before this."

"Have you told the police?"

"Not yet.  I went up to the Yard, but Marsden hadn't arrived, so I
thought I'd better wait until we got the reply from Helston."

"Where are you telephoning from?"

"Westminster Bridge Station.  I've arranged to meet Joe close by
here, and, unless anything's happened, he ought to be along in a few
minutes.  By that time Marsden will probably have turned up."

There was a pause.

"Well, I'm ready when you want me," observed Mark.  "In case there's
going to be trouble, you can count me in to the limit."

"I know that," returned Colin gratefully.  "If there's any possible
way in which you can be of help I'll ring you up and let you know."

He put down the receiver, and, leaving the station, walked slowly
round the corner on to the Embankment.  A few yards past the entrance
to the Yard, on the opposite side of the road, were a couple of empty
seats facing the river.  He crossed over toward the first one, and,
having lighted himself a cigarette, sat down patiently to wait for
Joe.

Just as the opening strokes of a quarter to two were chiming out from
the clock tower, the latter made his appearance.  In a quiet and
unobtrusive fashion he slipped suddenly into view round the pedestal
of Boadicea's statue, and at the same moment a grin of recognition
broke over his face as his eyes lit upon Colin.  He quickened his
steps, and came rapidly up to the seat.

"Thought you might be early, doctor," he began, "so I come along a
bit ahead o' me time on purpose."  He looked round inquiringly.  "But
where's the young laidy?"

Colin, who had thrown away his cigarette, rose to his feet.  "I've
got some bad news for you, Joe," he said.  "Miss Seymour has
disappeared."

Joe's mouth opened, and he gazed blankly at his companion.

"Disappeared!" he repeated.

"She was taken away in a car at eight o'clock this morning.  Some one
tricked her into leaving the studio by means of a false message."

With a muttered oath Joe clutched him by the arm.

"Wot, the saime swine that tried to do you in?"

Colin nodded.  "Unless I'm wrong, it's the man I spoke to you
about--Major Fenton; the one who was talking to 'Spike' Cooper
outside the station."

"Well, if yer knows that," exclaimed Joe, "wot the 'ell are we
messin' abaht 'ere for?  Why don't we go an' wring 'is blarsted neck?"

"Because we've got to find him first," returned Colin curtly.
"That's why I've been waiting to keep this appointment with the
Inspector.  The police are after him too, so they may be able to help
us."

Joe wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

"For Gawd's sake let's get over and see 'em, guv'nor.  I wouldn't
'ave no 'arm come to that young laidy, not for all the money in the
Bank of England."

Colin gave a queer laugh.  "I think I can understand the feeling," he
said.

They crossed the road toward the Yard, where the same two constables
were still on duty.

"You're all right now, mister," remarked one of them.  "I saw him
come in by the other way a few minutes ago."

With a nod of thanks Colin passed through the gates, and, followed by
Joe, who kept casting mistrustful glances to right and left, walked
rapidly up to the main entrance.

The recipient of his five-shilling tip stepped forward to meet him.

"Mr. Marsden has just come, sir," he announced.  "Told me that when
you and your party arrived I was to bring you in straight away."

"Well, this is my party," said Colin.  "At least, all of it that's
likely to turn up."

He beckoned to Joe, who had halted a couple of paces in the rear,
and, mounting the steps, the two of them followed the constable into
the building.  He led the way up the staircase to Marsden's room,
where, in response to his knock, the Inspector himself opened the
door.  Over his shoulder Colin caught sight of another man in plain
clothes, who was standing with his back to the fire.

"Come along in, doctor," exclaimed the detective.  "I've got some one
here you ought to know--Inspector Ainsworth, of the Investigation
Department.  He has been doing some rather useful work for you during
the last twenty-four hours."

Colin shook hands with his new acquaintance, a stout, gray-haired
individual, who eyed him with considerable interest.

"And this is our friend Bates, eh?" continued Marsden, turning a
sharp glance on Joe.  "But where's Miss Seymour?  I thought you were
going to bring her with you."

"You had better hear what I've got to tell you straight away," said
Colin.  "Miss Seymour never came to Shadwell this morning.  I went up
to her flat just before midday, and I found out from the girl next
door that someone had called for her in a car at eight o'clock with a
letter from her lawyer in Cornwall."

"What, Penwarren?" broke out Marsden.  "Impossible!  Why, he's
seriously ill down at Helston."

"I know," said Colin.  "I sent him a wire at once and I've just got
the answer.  The letter was a forgery.

"And Miss Seymour?" demanded Marsden quickly.

"She went away in the car and nothing has been heard of her since."

Marsden took a couple of paces across the room, and then turned to
his colleague.

"I blame myself for this, Ainsworth," he said.  "I ought to have had
the place watched."

"That's so," assented the other.  "All the same, I don't think
there's any harm done.  It's plain enough what they're after, but if
they want to bring it off they'll have to take her abroad.  You can't
work that sort of gadget in England."

There was a short pause, which was broken by Marsden.  "You had
better get hold of Graham immediately.  Tell him that the girl's been
kidnapped, and that an attempt will probably be made to smuggle her
out of the country.  They're already on the lookout for Cooper, so it
will only be a matter of sending another message."

Giving a curt nod, Ainsworth strode to the door, and, with an abrupt
change in his manner, Marsden addressed himself to Colin.

"I am sorry this has happened," he said, "especially as it's partly
my fault.  I wish to God you could have let me know sooner."

"I came along immediately," retorted Colin, "but you weren't here."

For a moment Marsden hesitated.  "Have you any idea who Miss Seymour
really is?" he asked slowly.

Colin stared at him.  "What do you mean?" he demanded.

"She is the granddaughter of Professor Carter, and the heiress to
over a quarter of a million of money."

If the Professor himself had suddenly appeared through the doorway
Colin's amazement could hardly have been more complete.

"Good God!" he stammered.  "Is this true?  Are you certain of it?"

"I am quite certain of it--now," was the answer.  "I have suspected
it was so for the last two days, but what I have found out this
morning puts the matter beyond question."  He took hold of a chair
and thrust it toward Colin.  "Sit down for a moment, doctor.  I know
how impatient and anxious you must be feeling, but I can assure you
that I sha'n't waste a second.  Before we go any further it's
essential that you should hear the truth."

"Get on with it, then," said Colin hoarsely.  "I don't want a chair.
I'd rather stand."

Marsden walked across to his desk and seated himself in front of an
open cardboard file, containing a number of papers.

"Do you remember what I told you the morning after the murder?" he
asked.  "That if we could find the Professor's old servant, Kennedy,
we should probably learn something which would alter our whole view
of the case?"

Colin nodded.

"Well, a couple of days ago I got a message from the Hertford police
that they had run him to earth in a small village near Hoddesdon.  He
has been paralyzed and bedridden for some months, and as the old
woman who has been looking after him can't even read or write, he
might easily have died without ever hearing of the murder.  As it
was, we got hold of him just in time.  I went down there yesterday,
and, although he was so ill that he could hardly speak, he managed to
give me the one bit of information that I was so badly in need of.
He told me that twenty-three years ago Nancy Carter, the Professor's
only daughter, then a girl of eighteen, had run away from her home
and married a young artist called Richmond Seymour."

Colin took a step forward, but before he could speak the detective
raised his hand.

"Let me finish first, and then I'll answer any questions you like.
It seems from Kennedy's story that the Professor was one of those
self-willed, obstinate sort of people who simply don't know the
meaning of the word 'forgiveness.' He had forbidden this marriage,
and, since his daughter had chosen to disobey him, he made up his
mind that he would have nothing more to do with her.  Kennedy tells
me that from that time forward he never even mentioned her name again.

"Well, to cut a long story short, as soon as I heard this the two
names 'Nancy Seymour' came back to my mind at once.  I'd written them
down in my notebook that day in the King's Road, and somehow or other
they'd stuck in my memory ever since.  I knew nothing about the young
lady except the fact that she'd helped to save me from having my face
kicked in, but I guessed it was likely that you two had kept in touch
with each other, and so directly I got back to town I 'phoned you to
come up."  He paused.  "I thought you'd probably be able to give me
some information, doctor, and, by God, you did."

Colin came across to the desk, and, leaning over the back, stared
eagerly in the detective's face.

"Go on, man," he exclaimed: "for heaven's sake tell me what you mean!"

"I mean this," returned Marsden.  "You not only convinced me that
Miss Seymour is the Professor's granddaughter, but you opened my eyes
to one of the most remarkable and cleverly laid crimes that it's ever
been my job to tackle."

"Who did it?" demanded Colin.  "Who killed the Professor?"

"I am not referring to the murder.  I don't believe that had anything
to do with the original scheme.  It was an accident--a very awkward
accident, and quite unforeseen.  In all probability no one regretted
it more bitterly than the two men who were chiefly responsible for
it--Major Fenton and Mr. Medwin."

"Mr. Medwin!" repeated Colin in a whisper.

"Yes," was the answer.  "I'll stake my official reputation that the
whole of this interesting plan originated in the brain of Mr. James
Stanhope Medwin, solicitor, commissioner for oaths, and I should
think about the most complete rascal that ever cheated a client."

Colin drew in a long breath.  "I was right then.  I felt that he was
up to some devil's work the first time I saw him."  He leaned forward
again, his eyes alight with anger.  "How did you find all this out?"

"Well, one thing was quite plain; whoever broke into the Red Lodge
the first time was after some particular object which the Professor
kept in his desk.  According to his own statement to you, he had
nothing there except his private papers, and, unless my information
was wrong, the only person who was likely to have known this was
Medwin.  I always make it a rule in business to suspect everyone, no
matter who they are, and so, in spite of our friend's plausible
manner and professional standing, I put him on the list straight away.

"It was the merest guesswork at first, but when I discovered that the
Professor had left a large fortune and had made no will, I began to
wonder whether this rather important fact had any connection with the
attempt to search his papers.  Supposing that Medwin had had reasons
for believing in the existence of a legal heir, but at the same time
had been unable to get hold of any definite information on the
subject.  It was quite conceivable--allowing him to be a bad
lot--that he might have arranged the burglary with a little
professional assistance, and, for all we knew, might even have
succeeded in finding out what he wanted.

"The weak point in this theory was the fact that up till then the man
had apparently had an unblemished record.  However, I set Ainsworth
to work, and he very soon dug up a few facts which put quite a
different complexion on the matter.  He found out that some time ago
our respectable friend, who has always had a taste for speculation,
suddenly became bitten with the Turf.  For the past two years he has
been betting heavily with several of the leading bookmakers, and one
of them--we know these gentry pretty well at the Yard--confided to us
that his own profit in the transaction already amounted to a good
many thousand pounds.

"Having got so far, I came more or less to a standstill.  I felt
convinced in my own mind that, even if Medwin knew nothing about the
murder, he was certainly up to some hanky-panky with regard to the
money, but it's one thing to believe a man guilty and quite another
to prove it.

"It was my interview with Kennedy, and your story coming on top of
that, which suddenly did the business.  I realized at once, then,
that if Miss Seymour was really the Professor's granddaughter, Medwin
and Fenton and this fellow Cooper were probably all in the same game.
No doubt Cooper had been roped in to help with the burglary, and,
although I had no actual evidence that Fenton and Medwin were
friends----"

"I could have told you that," interrupted Colin.  "I saw a photograph
of Fenton on his mantelpiece the day he took me to his house."

"Did you?" returned Marsden.  "Well, it's a pity you never thought of
mentioning the fact; it might have put me on the right track straight
away.  As it is, we've had a fairly strenuous thirty-six hours.  Our
people have been ransacking Cornwall and London to verify the truth
of Kennedy's story, and by one o'clock to-day we pretty well
completed our case."  He laid his hand on the pile.  "I have here all
the evidence of Mrs. Seymour's marriage and death, and the birth
certificate of her daughter.  There is no doubt that Miss Seymour was
her only child, and she is therefore the sole heiress to the
Professor's money."

"I've just a couple of questions I want to ask you," said Colin
abruptly.  "In the first place, what did these two devils mean to do
with Nancy?"

"Marry her to Fenton before she found out the truth.  Unfortunately
for them, the young lady didn't prove such an easy catch as they
expected.  I fancy you got most of the credit for that, hence the
happy notion of putting you out of the way."

Colin nodded grimly.  "And what exactly is your theory about the
murder?"

"I haven't the least doubt that it was the work of 'Spike' Cooper.
In all probability the other two knew nothing about it.  I expect
that when he broke into the house the first time--most likely in
company with Medwin--he took the opportunity of having a look at the
safe.  It struck him as being a soft job, and so, without saying a
word to the others, he made up his mind to come back again later on
and see if there was anything worth collecting.  Through some cursed
accident the Professor happened to blunder across him, and----"

"But if you know all this," broke out Colin passionately, "why in
God's name haven't you arrested them?"

The Inspector looked up at him with unruffled coolness.  "We have
done everything that's possible," he replied.  "I can't bring a
charge against Medwin without some actual proof, and we're not likely
to find that until we get hold of Cooper and Fenton.  I've a warrant
out for each of them, and it's only a matter of a few hours before
they'll both be in custody."

"And meanwhile----" exclaimed Colin.

"Yes, I know," interrupted the Inspector quickly; "they have managed
to trap the girl.  There's no question about that, but you can take
it from me that she's not in any great danger.  Every port in England
is being closely watched, and unless they can get her over to the
Continent, and force her into a marriage----"

"Do you think I'm content to sit down here and trust to a lot of
damned country policemen?" shouted Colin hotly.  He wheeled round as
he spoke, at the same time beckoning to Joe, who, throughout the
whole interview, had remained standing discreetly in the background.

The Inspector jumped up from his chair.  "What are you going to do?"
he demanded.

"Do!" repeated Colin.  "I'm going to find Medwin.  He'll know where
Nancy is, and I'll get the truth out of him if I have to cut him in
pieces."

He turned toward the door.

"Stop!" said Marsden sharply.  He stepped forward, his hard blue eyes
fixed upon the flushed and angry face of his companion.

"You mean this seriously, doctor?"

"O' course 'e does," chimed in Joe; "an' the saime 'ere, mister."

"I mean to find out what they're doing with Nancy," repeated Colin.
"If Medwin won't speak, I'll damned well make him."

For a moment Marsden stood motionless, glancing thoughtfully from one
to the other of them.

"I'm hanged if I haven't a good mind to let you try it," he said,
suddenly.  "It's just one of those mad things that might come
off--provided it's properly handled."

"We'll handle it all right," said Colin.  "You can trust me for that."

"I hope I can," retorted Marsden.  "I tell you frankly that if it
weren't for Miss Seymour I should lock you both up straight away.  I
feel, however, that it's my carelessness that's got her into this
mess, and if you can possibly force the truth out of Medwin it may
save her a lot of unpleasantness."  He paused.  "How do you propose
to set about it?"

"I shall go down to his house," said Colin, "and tax him with the
whole story."

Marsden hesitated.  "It will mean showing our cards with a
vengeance," he said, "but as things are I don't know that it really
matters.  He'd be bound to take alarm directly he heard of the arrest
of Fenton and Cooper, and however much you frighten him he hasn't a
dog's chance of getting away."  He took another step forward, and
contemplated Colin from under his bushy eyebrows.  "You quite
understand the position, my young friend.  Supposing anything goes
wrong, it will be no use expecting me to help you.  From the moment
you leave this office you will be acting entirely on your own
responsibility."

"Of course we shall," said Colin coolly.  "The first thing you'll
know about it is when we ring up and tell you the result."

With a faint twitch of his lips the detective held out his hand.

"Good luck to you, doctor," he said.  "That young lady deserves _a
man_, and I'll take my oath she's got one."




CHAPTER ELEVEN

Albert Terrace appeared even more peaceful and respectable than usual
as Colin turned in at the farther end and came to a standstill in
front of Mr. Medwin's house.

"This is the place, Joe," he said quietly.  "Now you're quite clear
in your own mind about what we've arranged?"

Joe nodded.  "I got it, guv'nor.  You ask whether 'e's at 'ome, an'
if 'e is, in we goes.  Then it'll be my job to shove it across the
butler."

"That's right," said Colin.  "I'm trusting you to look after the two
servants until I've finished with Medwin."

"I'll look after 'em," grunted Joe.  "There won't be no trouble in
that quarter, you taike my word for it."

They got out of the car, and, leading the way up the path, Colin
pressed the electric bell.

After a brief delay they heard the sound of steps inside, and the
next moment Medwin himself opened the door.  For an instant he stood
gazing dumbly at his two visitors, then with a sudden expansive smile
he stepped forward and held out his hand.

"Why, bless my soul!" he exclaimed.  "This is a very pleasant
surprise.  What an extraordinary bit of luck that I happened to be at
home."

"Isn't it!" said Colin genially.  "I was just saying to Joe that it
was a hundred to one that we shouldn't find you."  He paused.  "Oh,
by the way, may I introduce you?  This is an old friend of mine, Mr.
Joe Bates.  I've brought him along because we both want to ask your
advice."

With a deferential gesture, Joe raised his finger to his forehead.

"'Ow d'ye do, sir," he remarked.  "Pleased to meet yer."

"I hope we haven't called at a very inconvenient time," continued
Colin.  "The matter is rather an urgent one, and I felt that I should
like to have your opinion on it."

"You needn't apologize, my dear boy," returned Mr. Medwin graciously.
"If I can be of any assistance to you I shall be only too pleased."
He moved back, making room for them to enter.  "I have to be my own
butler to-day, because both my man and his wife are out for the
afternoon.  I send them to a matinée every now and then, just to keep
them in a good temper."

Colin and Joe stepped into the hall, the latter, who was the last to
enter, closing the door carefully behind him.

"I think the study will be the best place for us," continued their
host.  "Perhaps you'd like a whisky and soda or a glass of port
first, though?"

Colin declined politely, and, still radiating good nature, Mr. Medwin
ushered them into a small room on the left, where a bright fire was
burning in the grate.

"I use this as a kind of annex to my office," he added.  "A large
number of my clients are Kensington people, and so sometimes it's
very convenient to be able to see them here."

"It's very convenient for us," said Colin.  "As a matter of fact, we
were particularly anxious to find you alone."

The other, who was in the act of pulling forward a chair, glanced up
sharply at the change in his visitor's voice.

Colin took a step forward.

"I've got several things to say to you, Medwin, but before I start,
just get this fact plainly into your head.  If you attempt to call
out or to make the least noise, I'll smash your face to a jelly."

There was a moment of dead silence, then very slowly Medwin stepped
back to the fireplace and moistened his lips.

"Have you gone mad?" he demanded.

"Sit down," said Colin curtly.

He pointed to the chair, and with a face from which every vestige of
colour had suddenly departed, the lawyer silently obeyed his
instructions.  Joe moved softly toward him across the room, a
formidable and menacing figure in the gray afternoon light.

It was Colin who was the first to speak.

"What have you and Fenton done with Miss Seymour?"

Medwin, who by an amazing effort seemed to have recovered some of his
self-possession, looked up with an expression of blank amazement.

"I have never heard of Miss Seymour," he answered.  "In fact, I
haven't the remotest notion what you're talking about."

Colin came a step nearer.  "Haven't you?" he said.  "Then perhaps I'd
better explain."

He thrust his hand under Medwin's chin, and, jerking up his face,
stared down into his eyes.

"Now, you damned liar," he said, "listen to me.  You know as well as
I do who Miss Seymour is.  You have known it ever since you broke
into the Red Lodge and opened the Professor's desk."

He released his hold and, gripping Medwin by the collar, shook him
backward and forward as a dog shakes a rat.

"My God, I'd kill you where you sit if I didn't want an answer to my
question.  You've not only tried to rob and ruin this girl, but if it
wasn't for you and Fenton the Professor would be still alive."

He flung back the half-throttled man with such force that the
woodwork of the chair cracked and splintered beneath his weight.

Joe, who had been looking on with silent approval hauled the victim
unceremoniously to his feet.

"Nah, cocky," he said, "where's the young laidy?  Spit it aht quick."

Choking and gasping for breath, Medwin retreated toward the sofa.

"You're making some terrible mistake.  I know nothing about it, on my
honour."

"Your _what_?" Colin laughed unpleasantly.  "I don't know if you're
really under the impression that you can bluff this out, Medwin, but
if you are, you're making the mistake of your life."

He put his hand in his pocket, and, pulling out a coil of whipcord,
which he had stopped to purchase on his way down, tossed it across to
Joe.

"Lay him on the sofa," he said, "and tie up his feet and hands.  If
he makes the slightest sound, give him a punch in the mouth."

Joe moved forward with alacrity, and, turning to the fireplace, Colin
picked up a small ornamental poker which was standing against the
hearth, and thrust it deliberately into the hottest part of the fire.
Then, lighting himself a cigarette, he stood looking on in silence,
while with swift efficiency Joe proceeded to carry out his
instructions.

"That will do," he observed at last, "Now, Medwin, you can take your
choice.  You will either tell me at once where Miss Seymour is, or
else I shall burn the truth out of you with that poker."

Trussed and helpless, Medwin gazed across at him from the sofa.

"For God's sake think what you're doing," he whispered.  "Can't you
see that the whole thing's a ghastly blunder?  I swear to you on my
oath that I have never even heard of either of the people you have
mentioned."

"In that case," said Colin, "it's rather curious that you keep a
photograph of Fenton on your dining room mantelpiece."

He stooped down, and, drawing out the poker which was now a glowing
red, advanced relentlessly toward the sofa.

Two little beads of perspiration broke out on Medwin's forehead and
trickled down into his eyes.

"Stop!" he gasped.  "Stop!  You young devil, I believe you mean it."

Colin laughed again.  "Shove something in his mouth, Joe.  We don't
want the whole street to hear him squealing."

By a violent effort Medwin managed to wriggle himself up into a
sitting position.

"It's all right, Gray," he said quietly.  "You needn't go any
further.  I know when I'm beaten."

He sank back against the cushions, and with a queer half-incredulous
expression, stared up into Colin's face.

"I am not often mistaken in my judgment of people," he said, "but I
seem to have blundered pretty badly with regard to you."

"Answer my questions," said Colin.  "Where's Miss Seymour?"

"She's at Fenton's cottage in Essex, close to South Ockendon.  It's a
small white house called 'The Firs,' on the right hand of the road,
just before you reach the village."

Colin walked to the desk and wrote down his directions on a blank
sheet of paper.

"Why have you taken her there?"

"It was Fenton's idea," said Medwin slowly.  "He has a boat lying in
the Thames close by, and he thought that if he could persuade her to
go for a short cruise she might change her opinion about the
impossibility of marrying him."

With his fists clenched Joe started forward, but before he could
strike Colin thrust him back.

"Leave him alone, Joe," he said harshly.  "It's the truth we want, no
matter what it is."  He turned to Medwin, who was watching them with
surprising coolness.  "Do you know what his plans are exactly?"

"He means to take her on board as soon as it's dark.  Where he will
go then depends chiefly on the weather.  I believe he has some idea
of trying to reach Holland."

"What, by himself, in mid-winter?"

"Oh, he's not alone," returned Medwin.  "He has two old acquaintances
of yours with him--Cooper and Hudson.  In the course of their varied
lives they have both served before the mast."

For a moment Colin remained silent, his eyes fixed steadily upon the
lawyer's face.

"I don't know whether you're telling me the truth, Medwin," he said.
"If you're not, heaven help you.  I'll find you again, no matter
where you try to hide, and I'll tear your lying tongue out of your
throat with my own fingers."

Medwin nodded.  "Yes," he said, "I can quite believe you would, but,
fortunately, such an unpleasant proceeding won't be necessary.  As I
told you before, I know when the game's up."

Colin replaced the poker in the grate, then, crossing to the desk, on
which stood a portable telephone, he unhooked the receiver and asked
for Marsden's number.  The lawyer watched him curiously.

"Hullo!" came the Inspector's voice.

"This is Gray.  I'm speaking from Albert Terrace.  I've got the
information I wanted."

"You mean you know where the girl is?"

"Yes.  She's at a cottage in Essex, close to South Ockendon.  Fenton
means to take her on board his boat as soon as it's dark."

"Who told you this?"

"Medwin.  I had to use a certain amount of persuasion, but I think
it's true."

"What have you done to him?"

"He's all right.  He's lying on the sofa listening to what I'm
saying.  We've tied him up, and we propose to leave him here."

"How about the servants?"

"Both out at the theatre.  They're not likely to be back until
half-past five."

"Sounds as if you'd made a pretty tidy job of it," was Marsden's
comment.  "You'd better come back here as quickly as possible and
pick me up in the car.  If what he's told you is right, the sooner we
have a look at this cottage the better."

"We're starting now," replied Colin.  "We'll be with you in a quarter
of an hour."

He rang off, and, picking up his hat from the chair, turned to Medwin.

"This is your last chance," he said.  "You know what to expect if
you've sent me on a false errand."

"You can make your mind quite easy," returned the other.  "You'll
find Miss Seymour at the cottage, and I have no doubt she will be
delighted to see you.  You're exactly the sort of primitive young
savage that appeals to women."

Joe stepped forward pleadingly.  "Let me give 'im one, doctor--only
just one.  That'll learn 'im to call you names."

"No," said Colin.  "Leave him alone.  He'll have all he deserves by
the time we've finished with him."

He walked toward the door, and, with one reluctant glance at the
smiling and half-prostrate figure on the sofa, Joe followed him out
into the hall.

* * * * * * * * *

Two men muffled up in long coats, who were waiting just inside the
entrance, stepped forward at once as the car came to a standstill
again at the main gate-way of the Yard.

From, under the peaked cap of the former the sharp eyes of Inspector
Marsden travelled swiftly and approvingly over its two occupants.

"Well, you don't waste much time, doctor," he observed.  "I will say
that for you."

"I'd have been here a lot sooner if it hadn't been for the usual
cursed jam in Piccadilly," returned Colin viciously.

As he spoke he leaned over and swung open the back door of the car.

"Just a minute," said the Inspector quietly.  "Before we start I'd
like to hear a few more details about this interview of yours with
Medwin.  We don't want to go chasing down into Essex unless----"

"I'll give you the facts," interrupted Colin.  "If you don't think
they're good enough to act on you can leave it to Joe and me."

In a few blunt words he described the scene which had taken place in
the study, the two detectives standing silently beside the car, and
Joe nodding his head at intervals as though to confirm the truth of
the story.

"I can't swear that he hasn't invented the whole thing," finished
Colin, "but, all the same, I'm pretty certain there's something in
it.  Whatever else Medwin may be, he isn't a fool.  He knows
perfectly well I meant what I said, and in my opinion he's had the
sense to chuck up the sponge in order to save his own skin."

"The guv'nor's right, mister," broke in Joe earnestly.  "'E's a lyin'
swine, this bloke, but 'e didn't fancy the idea of 'avin' 'is tongue
torn out, you could see that by 'is faice."

Marsden laughed grimly.  "I daresay you could!"  He turned to Colin.
"I'm shocked and surprised that you should have taken the law into
your own hands in this way, but, between ourselves, I believe you've
done the trick."  He jerked his head toward the back of the car.
"Jump in, sergeant.  We can make use of the doctor's information even
if we don't approve of his methods."

As he spoke he seated himself alongside of Colin, while the sergeant,
a heavily built individual with a chin like the toe of a boot,
clambered up obediently into the tonneau.  Directly he was on board
Colin thrust in his clutch, and the next moment they were spinning up
the broad roadway in the direction of Waterloo Bridge.

"I suppose I made it plain that this isn't going to be any sort of a
picnic," said Colin, with a side glance at his companion.  "According
to Medwin, we've got Cooper and Hudson to tackle as well as Fenton,
and I should think it's a hundred to one that they'll all three be
armed."

"Cooper will for a certainty," replied the Inspector, "and what's
more, he won't hesitate to shoot.  However, I took the precaution of
slipping a Smith and Webley into my pocket, and I told Bentley to do
the same.  If Mister Cooper prefers a bullet to a rope, he can damned
well take his choice."

"I only hope Medwin doesn't get away," said Colin, with some feeling.
"He's tied up all right at present, but his servants will be back
before we're through with this job, and directly they've set him
loose he'll probably try to do a bolt."

"He may try," returned the Inspector, "but he won't get very far.
I've sent down two of our best men to watch the house, and, no matter
where he goes, they'll stick to him like his shadow."

He paused for a moment as Colin swerved round a cluster of startled
pedestrians, and then added with a dry smile: "We don't want to waste
any time, doctor, but you might just keep it in mind that I'm a
married man, with three children dependent on me."

"I won't smash you up," replied Colin.  "I may seem to be driving
fast, but I've got too much at stake to play the fool."

He cut across the broad space at the corner of Farringdon Street,
and, leaving the river on his right hand, plunged into one of the
long warehouse-lined streets which lead through the heart of the
city.  The short day was already closing in, and the tall buildings
on either side were a blaze of electric light.

"I don't know if you're in any doubt about the way," said the
Inspector.  "You had better consult Bentley if you are.  He's an
Essex man himself, and knows every inch of the country."

"I think I can find it," was Colin's answer.  He slowed down a little
and glanced back over his shoulder.  "We go through Barking and
Rainham, don't we?"

The sergeant, who was sitting up stiffly alongside of Joe, nodded his
head.

"That's right, sir.  It's practically a straight road from there to
South Ockendon."

They drove on silently through the crowded streets, the Inspector
making no further attempt to talk, and Colin devoting his whole
attention to the strenuous work of avoiding the traffic.

After negotiating the apparently interminable length of the
Commercial Road and the East India Dock Road, they made their way
through the squalid region of East Ham and emerged at last into the
historic if evil-smelling neighbourhood of Barking.

Then, bit by bit, the houses began to give place to stunted hedges
and low-lying fields, while a little distance away on the right the
red and green lights of the steamers passing up and down the Thames
flashed out mysteriously in the gathering dusk.

Two miles of rapid driving brought them to the straggling village of
Rainham, and, checking his speed a trifle as they ran through the
main street, Colin swung out on to a lone stretch of country road,
where except for one or two farm carts and an occasional belated
cyclist, they seemed to be the only travellers.

He had covered about another three miles when, with a sudden
movement, the sergeant leaned over from the back.

"We're getting pretty near now, sir," he observed.  "If your
information's right, the house we want ought to be somewhere about
here."

Colin slackened down, and as he did so the bent figure of an old man,
with a pitchfork over his shoulder, suddenly loomed into view out of
an adjoining gateway.

"Here's someone who'll probably be able to help us," said Marsden.
"Just pull up a moment, and we'll ask him."

They came to a standstill alongside the stranger, who blinked at them
suspiciously from under his shaggy eyebrows.

Marsden leaned over and addressed him with a friendly nod.

"Good evening, uncle," he said.  "I wonder if you can tell us whether
there's a house called 'The Firs' anywhere around this neighbourhood."

With considerable deliberation the veteran unshipped his pitchfork.

"Whoy, yees, mister," he replied.  "There be a 'ouse o' that name
sure enough.  There aren't no one there though, not as I knows on."

"That doesn't matter," said the Inspector.  "We only want to have a
look at the outside of it."

"You don't 'ave to go far for that," was the encouraging reply.
"You'll find it on the right-'and side of the road soon as you've
passed the nex' turnin'."

"I suppose you don't happen to know who owns the place?" inquired
Marsden.

"Well, I 'ave 'eard that it's a rich gen'leman in London.  Party o'
the name o' Fenton.  'E don't use it much though, an' that's a fact;
only comes down 'ere for an odd day or two now an' then."

"Just when he wants a breath of fresh air, eh?" suggested Marsden
genially.  "Well, I'm much obliged to you, uncle.  Perhaps you'll get
yourself a drink when the pubs open."

He produced a shilling, which the old man readily accepted, and, with
a slight pressure of his foot on the clutch, Colin again set the car
in motion.

"Don't hurry," whispered Marsden.  "Drive us slowly past the place
and then stop.  If any one's inside there's pretty sure to be a light
in the windows."

Following his instructions, Colin proceeded noiselessly along the
road, which curved away to the left about a hundred yards from where
they had halted.  As he rounded the bend a dark cluster of trees
sprang into view a short distance ahead of him, and the next moment
he was able to make out the roof and chimneys of a small house, which
appeared to stand a little way back from the road.

"That's our mark," observed Marsden, with a grunt of satisfaction.
He turned round in his seat and addressed the sergeant.  "You hop out
here, Bentley, and have a look at it from this side.  We'll come back
and meet you at the front gate."

With surprising quickness for so heavy a man, the sergeant stepped
nimbly over on to the running board, and, just as they reached the
shelter of the trees, dropped down into the roadway.

Driving on slowly, Colin passed the head of a narrow lane which
turned off to the right.  Beyond it a high wooden paling fronted the
main road, broken in the centre by a couple of dilapidated iron
gates, one of which was standing partly open.  Farther back, behind a
straggling shrubbery of laurels, the yellow gleam of a lighted window
shone out into the garden.

"Someone's at home, evidently," muttered the Inspector.  "Take us on
as far as the end of the paling and pull up there.  I'd like to know
exactly how the land lies before we start work."

Contenting himself with a nod, Colin continued his way along the
fence until he suddenly arrived at a closed gate leading into a
ploughed field, from which an untrimmed hedge ran up at right angles,
forming the boundary of the adjoining property.  There was a piece of
level grass at the side of the road, and, guiding the car on to this,
he stopped the engine, and then, bending forward, switched off the
headlights.

"You and Bates stay here for a moment," whispered Marsden.  "Keep
still and don't talk to each other.  I'm just going along to have a
squint through the hedge."

Getting out of the car, he climbed carefully over the gate, and moved
up the field with the stealthiness of a poacher, until his burly
figure was gradually lost to sight amid the shadows of the bushes.

He reappeared again after an absence of several minutes, and both
Colin and Joe leaned eagerly forward from their seats as he clambered
back and dropped lightly down beside them.

"Everything's in darkness this side of the house," he announced,
"and, as far as I can see, there's no way of getting out of the
garden.  We'd better make tracks for the front gate and hear what
Bentley's got to report."

Leaving the car as it was, the three of them stole silently back
under the shelter of the fence, and came to a halt beneath the
branches of a draggled-looking holly tree which overhung the drive.

After a brief wait they were joined by the sergeant, who emerged
furtively from the side turning and advanced on tiptoe to where they
were standing.

"I've found another entrance down the lane," he informed them.  "It
leads to a yard at the back, where there's a big shed that looks like
a garage."

"A garage, eh?" rejoined Marsden.  "Well, I guess somebody will have
to keep an eye on that side of the house while the rest of us find
some way of getting in at the front."  He paused for a moment, and
then added quietly: "We'll take a look at the job first, and make up
our minds exactly how we're going to tackle it.  Unless we can drop
in on 'em unexpectedly it's likely to be a pretty awkward business."

Followed by the others, he started cautiously forward up the drive,
and, skirting the edge of the shrubbery, came out on to a neglected
strip of grass, which at some remote period had evidently been a
tennis lawn.

Facing them was the house, an old-fashioned two-storey residence,
with a tumble-down verandah half covered in ivy.  From the French
windows in the centre a broad patch of light streamed out hospitably
through the drawn blinds.

Marsden's gaze travelled thoughtfully from one end of the building to
the other.

"There's only one way to do it," he said, in a low voice.  "We shall
have to smash in the window and trust to luck."  He turned to the
sergeant.  "We may nab the lot of them if we're quick enough, but we
can't count on that, not when we've an old hand like Cooper to deal
with.  You'd better slip round to the yard again, Bentley, and keep a
watch on the back door."

His assistant nodded.  "Very good, sir.  It won't take me more than a
couple of minutes.  I'll give you a whistle as soon as I'm ready."

He disappeared promptly and silently, and, stepping back to where
Colin and Joe were hiding in the shadow, the Inspector stooped down
beside them.

"I think the simplest plan will be for one of us to tackle the
window," he said.  "I'll do that, and you two get ready to rush in
the moment it's open."

"Supposing we can't force it?" whispered Colin.  "Some of these
windows have a bar across on the inside."

"In that case we must break the glass and get in as best we can.  If
Cooper looks like making trouble, keep out of the way and leave him
to me."

He produced a heavy Service revolver, and, having clicked open the
breech, proceeded to examine it with some care.

With his hands clenched and his heart beating fiercely, Colin started
out across the lawn, waiting for the signal.  The feeling that ever
since the morning Nancy had been a prisoner in one of those rooms,
and at the mercy of such a scoundrel as Fenton, filled him with an
apprehension that was almost unbearable.  Even if they were in time
to save her from the worst fate of all, heaven knew what hardships
and misery she must have been through during the last eight hours.
His nerves tingled with a savage longing to be face to face with the
man who was responsible for her sufferings, and, crouching there in
the darkness, he swore a bitter oath to himself that, whatever else
happened, Fenton should not escape.

Suddenly, through the silence of the garden, a low whistle sounded
clearly from the back of the house.  Colin was on his feet instantly,
but before he could take a step forward both he and Joe were checked
by a quick movement from their companion.

"I'll go first, doctor," whispered the Inspector.  "You two keep
close behind, and follow me in directly I smash the lock."

Stooping low, and holding the revolver in his left hand, he set off
at a rapid pace across the lawn.  It was only about twenty yards from
the bushes to the house, and in less than half a dozen seconds all
three of them were in front of the verandah.

Without pausing in his stride, Marsden made straight for the French
window.  It consisted of two fragile-looking doors with a large pane
of glass in each, and, using his shoulder as a battering ram, the
detective hurled the full weight of his fourteen stone against the
strip of woodwork in the centre.

The other two, who were immediately behind him, heard a splintering
crash and a tinkle of broken glass.  Then in the blaze of light that
streamed out through the gap they saw Marsden stumble forward on to
his hands and knees, and, like a scene on the stage, the whole
interior of the room suddenly leaped into view.

No theatre, indeed, could have provided a more dramatic spectacle
than the one which met Colin's eyes as he dashed for the opening.  A
couple of men, whom he recognized instantly as Cooper and Hudson, had
sprung to their feet beside an overturned card table, and were
standing as though rooted to the spot with amazement and terror.

It was only for the fraction of a second, however, that the tableau
remained unbroken.  As Colin darted in past the Inspector, Cooper,
who was the farther away of the two, seemed instinctively to recover
his wits.  With a movement as quick as a panther's he dived back
behind his companion, and, taking a flying jump over the fallen
table, raced headlong for the door.

His flight seemed to act on the deserted Hudson like the breaking of
a spell.  A foul oath burst from his lips, and, grabbing one of the
overturned chairs by its nearest leg, he hurled it with all his force
straight in the face of Colin.

The latter, who saw it coming, jerked up his arm just in time.  It
struck against his elbow and crashed down on to the floor, tripping
up Joe as he attempted to dodge past in pursuit of the fugitive.

Staggered himself by the blow, Colin recovered almost instantly.  One
stride brought him within reach of his assailant, and, ducking under
a clumsy swing, he smashed home a terrific right flush on the point
of the jaw.  It was a punch that would have floored ninety-nine men
out of a hundred, and Mr. Jake Hudson was one of the unfortunate
majority.  He went down as though struck by a coal hammer, the back
of his head landing with a loud thud against the edge of the table.

Brief though the delay had been, it had enabled "Spike" Cooper to
achieve his object.  He was through the door and had slammed and
locked it behind him before the Inspector and Joe were able to gain
their feet.  It was Colin, indeed, who was the first to reach it, and
he was already wrenching vainly at the handle when the two others
rushed up to his assistance.

"Wait a minute," rasped the Inspector, who was evidently not in the
best of tempers.  "Let me blow in the lock, then we shall have a
better chance."

Levelling his pistol, he emptied a couple of shots into the keyhole,
the powerful bullets smashing and splintering the woodwork in every
direction.  As the second report died away they heard a scurry of
footsteps outside, followed almost immediately by the unmistakable
bang of another door.

Pocketing his pistol, the Inspector gripped hold of the knob with
both hands, and, as he jerked it violently toward him, the shattered
bolt snapped and yielded.  One more pull, and they stumbled over the
threshold into a dimly lighted hall, where, framed in a doorway
opposite, stood, or rather swayed, the slender figure of a girl.

A low cry escaped Colin's lips, and, breaking from his companions, he
sprang forward and caught her in his arms.

"Nancy!  Nancy darling!  Thank God, we've found you!"

As he uttered the words the sound of two pistol shots rang out from
the back of the house, and with a stifled oath the Inspector hurried
toward them.

"Which is the way through into the yard?" he demanded.

Nancy pointed across toward a door on the right.

"There!" she gasped.  "But it's locked.  I heard them lock it and
bolt it.  You can only get round by the garden."

"Come with me, Bates," snapped the Inspector.  "You stop here,
doctor, and take care of the girl."

He ran toward the sitting room, followed by Joe, while Nancy, who had
momentarily straightened herself as she answered his question, sank
weakly back again against Colin's shoulder.

Lifting her in his arms, he carried her to a small couch which was
standing against the wall.

"Tell me, Nancy," he whispered, "tell me.  Are you hurt?"

With a gallant effort she smiled up reassuringly into his face.

"No," she said.  "I am only tired out and a little faint.  I--I've
been through a good deal since this morning, Colin."

He sat down beside her, taking her hands in his.

"They brought you a forged letter from Penwarren, didn't they?  The
girl who lives next door to you told us something about it."

She nodded.  "I suppose it was foolish of me to be taken in, but it
looked to me just like his handwriting.  It said that he had suddenly
discovered the truth about my father and mother, and that he had come
up to town especially to see me.  I went off in the car almost
without thinking."

"Where did they take you to?"

"Some house close to Kensington High Street.  There was another man
there besides Major Fenton--a horrible middle-aged, smiling man--and
when they got me inside they held me down and drugged me with a
hypodermic syringe.  I think it must have been opium they gave me.
Anyhow, the next thing I remember is waking up with a frightful
headache, and finding myself locked up alone in that room."

With great difficulty Colin managed to steady his voice. "How long
ago was that?" he asked.

"It seems ages, but I think it must have been about the middle of the
day."

"And when did Fenton come back?"

"Just as it was growing dark.  He had been down to the river to get
the yacht ready, and had left one of the men here to look after me.
He told me exactly what he meant to do--that he was going to take me
away on the boat and keep me there until--until----"  Her voice
faltered.

"I know," said Colin quickly.  "I've had the whole story from Medwin!"

"The whole story!  Oh, Colin, what does it mean?  Why should he----"

"You shall hear everything in a minute," he interrupted.  "Just tell
me first what happened when we broke into the house."

"It was all over so quickly," said Nancy.  "He was in there talking
to me and threatening me when he suddenly heard a tremendous crash,
and one of the others--the man they call Spike--rushed into the room
and shouted out something about the police.  Before I could----"  She
stopped abruptly.  "Listen!" she exclaimed.  "They're coming back."

There was a sound of voices and steps on the verandah outside, and,
letting go Nancy's hands, Colin jumped to his feet.

He walked across to the sitting-room door, where the sight which met
his eyes caused him to hurry forward with a sudden exclamation of
dismay.  The Inspector and Joe were coming in through the window,
carrying between them the limp, unconscious body of Sergeant Bentley.

Marsden glanced round, his usually stolid face flushed and contorted.

"They've shot him, doctor--shot him down like a dog and got away in
the car.  They must have had it standing ready in the garage."

As he spoke, he and Joe lowered their burden gently on to the thick
rug which lay just across the window, and the next instant Colin had
dropped on his knees, and was bending forward over the prostrate
figure.

To an untrained eye the spectacle was a ghastly one, for the man's
face was covered with blood, which had trickled down from a broad
gash in his forehead.  His pulse was still beating, however, and
after feeling it for a few moments, and then closely examining the
injury, Colin looked up with a little gesture of relief.

"It's not as bad as it appears," he announced.  "The bullet must have
struck him sideways and glanced off the outside of his temple.  He's
only stunned."

"Only stunned!" repeated the Inspector.  "Well, in that case he can
stop here with Bates and Miss Seymour, while you and I go after the
others.  If they once get on board that boat we may have the devil's
work in catching them."

Colin started up immediately, but before he could speak he was
interrupted by Nancy, who had followed him into the room.

"I can tell you where the yacht's lying," she said.  "I heard them
talking about it.  It's in some small creek just this side of Thames
Haven."

The Inspector wheeled round sharply on Colin.  "Do you know the way?"
he demanded.  "Do you think you can overtake them?"

"I expect I can," replied Colin, "unless Nancy would rather I stayed
with her."

She shook her head decisively.  "I shall be all right with Joe," she
said.  "I want to see those two men punished for trying to kill you."

"You'd want it still more if you knew what we do, miss," said the
Inspector drily.

He rummaged in the sergeant's pocket, and, pulling out a pair of
light steel handcuffs, snapped them round the wrists of the still
unconscious Hudson.

Colin turned to Nancy.  "You might bathe this poor fellow's wound,
and bandage him up with a clean handkerchief.  If he comes round
before we get back, make him lie perfectly still on the sofa."

She nodded quietly, and with an approving grunt the Inspector offered
her his hand.

"Thank you, miss," he said.  "You're a fine young lady, and I
couldn't be more pleased to see you safe, not if you were my own
daughter."  Then, as if half embarrassed by this outburst, he added
brusquely.  "Come along, doctor!  They've got a good start already,
and we're only wasting time talking here."

He strode toward the window, and, just pausing to press a kiss on
Nancy's fingers, Colin followed him out into the garden.

They made their way rapidly across the lawn and down to the front
gate.  The moon, which was almost at its full, had already risen, its
silver beauty lighting up the roadway as plainly as though it were
daytime.

The Inspector glanced up into the sky with some gratitude.

"We shall be able to see where we're going, at all events," he
observed.  "How far do you think the river is from here?"

"It must be about ten miles to Thames Haven," was Colin's answer.
"There's no other place they could have left the yacht--not this side
of Canvey Island."

"Ten miles!" echoed the other.  "Well, if Fenton knows anything about
driving it's going to be a pretty close business."

Breaking into a run, they hurried along the road to where they had
left the car, and with a sharp jerk of the handle Colin set the
engine in motion.  Followed by the Inspector, he scrambled into his
seat, and a few seconds later he had backed hastily along the oak
paling, and swung round into the side turning which ran southward
across the marshes.

It was not a route that any one who was fond of his life would have
selected deliberately for the purposes of fast driving.  Narrow and
winding, with a thick coating of mud plastered over its surface, it
presented such obvious dangers that even the most foolhardy of
motorists would have been forced to recognize the advisability of
caution.

Caution, however, was the particular virtue which Colin felt least
able to afford.  Unless he could make up his lost ground on the more
difficult stages of the journey he could certainly abandon all hope
of success, for on an open and moonlit road Fenton's progress would
probably be as fast as his own.

With a full appreciation of the chances that he was taking he
therefore let out the car to a pace which in any other circumstances
he would never have attempted.  Bumping over patches of loose stone,
and splashing through pools of water, he held resolutely on,
regardless of risk, while all the time immediately ahead of him two
broad and recently imprinted tire marks stretched away encouragingly
through the mud.

Whatever the Inspector's private emotions may have been, it must be
admitted that he faced the ordeal with masterly restraint.  Once or
twice, as they skidded violently round a blind corner, he caught hold
of the side door with a spasmodic grip, but except for this
instinctive movement he maintained an expressionless calm which
certainly did credit to the self-discipline of the Yard.

For the first three miles Colin needed all his skill and luck to
avoid disaster; then, as they drew farther out into the lonely
marshland which borders the north bank of the Thames, the conditions
gradually improved.  The east wind, which blows perpetually over that
desolate region, had already begun to dry up the surface of the road,
while with nothing but an occasional cowshed or a few leafless trees
to obstruct the view, the chances of running headlong into some
unforeseen death trap were reduced to much more comforting
proportions.

Suddenly, with an abrupt movement, the Inspector pointed ahead, to
where a broad shaft of yellow light streamed out against the sky.

"What's that?" he demanded, putting his lips close to Colin's ear.

"Mucking Lighthouse," was the answer.  "There are some powder works
away to the right, and the creek they're making for is just between
the two."

At a furious pace the car leaped forward along the deserted road, the
telltale track of the fugitives still standing out plainly in the
glare of the head lamps.  Colin was much too occupied with the wheel
to indulge in any further attempt at conversation, while sheltering
his eyes from the wind with one hand, and grasping the back of the
seat with the other, the Inspector stared out in front of him in grim
silence.

Rounding a slight curve between two low banks, they emerged into a
long stretch of almost perfectly straight roadway, and at the same
moment a simultaneous shout burst from both their lips.  There in the
moonlight, not more than half a mile away, they could see the dark
outline and gleaming tail lamp of another car, travelling swiftly in
the same direction as themselves.

"There they are!" roared the Inspector.  "Keep her going, doctor!
Keep her going, and we've got 'em!"

With an inward prayer that his tires would stand the strain, Colin
drove down the accelerator to its extreme limit.  The well-tuned
engine responded to his call, and with the wind rushing in their
faces, and the whole chassis quivering and rocking beneath them, they
surged on recklessly in pursuit of their escaping quarry.

Any doubt as to the respective pace of the two cars was settled in
the next minute.  Slowly but surely the distance between them
lessened, until in the bright moonlight it was possible to make out
the bare head and broad shoulders of "Spike" Cooper as he crouched in
the seat alongside the driver, staring back over the swaying tonneau.

"Look out for that devil!" shouted the Inspector.  "He'll start
shooting directly we're close enough."

Clutching his own pistol in his hand, he leaned forward over the
dashboard, his eyes glued on the motionless figure ahead.

Nearer and nearer they drew, the mud and gravel flying from beneath
their wheels, the roar and throb of the engine seeming to beat time
to the mad rhythm of the chase.

Suddenly, with a warning cry, Marsden raised his weapon.  There was a
simultaneous spurt of flame from both cars, and with a vicious thud
something buried itself in the padded seat just beside Colin's
shoulder.

Crack!  Crack!  Crack!

A second bullet ripped its way along the front mud guard, and then,
with a kind of stupefying and unimaginable abruptness, the end came.

Colin was just conscious of a shower of sparks from beneath the
steel-studded tires as the car in front of him swerved violently
across the road.

By some instinctive movement his hand shot out toward the brake
lever, and almost at the same second came a deafening and appalling
crash that seemed to strike him in the face like a blow from a fist.




CHAPTER TWELVE

"That's done it," remarked the Inspector bitterly.

He was standing in the car which Colin had just pulled up, staring
down over a heap of stones at the black mass of broken wreckage which
reared itself fantastically amongst the grass.

"I should think it was about the finish," said Colin quietly.  "What
on earth made them skid in that extraordinary way?"

"I suppose I hit Fenton by mistake," said the Inspector.  "Just like
my cursed luck.  He must have driven straight into it and gone clean
over the top.  It's a hundred to one they're both dead."

"We'll soon find out, anyhow," was Colin's answer, and, opening the
door as he spoke, he jumped down into the roadway.

A few strides brought him alongside the fallen car, where, in the
pitiless moonlight, every detail of the tragedy stood out with
horrible distinctness.  Almost the first sight that met his eyes was
the bodies of Fenton and Cooper, the former pinned down under the
débris amid a cloud of escaping steam, and the other sprawled full
length on the bare ground.

It was very obvious that nothing could be done for Fenton.  The top
of his skull had been smashed in like an eggshell, and, after just
pausing to glance at the injury, Colin hurried over toward the
prostrate figure of his companion.

The Canadian was lying on his face, his arms and legs flung out at a
grotesque angle.  To any one with medical knowledge there was
something fatally suggestive about the mere attitude of the limbs,
and it was no little surprise to Colin that, as he stooped down to
make a closer examination, a low groan reached his ears.

With great care he turned over the helpless man and raised him in his
arms.

"Well, we've got one of 'em alive, anyhow," observed the Inspector,
who had followed him across the grass.

As though conscious of the remark, Cooper opened his eyes, and for a
moment lay there with his head on Colin's shoulder, gazing up vaguely
into the two faces above him.  Then something that was almost a grin
flickered across his face.

"I guess we've met before, mister," he jerked out faintly.  "Say, how
the hell did your friends get you out of that cellar?"

"Never mind now," interrupted the detective curtly.  "You've got
something else to think about at present.  I am Inspector Marsden of
Scotland Yard, and I arrest you for the murder of Professor Carter."

There was a glint of mockery in Cooper's face as his eyes travelled
slowly in the direction of the speaker.

"Good for you, Sherlock Holmes," he gasped.  "I reckon the British
police ain't quite such duds after all."  He paused, as though the
effort of speaking had been almost too much for him.  "It's tough
luck you won't get the credit of hanging me," he added, in an even
feebler voice.  "Still, if you will be so damn careless with that gun
o' yours----"  He stopped, and with a little choking cough spat out a
mouthful of blood.

The Inspector turned anxiously to Colin.

"What's the matter with him?" he demanded.

"His spine's practically broken," said Colin.  "He can't live more
than a few minutes."

Marsden bent over the dying man, on whose white face the moonlight
streamed down with a peculiarly ghastly effect.

"Listen to me, Cooper," he said.  "We know all about you.  We've got
your record from Montreal.  Fenton's dead, and I don't imagine that
our friend Medwin is a particular pal of yours.  Come, man, you may
just as well tell us the truth."

Cooper, who seemed to be breathing with extreme difficulty, moistened
his lips.

"It's no good, mister," he faltered.  "You can't put a rope round
Medwin's neck--not this journey.  He hadn't no more to do with
croaking the old guy than you or the doctor."

Marsden nodded.  "I know that," he said.  "You broke into the house
the second time by yourself in order to try and rob the safe.
Neither Fenton nor Medwin knew anything about it--until afterward."

Cooper looked up at him again, the same half-jeering smile on his
drawn face.

"You ought to be with Pinkerton," he gasped.  "You're just wasted
here."

As he dragged out the last word another paroxysm of coughing overtook
him.  It lasted for several seconds, and then, with a queer,
fluttering movement of the eyelids, his head suddenly lolled over
sideways on to his shoulder, the under jaw dropping open at the same
time.

Colin lowered his burden to the ground, and after wiping his hands on
the grass, rose to his feet.

For a moment the Inspector stood still, gazing down at the body.

"Well, that's done the hangman out of a job," he observed
regretfully.  "What's more, I believe the devil was right.  We shall
only be able to charge Medwin with conspiracy, though if any man ever
deserved----  Hullo!  here's somebody coming!"

He broke off abruptly at the sight of a dark figure, which was
approaching along the roadway from the direction in which they had
been travelling.

"One of the men from the powder works, I expect," said Colin.  "We're
quite close by, and they probably heard the crash."

Marsden stepped forward to meet the new arrival, who had turned on to
the grass and was hurrying rapidly toward them.  As he drew nearer
they saw that he was a respectable-looking middle-aged man, dressed
in a rough suit of tweeds.

He came on at a kind of stumbling run, and pulled up with an
exclamation of horror as the full extent of the disaster suddenly met
his eyes.

"Good God!" he exclaimed.  "I was afraid there had been a bad
accident.  Is anybody killed?"

"Yes," said Marsden bluntly.  "Both these men are dead."  He paused.
"Who are you, sir, and where do you come from?" he asked.

"My name's Trevor.  I'm the head electrician at the powder mills just
down the road."

"Well, I'm a police officer," said Marsden, "and this gentleman is
Doctor Gray."

"A police officer?" repeated the other.  "Is there anything----"

"One of our friends here," continued Marsden, jerking his head in the
direction of Cooper's body, "is the murderer of Professor Carter.  I
have no doubt you read about the case in the papers.  The other was
wanted on an almost equally serious charge."

Their new acquaintance stood staring at them in open-mouthed
amazement.

"But--but what on earth were they doing down here?" he stammered.

"They were trying to reach Thames Haven, where they hoped to get on
board a boat.  We were following them in another car, and just as
they got to this point they swerved right across the road into that
heap of stones.  You can see the result for yourself."

The electrician nodded his head.  "Yes," he replied, "I can.  You
must excuse my being a bit flabbergasted, but it's pretty quiet round
about here as a rule, and this kind of thing's a trifle out of my
line."  He removed the soft hat that he was wearing and wiped his
forehead with his coat sleeve.  "What do you propose to do?" he
asked.  "We've a telephone at the works if you'd like me to get into
communication with any one."

Marsden pulled out his pocketbook and extracted a card.

"This is my name," he said.  "Do you mind going straight back and
ringing up the Southend Police Station?  Say that you're speaking for
me, and ask them to send out a motor ambulance and a car as soon as
possible.  They'll know the powder works, and when they arrive
perhaps you'll be good enough to bring them on here."

"Why, certainly," was the answer.  "In the meanwhile, if there's
anything you want that I can let you have----"

"Well, I don't know if you could run to a whisky and soda," suggested
Marsden hopefully.  "I could do with a drink after what we've been
through the last quarter of an hour."

"I'll send one of the men along with it," responded the other, and
without waiting to be thanked he nodded a hasty farewell, and set off
at once in the direction of the roadway.

Marsden turned to Colin.  "You can get back to 'The Firs' and pick up
Miss Seymour if you like.  There's no point in your remaining here,
unless you want to stop until the whisky comes."

"Oh, hang the whisky!" said Colin.  "It's you I'm thinking of.  I
can't leave you stranded in a ditch with a couple of corpses."

"You needn't worry about that," returned Marsden cheerfully.  "I've
been in worse company, and, in any case, the Southend police will be
turning up in round about half an hour.  No, you go along, doctor,
and take Miss Seymour home in the car."

"What about the sergeant and Joe?" inquired Colin.

"They can wait for us.  We shall be passing the house on our way
back, and if Bentley's still unconscious there'll be room for him in
the ambulance."

"Well, it seems rather a shame to desert you," said Colin.  "All the
same, if you really don't mind I think I will push off.  Nancy must
be pretty well tired out, and the sooner I can get her back to
Shadwell the better."

"She'll be all right," said Marsden encouragingly.  "If you think she
needs a little tonic give her my congratulations and tell her that
she's worth a couple of hundred thousand pounds."  He held out his
hand.  "You shall hear from me later in the evening.  I'll either
'phone you up or come down to Shadwell myself."

"Come if you possibly can," said Colin.  "Nancy will be longing to
thank you for everything you've done, and if you want any further
inducement Mark's got some topping good champagne."

* * * * * * * * *

The light was still streaming out through the shattered window as,
leaving his car at the gate of "The Firs," Colin once more made his
way up the drive and strode eagerly across the lawn.

On reaching the verandah he found that the broken hasp had been
fastened roughly together inside by a piece of wire, and while he was
endeavouring to disentangle the latter the figure of Joe appeared
suddenly in the doorway.

At the sight of Colin he hastened forward with a shout of welcome.

"'Alf a moment, guv'nor.  'Ere, let me get at it.  You'll cut your
'and on that glass if you ain't careful."

With a quick turn of his fingers he wrenched off the wire and flung
open the window, and at the same moment Nancy herself came hurrying
into the room.

"Oh, Colin, at last!" she cried.  "I was so afraid that something had
happened to you."

Regardless of Joe, Colin took her into his arms and kissed her two or
three times with reassuring fervour.

"Nothing has happened to me, Nancy," he said.  "I'm afraid I can't
say the same with regard to Fenton and Cooper."

She looked up at him with a startled expression in her eyes.

"Colin!" she exclaimed.  "You don't mean----"

His arms tightened round her.  "I had to let you know," he said
gently, "though I hate to spring any more horrors on you.  I'm not
sure it isn't all for the best.  Cooper would certainly have been
hanged, and as for Fenton----"

"Wot's 'appened, gov'nor?" broke in Joe anxiously.  "You ain't goin'
to tell me they're both dead?"

"They were when I left them," said Colin.  "As dead as any one I've
ever seen in my life.  They ran into a heap of loose stones just this
side of Thames Haven and smashed themselves to pieces."

"Well, if that ain't the limit!" observed Joe disgustedly.  "'Ere'
ave I bin waitin' to bash 'ell outer that bloke Cooper----"

"Stop, Joe!" commanded Nancy almost angrily.  "I won't have you
talking like that.  It's wicked."

The abashed boxer fell back, and with a quick breath she turned again
to Colin.

"Where's the Inspector?" she asked.  "Why hasn't he come with you?"

"He's all right," said Colin.  "We got someone to send a message
through to the Southend police, and he's waiting for them to turn up
with a motor ambulance.  He suggested that in the meanwhile I should
come on here and take you home in the car.  He's going to call for
Joe and the sergeant on his way back."  He paused and glanced
inquiringly round the room.  "By the way," he added, "where is the
sergeant, and what's happened to my pal Jake Hudson?"

"Hudson's locked up in the cellar," replied Nancy.  "We carried the
other poor man into the hall and put him on the sofa.  I bandaged up
his head as well as I could, but he's still unconscious."

"I'll go in and have a look at him," said Colin.  "Then I should
think we might as well push off.  I've all sorts of exciting news for
you, Nancy."

"If you mean about Mr. Carter being my grandfather," she interrupted
calmly, "I know that already."

Colin stared at her in amazement.  "You know it already?" he repeated.

She nodded her head.  "Yes," she said, "Joe told me.  Of course,
there's a lot I don't understand yet, but----"

"I didn't mean to do it, guv'nor," protested Joe; "strike me dead if
I did.  She jest started askin' questions, and afore I knew wot 'ad
'appened, damn me if I 'adn't given away the 'ole show."

Colin looked from one to the other of them, and then began to laugh.

"I thought I could depend on you, Joe," he said reproachfully.

The boxer glanced at Nancy with a kind of admiring resentment.  "I
always reckoned I could keep my mouth shut," he muttered, "but she's
one o' them young laidies a bloke ain't got no chance with."

"I don't know if that's a compliment or not," said Nancy.  "Anyhow,
Colin, do come along and see what you think of my patient.  We shall
have plenty of time to talk about me when we're going home in the
car."

She led the way out into the hall, and, crossing to where the
unconscious and heavily breathing Bentley lay propped upon the sofa
amongst a pile of cushions, Colin bent down to inspect the bandages
which encircled his head.

"Nothing the matter with this," he said approvingly.  "You must have
been having lessons from Mark in your spare time."  He made a brief
examination of the man's pulse and general condition, while the
others stood by watching him in silence.  "I don't think there'll be
much to worry about when he comes round," he added, "but of course
he'll have to keep to his bed for a day or two."  He turned to Joe.
"Put some of these cushions round him so that he isn't shaken about
in the ambulance, and tell Marsden to take him to the hospital
directly you reach London."

"I believe there must be some kind of curse on me," said Nancy rather
ruefully.  "I seem to bring trouble on everyone I have anything to do
with."

"You ain't no call to feel like that, miss," objected Joe.  "A
cracked 'ead ain't much in the way of trouble--not for a policeman,
any'ow."

"You can be pretty sure that that's the way in which Bentley will
look at it," said Colin.  "As for the Inspector"--his gray eyes lit
up with a boyish twinkle--"well, if he hadn't told me that he was a
married man with three children I should have been jolly careful not
to ask him round to Shadwell this evening."

With a little laugh Nancy held out her hands toward him.

"Take me home, Colin," she said.  "I feel like Charles Lamb when they
gave him a pension.  I want to go home for ever."

* * * * * * * * *

Mark filled up his empty glass, and, settling himself in his
armchair, beamed paternally at Colin and Nancy, who were sitting
opposite to him on the sofa.

"It only shows how careful one ought to be," he said.  "Just think of
the chance I missed when I took Nancy on as a secretary!  If I'd had
any idea that she was going to blossom out suddenly as a sort of
female Rothschild I should immediately have adopted her as my
daughter."

"Perhaps it's as well you didn't," said Colin, laughing.  "She'd have
found it a bit of a strain to carry out the fifth commandment."

Nancy, who was looking distractingly pretty as she lay back against
the cushions, smiled contentedly at them both.

"I think it's much better as it is," she said.  "If I hadn't known
what it felt like to be bullied and ordered about I shouldn't be half
so happy when I'm married to Colin."

Mark set down his glass with an air of pretended dismay.

"But, my dear child," he exclaimed, "you can't possibly marry Colin
now.  You must put that idea right out of your head.  Why, with your
looks and two hundred thousand pounds you might make an alliance with
a duke."

There was a moment's pause.

"By Jove, yes!" observed Colin blankly.  "I never thought of that."

He turned to Nancy, but before he could add anything further she
raised her finger in a peremptory warning.

"It's no use, Colin dear," she said.  "Joe saw you hugging and
kissing me at 'The Firs,' and I'm not the sort of girl to allow my
young affections to be trifled with.  If you attempt to back out of
it now I shall sue you for breach of promise."

The distant tinkle of a bell sounded through the house, and, raising
himself in his chair, Mark glanced indignantly at the clock.

"Oh, hang it all!" he exclaimed.  "I'm not going to see any more
patients to-night.  It's nearly ten, and, besides that, I'm
beautifully and comfortably intoxicated."

"It may be Marsden," suggested Colin.  "He promised to come down if
he could manage to spare the time."

They heard the front door open and close, and after a brief interval
the somewhat breathless figure of Martha Jane burst unceremoniously
into the room.

"There's a police inspector downstairs," she announced.  "'E says
'e's come to see Doctor Gray."

Mark hoisted himself to his feet.  "Show him up," he said hospitably,
"and then fetch along another glass.  If any one else calls, tell
them that I've been sent for to Buckingham Palace to operate on the
King."

Leaving the door open behind her, Martha Jane vanished down the
staircase.  There was a murmur of voices, followed by a creak of
footsteps, and a moment later she reappeared, with the bullet head
and broad shoulders of the detective mounting in her wake.

Jumping up from the sofa, Colin met him as he entered the room.

"So glad you've been able to come, Marsden," he exclaimed.  "We only
wanted you to complete the party."  He waved an introductory hand in
the direction of Mark.  "This is my friend, Doctor Ashton.  I don't
think there's any need to introduce you to Miss Seymour!"

Marsden smiled, and, stepping forward, shook hands with his host.

"Pleased to meet you, doctor," he said.  "I'm sorry to disturb you at
this hour, but, as you've probably heard, we've been having rather a
busy and exciting afternoon."  He turned to Nancy.  "I hope you're
not feeling much the worse for it, miss?"

"Not a bit," said Nancy, "thanks to you and Colin.  I only wish I
could tell you how grateful I am for all you've done for me."

Marsden shook his head.  "It's very good of you to say so, miss, but
I'm not throwing any bouquets at myself this journey.  On the
contrary, I don't think I've ever made so many blunders in a case in
the whole of my professional career."

"Why, what are you worrying about?" demanded Colin.  "Except for the
regrettable fact that we can't hang Cooper----"

"You haven't heard my news yet," interrupted Marsden.  "I'm almost
ashamed to confess it, but the fact remains that we've allowed Medwin
to slip through our fingers."

Colin stared at him incredulously.  "Medwin escaped!" he exclaimed.

"If you like to put it that way.  He has escaped being sent for
trial, anyhow.  At the present moment he's lying in the mortuary at
the Kensington Police Station."

With a faint cry of horror Nancy caught hold of Colin's hand.

"It was all my fault," continued Marsden.  "I ought to have made
certain of him before we left London.  It never occurred to me he'd
play us a dirty trick like this."

"What do you mean?" broke in Colin.  "When I left him he was tied up
on the sofa.  How on earth----"

"Well, the servants came back and untied him," said Marsden curtly.
"He invented some cock-and-bull story about having been attacked by a
couple of burglars, and then sent them down to the kitchen and locked
himself in his study.  As soon as I got back to London I telephoned
through to Kensington and gave instructions for his arrest, but by
that time it was too late.  They found him sitting dead in his chair,
with a letter which he had just written lying on the table beside
him.  He had swallowed enough poison to kill half a dozen people."

There was a brief silence.

"I see now," said Colin slowly.  "He told me he knew when he was
beaten, and that's evidently what he meant."  He paused.  "And the
letter?" he asked.

Marsden put his hand in his pocket and produced a large square
envelope.

"The letter was my chief reason for coming down here.  As a matter of
fact, it was addressed to you, but under the circumstances I've taken
the liberty of opening it."

He presented the envelope to Colin, who, after glancing unbelievingly
at his own name, pulled out and unfolded its contents.


  "3 ALBERT TERRACE,
        "KENSINGTON.

    "My dear Gray,--You will probably be surprised at receiving a
    letter from me, but you must put it down to the whim of a dying
    man.

    "The truth is, I feel that I owe an apology both to you and to
    Miss Seymour.

    "I will make no attempt to defend my conduct.  I frankly admit
    that it justifies practically every one of the uncomplimentary
    epithets which you hurled at me in the course of your dramatic
    visit.

    "The only accusation against which I must enter a protest is that
    either Fenton or I was in any way concerned with the murder of my
    old friend and client, the late Professor Carter.  On this point
    you are entirely mistaken.  It was the work of that senseless
    ruffian Cooper, whom we had employed to assist us in breaking
    into the Red Lodge when we found it necessary to examine the
    Professor's papers.  I sincerely hope that this information will
    be of some assistance in bringing him to the gallows.

    "On the charges of embezzlement and conspiracy, however, the fact
    remains that I have rendered myself liable to a considerable term
    of penal servitude.  It is an unpleasant position, but one which
    I am perfectly prepared to face.  Playing for high stakes has
    always had a peculiar attraction for me, and in the event of
    failure I have never been one of those poor-spirited sportsmen
    who object to settling their accounts.

    "I doubt if you will believe me, but I should like to say in
    conclusion that as far as you are concerned I have no feeling of
    resentment.  On the contrary, if you had not been so infernally
    in my way it would have been a distinct pleasure to me to
    cultivate your society.  Being of a somewhat complex temperament,
    I derive considerable enjoyment from the companionship of a crude
    and vigorous young savage like yourself.

    "I do not know whether you arrived in time to rescue Miss Seymour
    from the embraces of our mutual friend, but I have no doubt that
    you will succeed in consoling her for any unpleasant experiences
    to which she may have been subjected.  From the little I saw of
    her she struck me as being a singularly attractive and
    high-spirited young lady.

    "Please convey to her my apologies for the unchivalrous treatment
    she has received, and also express my regret that there should be
    a shortage of some twenty thousand pounds in the money to which
    she is entitled.  As the sum which still remains, however,
    amounts to about a hundred and seventy thousand pounds, it will
    be amply sufficient to provide you both with those minor comforts
    and luxuries which form such an agreeable addition even to the
    happiest of married lives.

  "Believe me, my dear Gray,
              "Your sincere admirer,
        "JAMES STANHOPE MEDWIN."


    Colin read through this remarkable communication in silence, and,
    having come to the end, handed it to Nancy.

    "It's just the sort of letter I should have expected him to
    write," he observed.  "The only thing I'm surprised at is that he
    didn't send us a wedding present."

    "Well, it's queer your putting it like that," replied the
    detective.  "As a matter of fact, it's the very same remark which
    I made to the Commissioner.  There's a certain type of criminal
    who doesn't care what happens to him as long as he can die
    showing off and codding himself that he's a sportsman and a
    gentleman."

    "I suppose that's true," said Nancy, looking up from the letter.
    "I do wish he hadn't killed himself, though.  I hate to feel that
    three people have lost their lives and all on account of----"

    "It's only because you're not accustomed to it," interrupted Mark
    comfortingly.  "When one's been a doctor for twenty years a
    trifling massacre like this leaves one quite unperturbed."

    As he spoke Martha Jane appeared with the clean glass, and,
    taking it off the tray, he turned to Marsden.

    "How about a drop of champagne, Inspector?" he suggested.
    "There's nothing like it after a busy day, and, besides, you've
    got to drink to the health of the happy pair."

    "I won't say no to a good offer like that," returned the
    detective.

    He accepted the beaker which Mark held out to him, and, raising
    it in his hand, nodded first to Nancy and then to Colin.

    "I've already congratulated the doctor," he said.  "As for you,
    miss, if you'll excuse my saying so, I think you've made as big a
    success in choosing a husband as you did in choosing a
    grandfather."

    He drained his glass to the dregs, and set it down on the table
    with an appreciative smack.

    "I'm sorry to tear myself away from such a pleasant party," he
    added, "but I've got to get back to the Yard and complete my
    report of the case.  We're fixing the inquest for the day after
    to-morrow."

    "Shall I have to give evidence?" inquired Nancy in some dismay.

    "I'm afraid there's no getting out of that, miss.  You and Doctor
    Gray will be the two principal witnesses, but I shall be seeing
    the Coroner first, and you can take it from me that you won't be
    asked more questions than are absolutely necessary."  He turned
    to Colin.  "I should like to see you the first thing in the
    morning, doctor.  This case is bound to attract a good deal of
    attention, and there are one or two points in connection with it
    which it will be better if we keep to ourselves."

    "That's all right," said Colin calmly.  "You tell me what you
    want us to say, and Nancy and I will stick to it like Britons."

    Marsden laughed, and, picking up his cap from the table, shook
    hands all round.

    "Let me see you as far as the door, Inspector," suggested Mark.
    "I think I'm just sober enough to be able to manage the
    staircase."

    He led the way out on the landing, followed by the detective, and
    for the first time since their return to the house Colin and
    Nancy found themselves alone.

    He put his arm round her, and, bending down, kissed her hair.

    "You mustn't let all this distress you too much, darling," he
    said gently.  "It's been a horrible and ghastly business, but I
    do believe it's ended in the best way possible.  If these men
    hadn't been killed----"

    "I know, Colin," she said.  "I think it's only a sort of selfish
    feeling I've got.  I am so happy myself I want everyone else to
    be happy too."

    "So they are!" declared Colin.  "At least, everyone who matters.
    There's you and I and Mark and Mary and Joe----"  He paused.  "By
    the way, I wonder what's happened to Joe."

    "I know what's going to happen to him," said Nancy.  "Directly I
    get my money I'm going to buy him the biggest and most beautiful
    public house in Shadwell.  If it wasn't for Joe----"  Her voice
    faltered, and with a sudden impulsive movement she caught hold of
    Colin's hand and pressed it to her cheek.

    For a moment he stood looking down at her, his gray eyes alight
    with love and tenderness.

    "There's only one thing that isn't quite perfect," he said
    slowly.  "I'm afraid that, whatever success I meet with in my
    research work, I'm bound to be more or less disappointed."

    "Oh, Colin, what do you mean?"

    "Why," he whispered softly, "I've already made the greatest
    discovery in the world.  _I've found you_."



    THE END