CHAPTER XV

TUPPENCE RECEIVES A PROPOSAL

JULIUS sprang up.

"What?"

"I thought you were aware of that."

"When did she leave?"

"Let me see.  To-day is Monday, is it not?  It must have been
last Wednesday--why, surely--yes, it was the same evening that
you--er--fell out of my tree."

"That evening?  Before, or after?"

"Let me see--oh yes, afterwards.  A very urgent message arrived
from Mrs. Vandemeyer.  The young lady and the nurse who was in
charge of her left by the night train."

Julius sank back again into his chair.

"Nurse Edith--left with a patient--I remember," he muttered. "My
God, to have been so near!"

Dr. Hall looked bewildered.

"I don't understand.  Is the young lady not with her aunt, after
all?"

Tuppence shook her head.  She was about to speak when a warning
glance from Sir James made her hold her tongue. The lawyer rose.

"I'm much obliged to you, Hall.  We're very grateful for all
you've told us. I'm afraid we're now in the position of having to
track Miss Vandemeyer anew. What about the nurse who accompanied
her; I suppose you don't know where she is?"

The doctor shook his head.

"We've not heard from her, as it happens.  I understood she was
to remain with Miss Vandemeyer for a while.  But what can have
happened? Surely the girl has not been kidnapped."

"That remains to be seen," said Sir James gravely.

The other hesitated.

"You do not think I ought to go to the police?"

"No, no.  In all probability the young lady is with other
relations."

The doctor was not completely satisfied, but he saw that Sir
James was determined to say no more, and realized that to try and
extract more information from the famous K.C. would be mere waste
of labour. Accordingly, he wished them goodbye, and they left the
hotel. For a few minutes they stood by the car talking.

"How maddening," cried Tuppence.  "To think that Julius must have
been actually under the same roof with her for a few hours."

"I was a darned idiot," muttered Julius gloomily.

"You couldn't know," Tuppence consoled him.  "Could he?" She
appealed to Sir James.

"I should advise you not to worry," said the latter kindly. "No
use crying over spilt milk, you know."

"The great thing is what to do next," added Tuppence the
practical.

Sir James shrugged his shoulders.

"You might advertise for the nurse who accompanied the girl. That
is the only course I can suggest, and I must confess I do not
hope for much result.  Otherwise there is nothing to be done."

"Nothing?" said Tuppence blankly.  "And--Tommy?"

"We must hope for the best," said Sir James.  "Oh yes, we must go
on hoping."

But over her downcast head his eyes met Julius's, and almost
imperceptibly he shook his head.  Julius understood.  The lawyer
considered the case hopeless.  The young American's face grew
grave. Sir James took Tuppence's hand.

"You must let me know if anything further comes to light. Letters
will always be forwarded."

Tuppence stared at him blankly.

"You are going away?"

"I told you.  Don't you remember?  To Scotland."

"Yes, but I thought----" The girl hesitated.

Sir James shrugged his shoulders.

"My dear young lady, I can do nothing more, I fear. Our clues
have all ended in thin air.  You can take my word for it that
there is nothing more to be done.  If anything should arise, I
shall be glad to advise you in any way I can."

His words gave Tuppence an extraordinarily desolate feeling.

"I suppose you're right," she said.  "Anyway, thank you very much
for trying to help us.  Good-bye."

Julius was bending over the car.  A momentary pity came into Sir
James's keen eyes, as he gazed into the girl's downcast face.

"Don't be too disconsolate, Miss Tuppence," he said in a low
voice. "Remember, holiday-time isn't always all playtime. One
sometimes manages to put in some work as well."

Something in his tone made Tuppence glance up sharply. He shook
his head with a smile.

"No, I shan't say any more.  Great mistake to say too much.
Remember that.  Never tell all you know--not even to the person
you know best.  Understand?  Good-bye."

He strode away.  Tuppence stared after him. She was beginning to
understand Sir James's methods. Once before he had thrown her a
hint in the same careless fashion. Was this a hint?  What exactly
lay behind those last brief words? Did he mean that, after all,
he had not abandoned the case; that, secretly, he would be
working on it still while----

Her meditations were interrupted by Julius, who adjured her to
"get right in."

"You're looking kind of thoughtful," he remarked as they started
off. "Did the old guy say anything more?"

Tuppence opened her mouth impulsively, and then shut it again.
Sir James's words sounded in her ears:  "Never tell all you
know--not even to the person you know best." And like a flash
there came into her mind another memory. Julius before the safe
in the flat, her own question and the pause before his reply,
"Nothing."  Was there really nothing? Or had he found something
he wished to keep to himself? If he could make a reservation, so
could she.

"Nothing particular," she replied.

She felt rather than saw Julius throw a sideways glance at her.

"Say, shall we go for a spin in the park?"

"If you like."

For a while they ran on under the trees in silence.  It was a
beautiful day. The keen rush through the air brought a new
exhilaration to Tuppence.

"Say, Miss Tuppence, do you think I'm ever going to find Jane?"

Julius spoke in a discouraged voice.  The mood was so alien to
him that Tuppence turned and stared at him in surprise.  He
nodded.

"That's so.  I'm getting down and out over the business. Sir
James to-day hadn't got any hope at all, I could see that. I
don't like him--we don't gee together somehow--but he's pretty
cute, and I guess he wouldn't quit if there was any chance of
success--now, would he?"

Tuppence felt rather uncomfortable, but clinging to her belief
that Julius also had withheld something from her, she remained
firm.

"He suggested advertising for the nurse," she reminded him.

"Yes, with a 'forlorn hope' flavour to his voice!  No--I'm about
fed up. I've half a mind to go back to the States right away."

"Oh no!" cried Tuppence.  "We've got to find Tommy."

"I sure forgot Beresford," said Julius contritely.  "That's so.
We must find him.  But after--well, I've been day-dreaming ever
since I started on this trip--and these dreams are rotten poor
business. I'm quit of them.  Say, Miss Tuppence, there's
something I'd like to ask you."

"Yes?"

"You and Beresford.  What about it?"

"I don't understand you," replied Tuppence with dignity, adding
rather inconsequently:  "And, anyway, you're wrong!"

"Not got a sort of kindly feeling for one another?"

"Certainly not," said Tuppence with warmth.  "Tommy and I are
friends--nothing more."

"I guess every pair of lovers has said that sometime or another,"
observed Julius.

"Nonsense!" snapped Tuppence.  "Do I look the sort of girl that's
always falling in love with every man she meets?"

"You do not.  You look the sort of girl that's mighty often
getting fallen in love with!"

"Oh!" said Tuppence, rather taken aback.  "That's a compliment, I
suppose?"

"Sure.  Now let's get down to this.  Supposing we never find
Beresford and--and----"

"All right--say it!  I can face facts.  Supposing he's--dead!
Well?"

"And all this business fiddles out.  What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," said Tuppence forlornly.

"You'll be darned lonesome, you poor kid."

"I shall be all right," snapped Tuppence with her usual
resentment of any kind of pity.

"What about marriage?" inquired Julius.  "Got any views on the
subject?"

"I intend to marry, of course," replied Tuppence.  "That is,
if"--she paused, knew a momentary longing to draw back, and then
stuck to her guns bravely--"I can find some one rich enough to
make it worth my while. That's frank, isn't it?  I dare say you
despise me for it."

"I never despise business instinct," said Julius.  "What
particular figure have you in mind?"

"Figure?" asked Tuppence, puzzled.  "Do you mean tall or short?"

"No. Sum--income."

"Oh, I--I haven't quite worked that out."

"What about me?"

"You?"

"Sure thing."

"Oh, I couldn't!"

"Why not?"

"I tell you I couldn't."

"Again, why not?"

"It would seem so unfair."

"I don't see anything unfair about it.  I call your bluff, that's
all. I admire you immensely, Miss Tuppence, more than any girl
I've ever met. You're so darned plucky.  I'd just love to give
you a real, rattling good time.  Say the word, and we'll run
round right away to some high-class jeweller, and fix up the ring
business."

"I can't," gasped Tuppence.

"Because of Beresford?"

"No, no, NO!"

"Well then?"

Tuppence merely continued to shake her head violently.

"You can't reasonably expect more dollars than I've got."

"Oh, it isn't that," gasped Tuppence with an almost hysterical
laugh. "But thanking you very much, and all that, I think I'd
better say no."

"I'd be obliged if you'd do me the favour to think it over until
to-morrow."

"It's no use."

"Still, I guess we'll leave it like that."

"Very well," said Tuppence meekly.

Neither of them spoke again until they reached the Ritz.

Tuppence went upstairs to her room.  She felt morally battered to
the ground after her conflict with Julius's vigorous personality.
Sitting down in front of the glass, she stared at her own
reflection for some minutes.

"Fool," murmured Tuppence at length, making a grimace. "Little
fool.  Everything you want--everything you've ever hoped for, and
you go and bleat out 'no' like an idiotic little sheep. It's your
one chance.  Why don't you take it?  Grab it? Snatch at it?  What
more do you want?"

As if in answer to her own question, her eyes fell on a small
snapshot of Tommy that stood on her dressing-table in a shabby
frame. For a moment she struggled for self-control, and then
abandoning all presence, she held it to her lips and burst into a
fit of sobbing.

"Oh, Tommy, Tommy," she cried, "I do love you so--and I may never
see you again...."

At the end of five minutes Tuppence sat up, blew her nose, and
pushed back her hair.

"That's that," she observed sternly.  "Let's look facts in the
face. I seem to have fallen in love--with an idiot of a boy who
probably doesn't care two straws about me."  Here she paused.
"Anyway," she resumed, as though arguing with an unseen opponent,
"I don't KNOW that he does.  He'd never have dared to say so.
I've always jumped on sentiment--and here I am being more
sentimental than anybody.  What idiots girls are!  I've always
thought so. I suppose I shall sleep with his photograph under my
pillow, and dream about him all night.  It's dreadful to feel
you've been false to your principles."

Tuppence shook her head sadly, as she reviewed her backsliding.

"I don't know what to say to Julius, I'm sure.  Oh, what a fool I
feel! I'll have to say SOMETHING--he's so American and thorough,
he'll insist upon having a reason.  I wonder if he did find
anything in that safe----"

Tuppence's meditations went off on another tack.  She reviewed
the events of last night carefully and persistently.  Somehow,
they seemed bound up with Sir James's enigmatical words....

Suddenly she gave a great start--the colour faded out of her
face. Her eyes, fascinated, gazed in front of her, the pupils
dilated.

"Impossible," she murmured.  "Impossible!  I must be going mad
even to think of such a thing...."

Monstrous--yet it explained everything....

After a moment's reflection she sat down and wrote a note,
weighing each word as she did so.  Finally she nodded her head as
though satisfied, and slipped it into an envelope which she
addressed to Julius.  She went down the passage to his
sitting-room and knocked at the door.  As she had expected, the
room was empty. She left the note on the table.

A small page-boy was waiting outside her own door when she
returned to it.

"Telegram for you, miss."

Tuppence took it from the salver, and tore it open carelessly.
Then she gave a cry.  The telegram was from Tommy!

FROM a darkness punctuated with throbbing stabs of fire, Tommy
dragged his senses slowly back to life.  When he at last opened
his eyes, he was conscious of nothing but an excruciating pain
through his temples. He was vaguely aware of unfamiliar
surroundings.  Where was he? What had happened?  He blinked
feebly.  This was not his bedroom at the Ritz.  And what the
devil was the matter with his head?

"Damn!" said Tommy, and tried to sit up.  He had remembered. He
was in that sinister house in Soho.  He uttered a groan and fell
back. Through his almost-closed lids he reconnoitred carefully.

"He is coming to," remarked a voice very near Tommy's ear. He
recognized it at once for that of the bearded and efficient
German, and lay artistically inert.  He felt that it would be a
pity to come round too soon; and until the pain in his head
became a little less acute, he felt quite incapable of collecting
his wits. Painfully he tried to puzzle out what had happened.
Obviously somebody must have crept up behind him as he listened
and struck him down with a blow on the head.  They knew him now
for a spy, and would in all probability give him short shrift.
Undoubtedly he was in a tight place.  Nobody knew where he was,
therefore he need expect no outside assistance, and must depend
solely on his own wits.

"Well, here goes," murmured Tommy to himself, and repeated his
former remark.

"Damn!" he observed, and this time succeeded in sitting up.

In a minute the German stepped forward and placed a glass to his
lips, with the brief command "Drink."  Tommy obeyed. The potency
of the draught made him choke, but it cleared his brain in a
marvellous manner.

He was lying on a couch in the room in which the meeting had been
held.  On one side of him was the German, on the other the
villainous-faced doorkeeper who had let him in. The others were
grouped together at a little distance away. But Tommy missed one
face.  The man known as Number One was no longer of the company.

"Feel better?" asked the German, as he removed the empty glass.

"Yes, thanks," returned Tommy cheerfully.

"Ah, my young friend, it is lucky for you your skull is so thick.
The good Conrad struck hard."  He indicated the evil-faced
doorkeeper by a nod.  The man grinned.

Tommy twisted his head round with an effort.

"Oh," he said, "so you're Conrad, are you?  It strikes me the
thickness of my skull was lucky for you too. When I look at you I
feel it's almost a pity I've enabled you to cheat the hangman."

The man snarled, and the bearded man said quietly:

"He would have run no risk of that."

"Just as you like," replied Tommy.  "I know it's the fashion to
run down the police.  I rather believe in them myself."

His manner was nonchalant to the last degree.  Tommy Beresford
was one of those young Englishmen not distinguished by any
special intellectual ability, but who are emphatically at their
best in what is known as a "tight place." Their natural
diffidence and caution fall from them like a glove. Tommy
realized perfectly that in his own wits lay the only chance of
escape, and behind his casual manner he was racking his brains
furiously.

The cold accents of the German took up the conversation:

"Have you anything to say before you are put to death as a spy?"

"Simply lots of things," replied Tommy with the same urbanity as
before.

"Do you deny that you were listening at that door?"

"I do not.  I must really apologize--but your conversation was so
interesting that it overcame my scruples."

"How did you get in?"

"Dear old Conrad here."  Tommy smiled deprecatingly at him. "I
hesitate to suggest pensioning off a faithful servant, but you
really ought to have a better watchdog."

Conrad snarled impotently, and said sullenly, as the man with the
beard swung round upon him:

"He gave the word.  How was I to know?"

"Yes," Tommy chimed in.  "How was he to know?  Don't blame the
poor fellow. His hasty action has given me the pleasure of seeing
you all face to face."

He fancied that his words caused some discomposure among the
group, but the watchful German stilled it with a wave of his
hand.

"Dead men tell no tales," he said evenly.

"Ah," said Tommy, "but I'm not dead yet!"

"You soon will be, my young friend," said the German.

An assenting murmur came from the others.

Tommy's heart beat faster, but his casual pleasantness did not
waver.

"I think not," he said firmly.  "I should have a great objection
to dying."

He had got them puzzled, he saw that by the look on his captor's
face.

"Can you give us any reason why we should not put you to death?"
asked the German.

"Several," replied Tommy.  "Look here, you've been asking me a
lot of questions.  Let me ask you one for a change. Why didn't
you kill me off at once before I regained consciousness?"

The German hesitated, and Tommy seized his advantage.

"Because you didn't know how much I knew--and where I obtained
that knowledge.  If you kill me now, you never will know."

But here the emotions of Boris became too much for him. He
stepped forward waving his arms.

"You hell-hound of a spy," he screamed.  "We will give you short
shrift. Kill him!  Kill him!"

There was a roar of applause.

"You hear?" said the German, his eyes on Tommy.  "What have you
to say to that?"

"Say?"  Tommy shrugged his shoulders.  "Pack of fools.  Let them
ask themselves a few questions.  How did I get into this place?
Remember what dear old Conrad said--WITH YOUR OWN PASSWORD,
wasn't it? How did I get hold of that?  You don't suppose I came
up those steps haphazard and said the first thing that came into
my head?"

Tommy was pleased with the concluding words of this speech. His
only regret was that Tuppence was not present to appreciate its
full flavour.

"That is true," said the working man suddenly.  "Comrades, we
have been betrayed!"

An ugly murmur arose.  Tommy smiled at them encouragingly.

"That's better.  How can you hope to make a success of any job if
you don't use your brains?"

"You will tell us who has betrayed us," said the German.  "But
that shall not save you--oh, no!  You shall tell us all that you
know. Boris, here, knows pretty ways of making people speak!"

"Bah!" said Tommy scornfully, fighting down a singularly
unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach.  "You will neither
torture me nor kill me."

"And why not?" asked Boris.

"Because you'd kill the goose that lays the golden eggs," replied
Tommy quietly.

There was a momentary pause.  It seemed as though Tommy's
persistent assurance was at last conquering.  They were no longer
completely sure of themselves. The man in the shabby clothes
stared at Tommy searchingly.

"He's bluffing you, Boris," he said quietly.

Tommy hated him.  Had the man seen through him?

The German, with an effort, turned roughly to Tommy.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean?" parried Tommy, searching desperately
in his own mind.

Suddenly Boris stepped forward, and shook his fist in Tommy's
face.

"Speak, you swine of an Englishman--speak!"

"Don't get so excited, my good fellow," said Tommy calmly.
"That's the worst of you foreigners.  You can't keep calm. Now, I
ask you, do I look as though I thought there were the least
chance of your killing me?"

He looked confidently round, and was glad they could not hear the
persistent beating of his heart which gave the lie to his words.

"No," admitted Boris at last sullenly, "you do not."

"Thank God, he's not a mind reader," thought Tommy.  Aloud he
pursued his advantage:

"And why am I so confident?  Because I know something that puts
me in a position to propose a bargain."

"A bargain?"  The bearded man took him up sharply.

"Yes--a bargain.  My life and liberty against----" He paused.

"Against what?"

The group pressed forward.  You could have heard a pin drop.

Slowly Tommy spoke.

"The papers that Danvers brought over from America in the
Lusitania."

The effect of his words was electrical.  Every one was on his
feet. The German waved them back.  He leaned over Tommy, his face
purple with excitement.

"Himmel! You have got them, then?"

With magnificent calm Tommy shook his head.

"You know where they are?" persisted the German.

Again Tommy shook his head.  "Not in the least."

"Then--then----" angry and baffled, the words failed him.

Tommy looked round.  He saw anger and bewilderment on every face,
but his calm assurance had done its work--no one doubted but that
something lay behind his words.

"I don't know where the papers are--but I believe that I can find
them. I have a theory----"

"Pah!"

Tommy raised his hand, and silenced the clamours of disgust.

"I call it a theory--but I'm pretty sure of my facts--facts that
are known to no one but myself.  In any case what do you lose? If
I can produce the papers--you give me my life and liberty in
exchange. Is it a bargain?"

"And if we refuse?" said the German quietly.

Tommy lay back on the couch.

"The 29th," he said thoughtfully, "is less than a fortnight
ahead----"

For a moment the German hesitated.  Then he made a sign to
Conrad.

"Take him into the other room."

For five minutes, Tommy sat on the bed in the dingy room next
door. His heart was beating violently.  He had risked all on this
throw. How would they decide?  And all the while that this
agonized questioning went on within him, he talked flippantly to
Conrad, enraging the cross-grained doorkeeper to the point of
homicidal mania.

At last the door opened, and the German called imperiously to
Conrad to return.

"Let's hope the judge hasn't put his black cap on," remarked
Tommy frivolously.  "That's right, Conrad, march me in. The
prisoner is at the bar, gentlemen."

The German was seated once more behind the table. He motioned to
Tommy to sit down opposite to him.

"We accept," he said harshly, "on terms.  The papers must be
delivered to us before you go free."

"Idiot!" said Tommy amiably.  "How do you think I can look for
them if you keep me tied by the leg here?"

"What do you expect, then?"

"I must have liberty to go about the business in my own way."

The German laughed.

"Do you think we are little children to let you walk out of here
leaving us a pretty story full of promises?"

"No," said Tommy thoughtfully.  "Though infinitely simpler for
me, I did not really think you would agree to that plan. Very
well, we must arrange a compromise.  How would it be if you
attached little Conrad here to my person. He's a faithful fellow,
and very ready with the fist."

"We prefer," said the German coldly, "that you should remain
here. One of our number will carry out your instructions
minutely. If the operations are complicated, he will return to
you with a report and you can instruct him further."

"You're tying my hands," complained Tommy.  "It's a very delicate
affair, and the other fellow will muff it up as likely as not,
and then where shall I be?  I don't believe one of you has got an
ounce of tact."

The German rapped the table.

"Those are our terms.  Otherwise, death!"

Tommy leaned back wearily.

"I like your style.  Curt, but attractive.  So be it, then. But
one thing is essential, I must see the girl."

"What girl?"

"Jane Finn, of course."

The other looked at him curiously for some minutes, then he said
slowly, and as though choosing his words with care:

"Do you not know that she can tell you nothing?"

Tommy's heart beat a little faster.  Would he succeed in coming
face to face with the girl he was seeking?

"I shall not ask her to tell me anything," he said quietly. "Not
in so many words, that is."

"Then why see her?"

Tommy paused.

"To watch her face when I ask her one question," he replied at
last.

Again there was a look in the German's eyes that Tommy did not
quite understand.

"She will not be able to answer your question."

"That does not matter.  I shall have seen her face when I ask it."

"And you think that will tell you anything?"  He gave a short
disagreeable laugh.  More than ever, Tommy felt that there was a
factor somewhere that he did not understand. The German looked at
him searchingly.  "I wonder whether, after all, you know as much
as we think?" he said softly.

Tommy felt his ascendancy less sure than a moment before. His
hold had slipped a little.  But he was puzzled. What had he said
wrong?  He spoke out on the impulse of the moment.

"There may be things that you know which I do not. I have not
pretended to be aware of all the details of your show. But
equally I've got something up my sleeve that you don't know
about. And that's where I mean to score.  Danvers was a damned
clever fellow----" He broke off as if he had said too much.

But the German's face had lightened a little.

"Danvers," he murmured.  "I see----" He paused a minute, then
waved to Conrad.  "Take him away.  Upstairs--you know."

"Wait a minute," said Tommy.  "What about the girl?"

"That may perhaps be arranged."

"It must be."

"We will see about it.  Only one person can decide that."

"Who?" asked Tommy.  But he knew the answer.

"Mr. Brown----"

"Shall I see him?"

"Perhaps."

"Come," said Conrad harshly.

Tommy rose obediently.  Outside the door his gaoler motioned to
him to mount the stairs.  He himself followed close behind. On
the floor above Conrad opened a door and Tommy passed into a
small room.  Conrad lit a hissing gas burner and went out. Tommy
heard the sound of the key being turned in the lock.

He set to work to examine his prison.  It was a smaller room than
the one downstairs, and there was something peculiarly airless
about the atmosphere of it.  Then he realized that there was no
window. He walked round it.  The walls were filthily dirty, as
everywhere else. Four pictures hung crookedly on the wall
representing scenes from Faust.  Marguerite with her box of
jewels, the church scene, Siebel and his flowers, and Faust and
Mephistopheles.  The latter brought Tommy's mind back to Mr.
Brown again.  In this sealed and closed chamber, with its
close-fitting heavy door, he felt cut off from the world, and the
sinister power of the arch-criminal seemed more real.  Shout as
he would, no one could ever hear him. The place was a living
tomb....

With an effort Tommy pulled himself together.  He sank on to the
bed and gave himself up to reflection.  His head ached badly;
also, he was hungry. The silence of the place was dispiriting.

"Anyway," said Tommy, trying to cheer himself, "I shall see the
chief--the mysterious Mr. Brown and with a bit of luck in
bluffing I shall see the mysterious Jane Finn also.  After
that----"

After that Tommy was forced to admit the prospect looked dreary.

CHAPTER XVII

ANNETTE

THE troubles of the future, however, soon faded before the
troubles of the present.  And of these, the most immediate and
pressing was that of hunger.  Tommy had a healthy and vigorous
appetite. The steak and chips partaken of for lunch seemed now to
belong to another decade.  He regretfully recognized the fact
that he would not make a success of a hunger strike.

He prowled aimlessly about his prison.  Once or twice he
discarded dignity, and pounded on the door.  But nobody answered
the summons.

"Hang it all!" said Tommy indignantly.  "They can't mean to
starve me to death."  A new-born fear passed through his mind
that this might, perhaps, be one of those "pretty ways" of making
a prisoner speak, which had been attributed to Boris.  But on
reflection he dismissed the idea.

"It's that sour faced brute Conrad," he decided.  "That's a
fellow I shall enjoy getting even with one of these days. This is
just a bit of spite on his part.  I'm certain of it."

Further meditations induced in him the feeling that it would be
extremely pleasant to bring something down with a whack on
Conrad's egg-shaped head. Tommy stroked his own head tenderly,
and gave himself up to the pleasures of imagination.  Finally a
bright idea flashed across his brain. Why not convert imagination
into reality?  Conrad was undoubtedly the tenant of the house.
The others, with the possible exception of the bearded German,
merely used it as a rendezvous.  Therefore, why not wait in
ambush for Conrad behind the door, and when he entered bring down
a chair, or one of the decrepit pictures, smartly on to his head.
One would, of course, be careful not to hit too hard.  And
then--and then, simply walk out!  If he met anyone on the way
down, well----Tommy brightened at the thought of an encounter
with his fists. Such an affair was infinitely more in his line
than the verbal encounter of this afternoon.  Intoxicated by his
plan, Tommy gently unhooked the picture of the Devil and Faust,
and settled himself in position. His hopes were high.  The plan
seemed to him simple but excellent.

Time went on, but Conrad did not appear.  Night and day were the
same in this prison room, but Tommy's wrist-watch, which enjoyed
a certain degree of accuracy, informed him that it was nine
o'clock in the evening. Tommy reflected gloomily that if supper
did not arrive soon it would be a question of waiting for
breakfast.  At ten o'clock hope deserted him, and he flung
himself on the bed to seek consolation in sleep. In five minutes
his woes were forgotten.

The sound of the key turning in the lock awoke him from his
slumbers. Not belonging to the type of hero who is famous for
awaking in full possession of his faculties, Tommy merely blinked
at the ceiling and wondered vaguely where he was.  Then he
remembered, and looked at his watch. It was eight o'clock.

"It's either early morning tea or breakfast," deduced the young
man, "and pray God it's the latter!"

The door swung open.  Too late, Tommy remembered his scheme of
obliterating the unprepossessing Conrad.  A moment later he was
glad that he had, for it was not Conrad who entered, but a girl.
She carried a tray which she set down on the table.

In the feeble light of the gas burner Tommy blinked at her.  He
decided at once that she was one of the most beautiful girls he
had ever seen. Her hair was a full rich brown, with sudden glints
of gold in it as though there were imprisoned sunbeams struggling
in its depths. There was a wild-rose quality about her face.  Her
eyes, set wide apart, were hazel, a golden hazel that again
recalled a memory of sunbeams.

A delirious thought shot through Tommy's mind.

"Are you Jane Finn?" he asked breathlessly.

The girl shook her head wonderingly.

"My name is Annette, monsieur."

She spoke in a soft, broken English.

"Oh!" said Tommy, rather taken aback.  "Francaise?" he hazarded.

"Oui, monsieur.  Monsieur parle francais?"

"Not for any length of time," said Tommy.  "What's that?
Breakfast?"

The girl nodded.  Tommy dropped off the bed and came and
inspected the contents of the tray.  It consisted of a loaf, some
margarine, and a jug of coffee.

"The living is not equal to the Ritz," he observed with a sigh.
"But for what we are at last about to receive the Lord has made
me truly thankful.  Amen."

He drew up a chair, and the girl turned away to the door.

"Wait a sec," cried Tommy.  "There are lots of things I want to
ask you, Annette.  What are you doing in this house? Don't tell
me you're Conrad's niece, or daughter, or anything, because I
can't believe it."

"I do the SERVICE, monsieur.  I am not related to anybody."

"I see," said Tommy.  "You know what I asked you just now. Have
you ever heard that name?"

"I have heard people speak of Jane Finn, I think."

"You don't know where she is?"

Annette shook her head.

"She's not in this house, for instance?"

"Oh no, monsieur.  I must go now--they will be waiting for me."

She hurried out.  The key turned in the lock.

"I wonder who 'they' are," mused Tommy, as he continued to make
inroads on the loaf.  "With a bit of luck, that girl might help
me to get out of here. She doesn't look like one of the gang."

At one o'clock Annette reappeared with another tray, but this
time Conrad accompanied her.

"Good morning," said Tommy amiably.  "You have NOT used Pear's
soap, I see."

Conrad growled threateningly.

"No light repartee, have you, old bean?  There, there, we can't
always have brains as well as beauty.  What have we for lunch?
Stew?  How did I know? Elementary, my dear Watson--the smell of
onions is unmistakable."

"Talk away," grunted the man.  "It's little enough time you'll
have to talk in, maybe."

The remark was unpleasant in its suggestion, but Tommy ignored
it. He sat down at the table.

"Retire, varlet," he said, with a wave of his hand. "Prate not to
thy betters."

That evening Tommy sat on the bed, and cogitated deeply.  Would
Conrad again accompany the girl?  If he did not, should he risk
trying to make an ally of her?  He decided that he must leave no
stone unturned. His position was desperate.

At eight o'clock the familiar sound of the key turning made him
spring to his feet.  The girl was alone.

"Shut the door," he commanded.  "I want to speak to you."  She
obeyed.

"Look here, Annette, I want you to help me get out of this." She
shook her head.

"Impossible.  There are three of them on the floor below."

"Oh!"  Tommy was secretly grateful for the information. "But you
would help me if you could?"

"No, monsieur."

"Why not?"

The girl hesitated.

"I think--they are my own people.  You have spied upon them. They
are quite right to keep you here."

"They're a bad lot, Annette.  If you'll help me, I'll take you
away from the lot of them.  And you'd probably get a good whack
of money."

But the girl merely shook her head.

"I dare not, monsieur; I am afraid of them."

She turned away.

"Wouldn't you do anything to help another girl?" cried Tommy.
"She's about your age too.  Won't you save her from their
clutches?"

"You mean Jane Finn?"

"Yes."

"It is her you came here to look for?  Yes?"

"That's it."

The girl looked at him, then passed her hand across her forehead.

"Jane Finn.  Always I hear that name.  It is familiar."

Tommy came forward eagerly.

"You must know SOMETHING about her?"

But the girl turned away abruptly.

"I know nothing--only the name."  She walked towards the door.
Suddenly she uttered a cry.  Tommy stared.  She had caught sight
of the picture he had laid against the wall the night before. For
a moment he caught a look of terror in her eyes. As inexplicably
it changed to relief.  Then abruptly she went out of the room.
Tommy could make nothing of it. Did she fancy that he had meant
to attack her with it? Surely not.  He rehung the picture on the
wall thoughtfully.

Three more days went by in dreary inaction.  Tommy felt the
strain telling on his nerves.  He saw no one but Conrad and
Annette, and the girl had become dumb.  She spoke only in
monosyllables. A kind of dark suspicion smouldered in her eyes.
Tommy felt that if this solitary confinement went on much longer
he would go mad. He gathered from Conrad that they were waiting
for orders from "Mr. Brown."  Perhaps, thought Tommy, he was
abroad or away, and they were obliged to wait for his return.

But the evening of the third day brought a rude awakening.

It was barely seven o'clock when he heard the tramp of footsteps
outside in the passage.  In another minute the door was flung
open. Conrad entered.  With him was the evil-looking Number 14.
Tommy's heart sank at the sight of them.

"Evenin', gov'nor," said the man with a leer.  "Got those ropes,
mate?"

The silent Conrad produced a length of fine cord.  The next
minute Number 14's hands, horribly dexterous, were winding the
cord round his limbs, while Conrad held him down.

"What the devil----?" began Tommy.

But the slow, speechless grin of the silent Conrad froze the
words on his lips.

Number 14 proceeded deftly with his task.  In another minute
Tommy was a mere helpless bundle.  Then at last Conrad spoke:

"Thought you'd bluffed us, did you?  With what you knew, and what
you didn't know.  Bargained with us!  And all the time it was
bluff!  Bluff!  You know less than a kitten. But your number's up
now all right, you b----swine."

Tommy lay silent.  There was nothing to say.  He had failed.
Somehow or other the omnipotent Mr. Brown had seen through his
pretensions. Suddenly a thought occurred to him.

"A very good speech, Conrad," he said approvingly. "But wherefore
the bonds and fetters?  Why not let this kind gentleman here cut
my throat without delay?"

"Garn," said Number 14 unexpectedly.  "Think we're as green as to
do you in here, and have the police nosing round?  Not 'alf!
We've ordered the carriage for your lordship to-morrow mornin',
but in the meantime we're not taking any chances, see!"

"Nothing," said Tommy, "could be plainer than your words--unless
it was your face."

"Stow it," said Number 14.

"With pleasure," replied Tommy.  "You're making a sad
mistake--but yours will be the loss."

"You don't kid us that way again," said Number 14.  "Talking as
though you were still at the blooming Ritz, aren't you?"

Tommy made no reply.  He was engaged in wondering how Mr. Brown
had discovered his identity.  He decided that Tuppence, in the
throes of anxiety, had gone to the police, and that his
disappearance having been made public the gang had not been slow
to put two and two together.

The two men departed and the door slammed.  Tommy was left to his
meditations.  They were not pleasant ones. Already his limbs felt
cramped and stiff.  He was utterly helpless, and he could see no
hope anywhere.

About an hour had passed when he heard the key softly turned, and
the door opened.  It was Annette.  Tommy's heart beat a little
faster. He had forgotten the girl.  Was it possible that she had
come to his help?

Suddenly he heard Conrad's voice:

"Come out of it, Annette.  He doesn't want any supper to-night."

"Oui, oui, je sais bien.  But I must take the other tray. We need
the things on it."

"Well, hurry up," growled Conrad.

Without looking at Tommy the girl went over to the table, and
picked up the tray.  She raised a hand and turned out the light.

"Curse you"--Conrad had come to the door--"why did you do that?"

"I always turn it out.  You should have told me. Shall I relight
it, Monsieur Conrad?"

"No, come on out of it."

"Le beau petit monsieur," cried Annette, pausing by the bed in
the darkness.  "You have tied him up well, hein? He is like a
trussed chicken!"  The frank amusement in her tone jarred on the
boy; but at that moment, to his amazement, he felt her hand
running lightly over his bonds, and something small and cold was
pressed into the palm of his hand.

"Come on, Annette."

"Mais me voila."

The door shut.  Tommy heard Conrad say:

"Lock it and give me the key."

The footsteps died away.  Tommy lay petrified with amazement. The
object Annette had thrust into his hand was a small penknife, the
blade open.  From the way she had studiously avoided looking at
him, and her action with the light, he came to the conclusion
that the room was overlooked. There must be a peep-hole somewhere
in the walls. Remembering how guarded she had always been in her
manner, he saw that he had probably been under observation all
the time. Had he said anything to give himself away?  Hardly.  He
had revealed a wish to escape and a desire to find Jane Finn, but
nothing that could have given a clue to his own identity. True,
his question to Annette had proved that he was personally
unacquainted with Jane Finn, but he had never pretended
otherwise. The question now was, did Annette really know more?
Were her denials intended primarily for the listeners? On that
point he could come to no conclusion.

But there was a more vital question that drove out all others.
Could he, bound as he was, manage to cut his bonds?  He essayed
cautiously to rub the open blade up and down on the cord that
bound his two wrists together.  It was an awkward business, and
drew a smothered "Ow" of pain from him as the knife cut into his
wrist. But slowly and doggedly he went on sawing to and fro. He
cut the flesh badly, but at last he felt the cord slacken. With
his hands free, the rest was easy.  Five minutes later he stood
upright with some difficulty, owing to the cramp in his limbs.
His first care was to bind up his bleeding wrist.  Then he sat on
the edge of the bed to think.  Conrad had taken the key of the
door, so he could expect little more assistance from Annette.
The only outlet from the room was the door, consequently he would
perforce have to wait until the two men returned to fetch him.
But when they did . . . Tommy smiled!  Moving with infinite
caution in the dark room, he found and unhooked the famous
picture. He felt an economical pleasure that his first plan would
not be wasted. There was now nothing to do but to wait.  He
waited.

The night passed slowly.  Tommy lived through an eternity of
hours, but at last he heard footsteps.  He stood upright, drew a
deep breath, and clutched the picture firmly.

The door opened.  A faint light streamed in from outside. Conrad
went straight towards the gas to light it. Tommy deeply regretted
that it was he who had entered first. It would have been pleasant
to get even with Conrad. Number 14 followed.  As he stepped
across the threshold, Tommy brought the picture down with
terrific force on his head. Number 14 went down amidst a
stupendous crash of broken glass. In a minute Tommy had slipped
out and pulled to the door. The key was in the lock.  He turned
it and withdrew it just as Conrad hurled himself against the door
from the inside with a volley of curses.

For a moment Tommy hesitated.  There was the sound of some one
stirring on the floor below.  Then the German's voice came up the
stairs.

"Gott im Himmel! Conrad, what is it?"

Tommy felt a small hand thrust into his.  Beside him stood
Annette.  She pointed up a rickety ladder that apparently led to
some attics.

"Quick--up here!"  She dragged him after her up the ladder. In
another moment they were standing in a dusty garret littered with
lumber. Tommy looked round.

"This won't do.  It's a regular trap.  There's no way out."

"Hush!  Wait."  The girl put her finger to her lips. She crept to
the top of the ladder and listened.

The banging and beating on the door was terrific. The German and
another were trying to force the door in. Annette explained in a
whisper:

"They will think you are still inside.  They cannot hear what
Conrad says. The door is too thick."

"I thought you could hear what went on in the room?"

"There is a peep-hole into the next room.  It was clever of you
to guess. But they will not think of that--they are only anxious
to get in."

"Yes--but look here----"

"Leave it to me."  She bent down.  To his amazement, Tommy saw
that she was fastening the end of a long piece of string to the
handle of a big cracked jug.  She arranged it carefully, then
turned to Tommy.

"Have you the key of the door?"

"Yes."

"Give it to me."

He handed it to her.

"I am going down.  Do you think you can go halfway, and then
swing yourself down BEHIND the ladder, so that they will not see
you?"

Tommy nodded.

"There's a big cupboard in the shadow of the landing. Stand
behind it.  Take the end of this string in your hand. When I've
let the others out--PULL!"

Before he had time to ask her anything more, she had flitted
lightly down the ladder and was in the midst of the group with a
loud cry:

"Mon Dieu!  Mon Dieu!  Qu'est-ce qu'il y a?"

The German turned on her with an oath.

"Get out of this.  Go to your room!"

Very cautiously Tommy swung himself down the back of the ladder.
So long as they did not turn round ... all was well. He crouched
behind the cupboard.  They were still between him and the stairs.

"AH!" Annette appeared to stumble over something.  She stooped.
"Mon Dieu, voila la clef!"

The German snatched it from her.  He unlocked the door. Conrad
stumbled out, swearing.

"Where is he?  Have you got him?"

"We have seen no one," said the German sharply.  His face paled.
"Who do you mean?"

Conrad gave vent to another oath.

"He's got away."

"Impossible.  He would have passed us."

At that moment, with an ecstatic smile Tommy pulled the string. A
crash of crockery came from the attic above.  In a trice the men
were pushing each other up the rickety ladder and had disappeared
into the darkness above.

Quick as a flash Tommy leapt from his hiding-place and dashed
down the stairs, pulling the girl with him. There was no one in
the hall.  He fumbled over the bolts and chain. At last they
yielded, the door swung open.  He turned. Annette had
disappeared.

Tommy stood spell-bound. Had she run upstairs again?  What
madness possessed her!  He fumed with impatience, but he stood
his ground. He would not go without her.

And suddenly there was an outcry overhead, an exclamation from
the German, and then Annette's voice, clear and high:

"Ma foi, he has escaped!  And quickly!  Who would have thought
it?"

Tommy still stood rooted to the ground.  Was that a command to
him to go? He fancied it was.

And then, louder still, the words floated down to him:

"This is a terrible house.  I want to go back to Marguerite. To
Marguerite. TO MARGUERITE!"

Tommy had run back to the stairs.  She wanted him to go and leave
her. But why?  At all costs he must try and get her away with
him. Then his heart sank.  Conrad was leaping down the stairs,
uttering a savage cry at the sight of him.  After him came the
others.

Tommy stopped Conrad's rush with a straight blow with his fist.
It caught the other on the point of the jaw and he fell like a
log. The second man tripped over his body and fell.  From higher
up the staircase there was a flash, and a bullet grazed Tommy's
ear. He realized that it would be good for his health to get out
of this house as soon as possible.  As regards Annette he could
do nothing. He had got even with Conrad, which was one
satisfaction. The blow had been a good one.

He leapt for the door, slamming it behind him.  The square was
deserted. In front of the house was a baker's van.  Evidently he
was to have been taken out of London in that, and his body found
many miles from the house in Soho.  The driver jumped to the
pavement and tried to bar Tommy's way. Again Tommy's fist shot
out, and the driver sprawled on the pavement.

Tommy took to his heels and ran--none too soon.  The front door
opened and a hail of bullets followed him.  Fortunately none of
them hit him. He turned the corner of the square.

"There's one thing," he thought to himself, "they can't go on
shooting.  They'll have the police after them if they do. I
wonder they dared to there."

He heard the footsteps of his pursuers behind him, and redoubled
his own pace.  Once he got out of these by-ways he would be safe.
There would be a policeman about somewhere--not that he really
wanted to invoke the aid of the police if he could possibly do
without it. It meant explanations, and general awkwardness.  In
another moment he had reason to bless his luck.  He stumbled over
a prostrate figure, which started up with a yell of alarm and
dashed off down the street. Tommy drew back into a doorway.  In a
minute he had the pleasure of seeing his two pursuers, of whom
the German was one, industriously tracking down the red herring!

Tommy sat down quietly on the doorstep and allowed a few moments
to elapse while he recovered his breath. Then he strolled gently
in the opposite direction. He glanced at his watch.  It was a
little after half-past five. It was rapidly growing light.  At
the next corner he passed a policeman.  The policeman cast a
suspicious eye on him. Tommy felt slightly offended.  Then,
passing his hand over his face, he laughed.  He had not shaved or
washed for three days! What a guy he must look.

He betook himself without more ado to a Turkish Bath
establishment which he knew to be open all night. He emerged into
the busy daylight feeling himself once more, and able to make
plans.

First of all, he must have a square meal.  He had eaten nothing
since midday yesterday.  He turned into an A.B.C. shop and
ordered eggs and bacon and coffee.  Whilst he ate, he read a
morning paper propped up in front of him.  Suddenly he stiffened.
There was a long article on Kramenin, who was described as the
"man behind Bolshevism" in Russia, and who had just arrived in
London--some thought as an unofficial envoy.  His career was
sketched lightly, and it was firmly asserted that he, and not the
figurehead leaders, had been the author of the Russian
Revolution.

In the centre of the page was his portrait.

"So that's who Number 1 is," said Tommy with his mouth full of
eggs and bacon.  "Not a doubt about it, I must push on."

He paid for his breakfast, and betook himself to Whitehall. There
he sent up his name, and the message that it was urgent. A few
minutes later he was in the presence of the man who did not here
go by the name of "Mr. Carter."  There was a frown on his face.

"Look here, you've no business to come asking for me in this way.
I thought that was distinctly understood?"

"It was, sir.  But I judged it important to lose no time."

And as briefly and succinctly as possible he detailed the
experiences of the last few days.

Half-way through, Mr. Carter interrupted him to give a few
cryptic orders through the telephone.  All traces of displeasure
had now left his face. He nodded energetically when Tommy had
finished.

"Quite right.  Every moment's of value.  Fear we shall be too
late anyway. They wouldn't wait.  Would clear out at once.
Still, they may have left something behind them that will be a
clue.  You say you've recognized Number 1 to be Kramenin?  That's
important.  We want something against him badly to prevent the
Cabinet falling on his neck too freely.  What about the others?
You say two faces were familiar to you?  One's a Labour man, you
think? Just look through these photos, and see if you can spot
him."

A minute later, Tommy held one up.  Mr. Carter exhibited some
surprise.

"Ah, Westway!  Shouldn't have thought it.  Poses as being
moderate. As for the other fellow, I think I can give a good
guess."  He handed another photograph to Tommy, and smiled at the
other's exclamation. "I'm right, then.  Who is he?  Irishman.
Prominent Unionist M.P. All a blind, of course.  We've suspected
it--but couldn't get any proof. Yes, you've done very well, young
man.  The 29th, you say, is the date. That gives us very little
time--very little time indeed."

"But----" Tommy hesitated.

Mr. Carter read his thoughts.

"We can deal with the General Strike menace, I think.  It's a
toss-up--but we've got a sporting chance!  But if that draft
treaty turns up--we're done.  England will be plunged in anarchy.
Ah, what's that? The car?  Come on, Beresford, we'll go and have
a look at this house of yours."

Two constables were on duty in front of the house in Soho.  An
inspector reported to Mr. Carter in a low voice. The latter
turned to Tommy.

"The birds have flown--as we thought.  We might as well go over
it."

Going over the deserted house seemed to Tommy to partake of the
character of a dream.  Everything was just as it had been.  The
prison room with the crooked pictures, the broken jug in the
attic, the meeting room with its long table.  But nowhere was
there a trace of papers. Everything of that kind had either been
destroyed or taken away. And there was no sign of Annette.

"What you tell me about the girl puzzled me," said Mr. Carter.
"You believe that she deliberately went back?"

"It would seem so, sir.  She ran upstairs while I was getting.
the door open."

"H'm, she must belong to the gang, then; but, being a woman,
didn't feel like standing by to see a personable young man
killed. But evidently she's in with them, or she wouldn't have
gone back."

"I can't believe she's really one of them, sir.  She--seemed so
different----"

"Good-looking, I suppose?" said Mr. Carter with a smile that made
Tommy flush to the roots of his hair.  He admitted Annette's
beauty rather shamefacedly.

"By the way," observed Mr. Carter, "have you shown yourself to
Miss Tuppence yet?  She's been bombarding me with letters about
you."

"Tuppence?  I was afraid she might get a bit rattled. Did she go
to the police?"

Mr. Carter shook his head.

"Then I wonder how they twigged me."

Mr. Carter looked inquiringly at him, and Tommy explained. The
other nodded thoughtfully.

"True, that's rather a curious point.  Unless the mention of the
Ritz was an accidental remark?"

"It might have been, sir.  But they must have found out about me
suddenly in some way."

"Well," said Mr. Carter, looking round him, "there's nothing more
to be done here.  What about some lunch with me?"

"Thanks awfully, sir.  But I think I'd better get back and rout
out Tuppence."

"Of course.  Give her my kind regards and tell her not to believe
you're killed too readily next time."

Tommy grinned.

"I take a lot of killing, sir."

"So I perceive," said Mr. Carter dryly.  "Well, good-bye.
Remember you're a marked man now, and take reasonable care of
yourself."

"Thank you, sir."

Hailing a taxi briskly Tommy stepped in, and was swiftly borne to
the Ritz' dwelling the while on the pleasurable anticipation of
startling Tuppence.

"Wonder what she's been up to.  Dogging 'Rita' most likely. By
the way, I suppose that's who Annette meant by Marguerite.  I
didn't get it at the time."  The thought saddened him a little,
for it seemed to prove that Mrs. Vandemeyer and the girl were on
intimate terms.

The taxi drew up at the Ritz.  Tommy burst into its sacred
portals eagerly, but his enthusiasm received a check. He was
informed that Miss Cowley had gone out a quarter of an hour ago.

CHAPTER XVII

ANNETTE

THE troubles of the future, however, soon faded before the
troubles of the present.  And of these, the most immediate and
pressing was that of hunger.  Tommy had a healthy and vigorous
appetite. The steak and chips partaken of for lunch seemed now to
belong to another decade.  He regretfully recognized the fact
that he would not make a success of a hunger strike.

He prowled aimlessly about his prison.  Once or twice he
discarded dignity, and pounded on the door.  But nobody answered
the summons.

"Hang it all!" said Tommy indignantly.  "They can't mean to
starve me to death."  A new-born fear passed through his mind
that this might, perhaps, be one of those "pretty ways" of making
a prisoner speak, which had been attributed to Boris.  But on
reflection he dismissed the idea.

"It's that sour faced brute Conrad," he decided.  "That's a
fellow I shall enjoy getting even with one of these days. This is
just a bit of spite on his part.  I'm certain of it."

Further meditations induced in him the feeling that it would be
extremely pleasant to bring something down with a whack on
Conrad's egg-shaped head. Tommy stroked his own head tenderly,
and gave himself up to the pleasures of imagination.  Finally a
bright idea flashed across his brain. Why not convert imagination
into reality?  Conrad was undoubtedly the tenant of the house.
The others, with the possible exception of the bearded German,
merely used it as a rendezvous.  Therefore, why not wait in
ambush for Conrad behind the door, and when he entered bring down
a chair, or one of the decrepit pictures, smartly on to his head.
One would, of course, be careful not to hit too hard.  And
then--and then, simply walk out!  If he met anyone on the way
down, well----Tommy brightened at the thought of an encounter
with his fists. Such an affair was infinitely more in his line
than the verbal encounter of this afternoon.  Intoxicated by his
plan, Tommy gently unhooked the picture of the Devil and Faust,
and settled himself in position. His hopes were high.  The plan
seemed to him simple but excellent.

Time went on, but Conrad did not appear.  Night and day were the
same in this prison room, but Tommy's wrist-watch, which enjoyed
a certain degree of accuracy, informed him that it was nine
o'clock in the evening. Tommy reflected gloomily that if supper
did not arrive soon it would be a question of waiting for
breakfast.  At ten o'clock hope deserted him, and he flung
himself on the bed to seek consolation in sleep. In five minutes
his woes were forgotten.

The sound of the key turning in the lock awoke him from his
slumbers. Not belonging to the type of hero who is famous for
awaking in full possession of his faculties, Tommy merely blinked
at the ceiling and wondered vaguely where he was.  Then he
remembered, and looked at his watch. It was eight o'clock.

"It's either early morning tea or breakfast," deduced the young
man, "and pray God it's the latter!"

The door swung open.  Too late, Tommy remembered his scheme of
obliterating the unprepossessing Conrad.  A moment later he was
glad that he had, for it was not Conrad who entered, but a girl.
She carried a tray which she set down on the table.

In the feeble light of the gas burner Tommy blinked at her.  He
decided at once that she was one of the most beautiful girls he
had ever seen. Her hair was a full rich brown, with sudden glints
of gold in it as though there were imprisoned sunbeams struggling
in its depths. There was a wild-rose quality about her face.  Her
eyes, set wide apart, were hazel, a golden hazel that again
recalled a memory of sunbeams.

A delirious thought shot through Tommy's mind.

"Are you Jane Finn?" he asked breathlessly.

The girl shook her head wonderingly.

"My name is Annette, monsieur."

She spoke in a soft, broken English.

"Oh!" said Tommy, rather taken aback.  "Francaise?" he hazarded.

"Oui, monsieur.  Monsieur parle francais?"

"Not for any length of time," said Tommy.  "What's that?
Breakfast?"

The girl nodded.  Tommy dropped off the bed and came and
inspected the contents of the tray.  It consisted of a loaf, some
margarine, and a jug of coffee.

"The living is not equal to the Ritz," he observed with a sigh.
"But for what we are at last about to receive the Lord has made
me truly thankful.  Amen."

He drew up a chair, and the girl turned away to the door.

"Wait a sec," cried Tommy.  "There are lots of things I want to
ask you, Annette.  What are you doing in this house? Don't tell
me you're Conrad's niece, or daughter, or anything, because I
can't believe it."

"I do the SERVICE, monsieur.  I am not related to anybody."

"I see," said Tommy.  "You know what I asked you just now. Have
you ever heard that name?"

"I have heard people speak of Jane Finn, I think."

"You don't know where she is?"

Annette shook her head.

"She's not in this house, for instance?"

"Oh no, monsieur.  I must go now--they will be waiting for me."

She hurried out.  The key turned in the lock.

"I wonder who 'they' are," mused Tommy, as he continued to make
inroads on the loaf.  "With a bit of luck, that girl might help
me to get out of here. She doesn't look like one of the gang."

At one o'clock Annette reappeared with another tray, but this
time Conrad accompanied her.

"Good morning," said Tommy amiably.  "You have NOT used Pear's
soap, I see."

Conrad growled threateningly.

"No light repartee, have you, old bean?  There, there, we can't
always have brains as well as beauty.  What have we for lunch?
Stew?  How did I know? Elementary, my dear Watson--the smell of
onions is unmistakable."

"Talk away," grunted the man.  "It's little enough time you'll
have to talk in, maybe."

The remark was unpleasant in its suggestion, but Tommy ignored
it. He sat down at the table.

"Retire, varlet," he said, with a wave of his hand. "Prate not to
thy betters."

That evening Tommy sat on the bed, and cogitated deeply.  Would
Conrad again accompany the girl?  If he did not, should he risk
trying to make an ally of her?  He decided that he must leave no
stone unturned. His position was desperate.

At eight o'clock the familiar sound of the key turning made him
spring to his feet.  The girl was alone.

"Shut the door," he commanded.  "I want to speak to you."  She
obeyed.

"Look here, Annette, I want you to help me get out of this." She
shook her head.

"Impossible.  There are three of them on the floor below."

"Oh!"  Tommy was secretly grateful for the information. "But you
would help me if you could?"

"No, monsieur."

"Why not?"

The girl hesitated.

"I think--they are my own people.  You have spied upon them. They
are quite right to keep you here."

"They're a bad lot, Annette.  If you'll help me, I'll take you
away from the lot of them.  And you'd probably get a good whack
of money."

But the girl merely shook her head.

"I dare not, monsieur; I am afraid of them."

She turned away.

"Wouldn't you do anything to help another girl?" cried Tommy.
"She's about your age too.  Won't you save her from their
clutches?"

"You mean Jane Finn?"

"Yes."

"It is her you came here to look for?  Yes?"

"That's it."

The girl looked at him, then passed her hand across her forehead.

"Jane Finn.  Always I hear that name.  It is familiar."

Tommy came forward eagerly.

"You must know SOMETHING about her?"

But the girl turned away abruptly.

"I know nothing--only the name."  She walked towards the door.
Suddenly she uttered a cry.  Tommy stared.  She had caught sight
of the picture he had laid against the wall the night before. For
a moment he caught a look of terror in her eyes. As inexplicably
it changed to relief.  Then abruptly she went out of the room.
Tommy could make nothing of it. Did she fancy that he had meant
to attack her with it? Surely not.  He rehung the picture on the
wall thoughtfully.

Three more days went by in dreary inaction.  Tommy felt the
strain telling on his nerves.  He saw no one but Conrad and
Annette, and the girl had become dumb.  She spoke only in
monosyllables. A kind of dark suspicion smouldered in her eyes.
Tommy felt that if this solitary confinement went on much longer
he would go mad. He gathered from Conrad that they were waiting
for orders from "Mr. Brown."  Perhaps, thought Tommy, he was
abroad or away, and they were obliged to wait for his return.

But the evening of the third day brought a rude awakening.

It was barely seven o'clock when he heard the tramp of footsteps
outside in the passage.  In another minute the door was flung
open. Conrad entered.  With him was the evil-looking Number 14.
Tommy's heart sank at the sight of them.

"Evenin', gov'nor," said the man with a leer.  "Got those ropes,
mate?"

The silent Conrad produced a length of fine cord.  The next
minute Number 14's hands, horribly dexterous, were winding the
cord round his limbs, while Conrad held him down.

"What the devil----?" began Tommy.

But the slow, speechless grin of the silent Conrad froze the
words on his lips.

Number 14 proceeded deftly with his task.  In another minute
Tommy was a mere helpless bundle.  Then at last Conrad spoke:

"Thought you'd bluffed us, did you?  With what you knew, and what
you didn't know.  Bargained with us!  And all the time it was
bluff!  Bluff!  You know less than a kitten. But your number's up
now all right, you b----swine."

Tommy lay silent.  There was nothing to say.  He had failed.
Somehow or other the omnipotent Mr. Brown had seen through his
pretensions. Suddenly a thought occurred to him.

"A very good speech, Conrad," he said approvingly. "But wherefore
the bonds and fetters?  Why not let this kind gentleman here cut
my throat without delay?"

"Garn," said Number 14 unexpectedly.  "Think we're as green as to
do you in here, and have the police nosing round?  Not 'alf!
We've ordered the carriage for your lordship to-morrow mornin',
but in the meantime we're not taking any chances, see!"

"Nothing," said Tommy, "could be plainer than your words--unless
it was your face."

"Stow it," said Number 14.

"With pleasure," replied Tommy.  "You're making a sad
mistake--but yours will be the loss."

"You don't kid us that way again," said Number 14.  "Talking as
though you were still at the blooming Ritz, aren't you?"

Tommy made no reply.  He was engaged in wondering how Mr. Brown
had discovered his identity.  He decided that Tuppence, in the
throes of anxiety, had gone to the police, and that his
disappearance having been made public the gang had not been slow
to put two and two together.

The two men departed and the door slammed.  Tommy was left to his
meditations.  They were not pleasant ones. Already his limbs felt
cramped and stiff.  He was utterly helpless, and he could see no
hope anywhere.

About an hour had passed when he heard the key softly turned, and
the door opened.  It was Annette.  Tommy's heart beat a little
faster. He had forgotten the girl.  Was it possible that she had
come to his help?

Suddenly he heard Conrad's voice:

"Come out of it, Annette.  He doesn't want any supper to-night."

"Oui, oui, je sais bien.  But I must take the other tray. We need
the things on it."

"Well, hurry up," growled Conrad.

Without looking at Tommy the girl went over to the table, and
picked up the tray.  She raised a hand and turned out the light.

"Curse you"--Conrad had come to the door--"why did you do that?"

"I always turn it out.  You should have told me. Shall I relight
it, Monsieur Conrad?"

"No, come on out of it."

"Le beau petit monsieur," cried Annette, pausing by the bed in
the darkness.  "You have tied him up well, hein? He is like a
trussed chicken!"  The frank amusement in her tone jarred on the
boy; but at that moment, to his amazement, he felt her hand
running lightly over his bonds, and something small and cold was
pressed into the palm of his hand.

"Come on, Annette."

"Mais me voila."

The door shut.  Tommy heard Conrad say:

"Lock it and give me the key."

The footsteps died away.  Tommy lay petrified with amazement. The
object Annette had thrust into his hand was a small penknife, the
blade open.  From the way she had studiously avoided looking at
him, and her action with the light, he came to the conclusion
that the room was overlooked. There must be a peep-hole somewhere
in the walls. Remembering how guarded she had always been in her
manner, he saw that he had probably been under observation all
the time. Had he said anything to give himself away?  Hardly.  He
had revealed a wish to escape and a desire to find Jane Finn, but
nothing that could have given a clue to his own identity. True,
his question to Annette had proved that he was personally
unacquainted with Jane Finn, but he had never pretended
otherwise. The question now was, did Annette really know more?
Were her denials intended primarily for the listeners? On that
point he could come to no conclusion.

But there was a more vital question that drove out all others.
Could he, bound as he was, manage to cut his bonds?  He essayed
cautiously to rub the open blade up and down on the cord that
bound his two wrists together.  It was an awkward business, and
drew a smothered "Ow" of pain from him as the knife cut into his
wrist. But slowly and doggedly he went on sawing to and fro. He
cut the flesh badly, but at last he felt the cord slacken. With
his hands free, the rest was easy.  Five minutes later he stood
upright with some difficulty, owing to the cramp in his limbs.
His first care was to bind up his bleeding wrist.  Then he sat on
the edge of the bed to think.  Conrad had taken the key of the
door, so he could expect little more assistance from Annette.
The only outlet from the room was the door, consequently he would
perforce have to wait until the two men returned to fetch him.
But when they did . . . Tommy smiled!  Moving with infinite
caution in the dark room, he found and unhooked the famous
picture. He felt an economical pleasure that his first plan would
not be wasted. There was now nothing to do but to wait.  He
waited.

The night passed slowly.  Tommy lived through an eternity of
hours, but at last he heard footsteps.  He stood upright, drew a
deep breath, and clutched the picture firmly.

The door opened.  A faint light streamed in from outside. Conrad
went straight towards the gas to light it. Tommy deeply regretted
that it was he who had entered first. It would have been pleasant
to get even with Conrad. Number 14 followed.  As he stepped
across the threshold, Tommy brought the picture down with
terrific force on his head. Number 14 went down amidst a
stupendous crash of broken glass. In a minute Tommy had slipped
out and pulled to the door. The key was in the lock.  He turned
it and withdrew it just as Conrad hurled himself against the door
from the inside with a volley of curses.

For a moment Tommy hesitated.  There was the sound of some one
stirring on the floor below.  Then the German's voice came up the
stairs.

"Gott im Himmel! Conrad, what is it?"

Tommy felt a small hand thrust into his.  Beside him stood
Annette.  She pointed up a rickety ladder that apparently led to
some attics.

"Quick--up here!"  She dragged him after her up the ladder. In
another moment they were standing in a dusty garret littered with
lumber. Tommy looked round.

"This won't do.  It's a regular trap.  There's no way out."

"Hush!  Wait."  The girl put her finger to her lips. She crept to
the top of the ladder and listened.

The banging and beating on the door was terrific. The German and
another were trying to force the door in. Annette explained in a
whisper:

"They will think you are still inside.  They cannot hear what
Conrad says. The door is too thick."

"I thought you could hear what went on in the room?"

"There is a peep-hole into the next room.  It was clever of you
to guess. But they will not think of that--they are only anxious
to get in."

"Yes--but look here----"

"Leave it to me."  She bent down.  To his amazement, Tommy saw
that she was fastening the end of a long piece of string to the
handle of a big cracked jug.  She arranged it carefully, then
turned to Tommy.

"Have you the key of the door?"

"Yes."

"Give it to me."

He handed it to her.

"I am going down.  Do you think you can go halfway, and then
swing yourself down BEHIND the ladder, so that they will not see
you?"

Tommy nodded.

"There's a big cupboard in the shadow of the landing. Stand
behind it.  Take the end of this string in your hand. When I've
let the others out--PULL!"

Before he had time to ask her anything more, she had flitted
lightly down the ladder and was in the midst of the group with a
loud cry:

"Mon Dieu!  Mon Dieu!  Qu'est-ce qu'il y a?"

The German turned on her with an oath.

"Get out of this.  Go to your room!"

Very cautiously Tommy swung himself down the back of the ladder.
So long as they did not turn round ... all was well. He crouched
behind the cupboard.  They were still between him and the stairs.

"AH!" Annette appeared to stumble over something.  She stooped.
"Mon Dieu, voila la clef!"

The German snatched it from her.  He unlocked the door. Conrad
stumbled out, swearing.

"Where is he?  Have you got him?"

"We have seen no one," said the German sharply.  His face paled.
"Who do you mean?"

Conrad gave vent to another oath.

"He's got away."

"Impossible.  He would have passed us."

At that moment, with an ecstatic smile Tommy pulled the string. A
crash of crockery came from the attic above.  In a trice the men
were pushing each other up the rickety ladder and had disappeared
into the darkness above.

Quick as a flash Tommy leapt from his hiding-place and dashed
down the stairs, pulling the girl with him. There was no one in
the hall.  He fumbled over the bolts and chain. At last they
yielded, the door swung open.  He turned. Annette had
disappeared.

Tommy stood spell-bound. Had she run upstairs again?  What
madness possessed her!  He fumed with impatience, but he stood
his ground. He would not go without her.

And suddenly there was an outcry overhead, an exclamation from
the German, and then Annette's voice, clear and high:

"Ma foi, he has escaped!  And quickly!  Who would have thought
it?"

Tommy still stood rooted to the ground.  Was that a command to
him to go? He fancied it was.

And then, louder still, the words floated down to him:

"This is a terrible house.  I want to go back to Marguerite. To
Marguerite. TO MARGUERITE!"

Tommy had run back to the stairs.  She wanted him to go and leave
her. But why?  At all costs he must try and get her away with
him. Then his heart sank.  Conrad was leaping down the stairs,
uttering a savage cry at the sight of him.  After him came the
others.

Tommy stopped Conrad's rush with a straight blow with his fist.
It caught the other on the point of the jaw and he fell like a
log. The second man tripped over his body and fell.  From higher
up the staircase there was a flash, and a bullet grazed Tommy's
ear. He realized that it would be good for his health to get out
of this house as soon as possible.  As regards Annette he could
do nothing. He had got even with Conrad, which was one
satisfaction. The blow had been a good one.

He leapt for the door, slamming it behind him.  The square was
deserted. In front of the house was a baker's van.  Evidently he
was to have been taken out of London in that, and his body found
many miles from the house in Soho.  The driver jumped to the
pavement and tried to bar Tommy's way. Again Tommy's fist shot
out, and the driver sprawled on the pavement.

Tommy took to his heels and ran--none too soon.  The front door
opened and a hail of bullets followed him.  Fortunately none of
them hit him. He turned the corner of the square.

"There's one thing," he thought to himself, "they can't go on
shooting.  They'll have the police after them if they do. I
wonder they dared to there."

He heard the footsteps of his pursuers behind him, and redoubled
his own pace.  Once he got out of these by-ways he would be safe.
There would be a policeman about somewhere--not that he really
wanted to invoke the aid of the police if he could possibly do
without it. It meant explanations, and general awkwardness.  In
another moment he had reason to bless his luck.  He stumbled over
a prostrate figure, which started up with a yell of alarm and
dashed off down the street. Tommy drew back into a doorway.  In a
minute he had the pleasure of seeing his two pursuers, of whom
the German was one, industriously tracking down the red herring!

Tommy sat down quietly on the doorstep and allowed a few moments
to elapse while he recovered his breath. Then he strolled gently
in the opposite direction. He glanced at his watch.  It was a
little after half-past five. It was rapidly growing light.  At
the next corner he passed a policeman.  The policeman cast a
suspicious eye on him. Tommy felt slightly offended.  Then,
passing his hand over his face, he laughed.  He had not shaved or
washed for three days! What a guy he must look.

He betook himself without more ado to a Turkish Bath
establishment which he knew to be open all night. He emerged into
the busy daylight feeling himself once more, and able to make
plans.

First of all, he must have a square meal.  He had eaten nothing
since midday yesterday.  He turned into an A.B.C. shop and
ordered eggs and bacon and coffee.  Whilst he ate, he read a
morning paper propped up in front of him.  Suddenly he stiffened.
There was a long article on Kramenin, who was described as the
"man behind Bolshevism" in Russia, and who had just arrived in
London--some thought as an unofficial envoy.  His career was
sketched lightly, and it was firmly asserted that he, and not the
figurehead leaders, had been the author of the Russian
Revolution.

In the centre of the page was his portrait.

"So that's who Number 1 is," said Tommy with his mouth full of
eggs and bacon.  "Not a doubt about it, I must push on."

He paid for his breakfast, and betook himself to Whitehall. There
he sent up his name, and the message that it was urgent. A few
minutes later he was in the presence of the man who did not here
go by the name of "Mr. Carter."  There was a frown on his face.

"Look here, you've no business to come asking for me in this way.
I thought that was distinctly understood?"

"It was, sir.  But I judged it important to lose no time."

And as briefly and succinctly as possible he detailed the
experiences of the last few days.

Half-way through, Mr. Carter interrupted him to give a few
cryptic orders through the telephone.  All traces of displeasure
had now left his face. He nodded energetically when Tommy had
finished.

"Quite right.  Every moment's of value.  Fear we shall be too
late anyway. They wouldn't wait.  Would clear out at once.
Still, they may have left something behind them that will be a
clue.  You say you've recognized Number 1 to be Kramenin?  That's
important.  We want something against him badly to prevent the
Cabinet falling on his neck too freely.  What about the others?
You say two faces were familiar to you?  One's a Labour man, you
think? Just look through these photos, and see if you can spot
him."

A minute later, Tommy held one up.  Mr. Carter exhibited some
surprise.

"Ah, Westway!  Shouldn't have thought it.  Poses as being
moderate. As for the other fellow, I think I can give a good
guess."  He handed another photograph to Tommy, and smiled at the
other's exclamation. "I'm right, then.  Who is he?  Irishman.
Prominent Unionist M.P. All a blind, of course.  We've suspected
it--but couldn't get any proof. Yes, you've done very well, young
man.  The 29th, you say, is the date. That gives us very little
time--very little time indeed."

"But----" Tommy hesitated.

Mr. Carter read his thoughts.

"We can deal with the General Strike menace, I think.  It's a
toss-up--but we've got a sporting chance!  But if that draft
treaty turns up--we're done.  England will be plunged in anarchy.
Ah, what's that? The car?  Come on, Beresford, we'll go and have
a look at this house of yours."

Two constables were on duty in front of the house in Soho.  An
inspector reported to Mr. Carter in a low voice. The latter
turned to Tommy.

"The birds have flown--as we thought.  We might as well go over
it."

Going over the deserted house seemed to Tommy to partake of the
character of a dream.  Everything was just as it had been.  The
prison room with the crooked pictures, the broken jug in the
attic, the meeting room with its long table.  But nowhere was
there a trace of papers. Everything of that kind had either been
destroyed or taken away. And there was no sign of Annette.

"What you tell me about the girl puzzled me," said Mr. Carter.
"You believe that she deliberately went back?"

"It would seem so, sir.  She ran upstairs while I was getting.
the door open."

"H'm, she must belong to the gang, then; but, being a woman,
didn't feel like standing by to see a personable young man
killed. But evidently she's in with them, or she wouldn't have
gone back."

"I can't believe she's really one of them, sir.  She--seemed so
different----"

"Good-looking, I suppose?" said Mr. Carter with a smile that made
Tommy flush to the roots of his hair.  He admitted Annette's
beauty rather shamefacedly.

"By the way," observed Mr. Carter, "have you shown yourself to
Miss Tuppence yet?  She's been bombarding me with letters about
you."

"Tuppence?  I was afraid she might get a bit rattled. Did she go
to the police?"

Mr. Carter shook his head.

"Then I wonder how they twigged me."

Mr. Carter looked inquiringly at him, and Tommy explained. The
other nodded thoughtfully.

"True, that's rather a curious point.  Unless the mention of the
Ritz was an accidental remark?"

"It might have been, sir.  But they must have found out about me
suddenly in some way."

"Well," said Mr. Carter, looking round him, "there's nothing more
to be done here.  What about some lunch with me?"

"Thanks awfully, sir.  But I think I'd better get back and rout
out Tuppence."

"Of course.  Give her my kind regards and tell her not to believe
you're killed too readily next time."

Tommy grinned.

"I take a lot of killing, sir."

"So I perceive," said Mr. Carter dryly.  "Well, good-bye.
Remember you're a marked man now, and take reasonable care of
yourself."

"Thank you, sir."

Hailing a taxi briskly Tommy stepped in, and was swiftly borne to
the Ritz' dwelling the while on the pleasurable anticipation of
startling Tuppence.

"Wonder what she's been up to.  Dogging 'Rita' most likely. By
the way, I suppose that's who Annette meant by Marguerite.  I
didn't get it at the time."  The thought saddened him a little,
for it seemed to prove that Mrs. Vandemeyer and the girl were on
intimate terms.

The taxi drew up at the Ritz.  Tommy burst into its sacred
portals eagerly, but his enthusiasm received a check. He was
informed that Miss Cowley had gone out a quarter of an hour ago.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE TELEGRAM

BAFFLED for the moment, Tommy strolled into the restaurant, and
ordered a meal of surpassing excellence.  His four days'
imprisonment had taught him anew to value good food.

He was in the middle of conveying a particularly choice morsel of
Sole a la Jeanette to his mouth, when he caught sight of Julius
entering the room.  Tommy waved a menu cheerfully, and succeeded
in attracting the other's attention. At the sight of Tommy,
Julius's eyes seemed as though they would pop out of his head.
He strode across, and pump-handled Tommy's hand with what seemed
to the latter quite unnecessary vigour.

"Holy snakes!" he ejaculated.  "Is it really you?"

"Of course it is.  Why shouldn't it be?"

"Why shouldn't it be?  Say, man, don't you know you've been given
up for dead?  I guess we'd have had a solemn requiem for you in
another few days."

"Who thought I was dead?" demanded Tommy.

"Tuppence."

"She remembered the proverb about the good dying young, I
suppose. There must be a certain amount of original sin in me to
have survived. Where is Tuppence, by the way?"

"Isn't she here?"

"No, the fellows at the office said she'd just gone out."

"Gone shopping, I guess.  I dropped her here in the car about an
hour ago. But, say, can't you shed that British calm of yours,
and get down to it? What on God's earth have you been doing all
this time?"

"If you're feeding here," replied Tommy, "order now. It's going
to be a long story."

Julius drew up a chair to the opposite side of the table,
summoned a hovering waiter, and dictated his wishes. Then he
turned to Tommy.

"Fire ahead.  I guess you've had some few adventures."

"One or two," replied Tommy modestly, and plunged into his
recital.

Julius listened spellbound.  Half the dishes that were placed
before him he forgot to eat.  At the end he heaved a long sigh.

"Bully for you.  Reads like a dime novel!"

"And now for the home front," said Tommy, stretching out his hand
for a peach.

"We-el," drawled Julius, "I don't mind admitting we've had some
adventures too."

He, in his turn, assumed the role of narrator. Beginning with his
unsuccessful reconnoitring at Bournemouth, he passed on to his
return to London, the buying of the car, the growing anxieties of
Tuppence, the call upon Sir James, and the sensational
occurrences of the previous night.

"But who killed her?" asked Tommy.  "I don't quite understand."

"The doctor kidded himself she took it herself," replied Julius
dryly.

"And Sir James?  What did he think?"

"Being a legal luminary, he is likewise a human oyster," replied
Julius.  "I should say he 'reserved judgment.' " He went on to
detail the events of the morning.

"Lost her memory, eh?" said Tommy with interest.  "By Jove, that
explains why they looked at me so queerly when I spoke of
questioning her. Bit of a slip on my part, that!  But it wasn't
the sort of thing a fellow would be likely to guess."

"They didn't give you any sort of hint as to where Jane was?"

Tommy shook his head regretfully.

"Not a word.  I'm a bit of an ass, as you know.  I ought to have
got more out of them somehow."

"I guess you're lucky to be here at all.  That bluff of yours was
the goods all right.  How you ever came to think of it all so pat
beats me to a frazzle!"

"I was in such a funk I had to think of something," said Tommy
simply.

There was a moment's pause, and then Tommy reverted to Mrs.
Vandemeyer's death.

"There's no doubt it was chloral?"

"I believe not.  At least they call it heart failure induced by
an overdose, or some such claptrap.  It's all right. We don't
want to be worried with an inquest.  But I guess Tuppence and I
and even the highbrow Sir James have all got the same idea."

"Mr. Brown?" hazarded Tommy.

"Sure thing."

Tommy nodded.

"All the same," he said thoughtfully, "Mr. Brown hasn't got
wings. I don't see how he got in and out."

"How about some high-class thought transference stunt? Some
magnetic influence that irresistibly impelled Mrs. Vandemeyer to
commit suicide?"

Tommy looked at him with respect.

"Good, Julius.  Distinctly good.  Especially the phraseology. But
it leaves me cold.  I yearn for a real Mr. Brown of flesh and
blood. I think the gifted young detectives must get to work,
study the entrances and exits, and tap the bumps on their
foreheads until the solution of the mystery dawns on them.  Let's
go round to the scene of the crime. I wish we could get hold of
Tuppence.  The Ritz would enjoy the spectacle of the glad
reunion."

Inquiry at the office revealed the fact that Tuppence had not yet
returned.

"All the same, I guess I'll have a look round upstairs," said
Julius.  "She might be in my sitting-room." He disappeared.

Suddenly a diminutive boy spoke at Tommy's elbow:

"The young lady--she's gone away by train, I think, sir," he
murmured shyly.

"What?"  Tommy wheeled round upon him.

The small boy became pinker than before.

"The taxi, sir.  I heard her tell the driver Charing Cross and to
look sharp."

Tommy stared at him, his eyes opening wide in surprise.
Emboldened, the small boy proceeded.  "So I thought, having asked
for an A.B.C. and a Bradshaw."

Tommy interrupted him:

"When did she ask for an A.B.C. and a Bradshaw?"

"When I took her the telegram, sir."

"A telegram?"

"Yes, sir."

"When was that?"

"About half-past twelve, sir."

"Tell me exactly what happened."

The small boy drew a long breath.

"I took up a telegram to No. 891--the lady was there. She opened
it and gave a gasp, and then she said, very jolly like: 'Bring me
up a Bradshaw, and an A.B.C., and look sharp, Henry.'  My name
isn't Henry, but----"

"Never mind your name," said Tommy impatiently.  "Go on."

"Yes, sir.  I brought them, and she told me to wait, and looked
up something. And then she looks up at the clock, and 'Hurry up,'
she says. 'Tell them to get me a taxi,' and she begins a-shoving
on of her hat in front of the glass, and she was down in two
ticks, almost as quick as I was, and I seed her going down the
steps and into the taxi, and I heard her call out what I told
you."

The small boy stopped and replenished his lungs.  Tommy continued
to stare at him.  At that moment Julius rejoined him. He held an
open letter in his hand.

"I say, Hersheimmer"--Tommy turned to him--"Tuppence has gone off
sleuthing on her own."

"Shucks!"

"Yes, she has.  She went off in a taxi to Charing Cross in the
deuce of a hurry after getting a telegram."  His eye fell on the
letter in Julius's hand.  "Oh; she left a note for you.  That's
all right. Where's she off to?"

Almost unconsciously, he held out his hand for the letter, but
Julius folded it up and placed it in his pocket. He seemed a
trifle embarrassed.

"I guess this is nothing to do with it.  It's about something
else--something I asked her that she was to let me know about."

"Oh!"  Tommy looked puzzled, and seemed waiting for more.

"See here," said Julius suddenly, "I'd better put you wise. I
asked Miss Tuppence to marry me this morning."

"Oh!" said Tommy mechanically.  He felt dazed.  Julius's words
were totally unexpected.  For the moment they benumbed his brain.

"I'd like to tell you," continued Julius, "that before I
suggested anything of the kind to Miss Tuppence, I made it clear
that I didn't want to butt in in any way between her and you----"

Tommy roused himself.

"That's all right," he said quickly.  "Tuppence and I have been
pals for years.  Nothing more."  He lit a cigarette with a hand
that shook ever so little.  "That's quite all right. Tuppence
always said that she was looking out for----"

He stopped abruptly, his face crimsoning, but Julius was in no
way discomposed.

"Oh, I guess it'll be the dollars that'll do the trick. Miss
Tuppence put me wise to that right away.  There's no humbug about
her.  We ought to gee along together very well."

Tommy looked at him curiously for a minute, as though he were
about to speak, then changed his mind and said nothing.  Tuppence
and Julius!  Well, why not? Had she not lamented the fact that
she knew no rich men?  Had she not openly avowed her intention of
marrying for money if she ever had the chance? Her meeting with
the young American millionaire had given her the chance--and it
was unlikely she would be slow to avail herself of it. She was
out for money.  She had always said so.  Why blame her because
she had been true to her creed?

Nevertheless, Tommy did blame her.  He was filled with a
passionate and utterly illogical resentment.  It was all very
well to SAY things like that--but a REAL girl would never marry
for money. Tuppence was utterly cold-blooded and selfish, and he
would be delighted if he never saw her again!  And it was a
rotten world!

Julius's voice broke in on these meditations.

"Yes, we ought to get along together very well.  I've heard that
a girl always refuses you once--a sort of convention."

Tommy caught his arm.

"Refuses?  Did you say REFUSES?"

"Sure thing.  Didn't I tell you that?  She just rapped out a 'no'
without any kind of reason to it.  The eternal feminine, the Huns
call it, I've heard.  But she'll come round right enough. Likely
enough, I hustled her some----"

But Tommy interrupted regardless of decorum.

"What did she say in that note?" he demanded fiercely.

The obliging Julius handed it to him.

"There's no earthly clue in it as to where she's gone," he
assured Tommy.  "But you might as well see for yourself if you
don't believe me."

The note, in Tuppence's well-known schoolboy writing, ran as
follows:


"DEAR JULIUS,

"It's always better to have things in black and white.  I don't
feel I can be bothered to think of marriage until Tommy is found.
Let's leave it till then.               
                      "Yours affectionately,   
                      "TUPPENCE."


Tommy handed it back, his eyes shining.  His feelings had
undergone a sharp reaction.  He now felt that Tuppence was all
that was noble and disinterested.  Had she not refused Julius
without hesitation? True, the note betokened signs of weakening,
but he could excuse that. It read almost like a bribe to Julius
to spur him on in his efforts to find Tommy, but he supposed she
had not really meant it that way. Darling Tuppence, there was not
a girl in the world to touch her! When he saw her----His thoughts
were brought up with a sudden jerk.

"As you say," he remarked, pulling himself together, "there's not
a hint here as to what she's up to.  Hi--Henry!"

The small boy came obediently.  Tommy produced five shillings.

"One thing more.  Do you remember what the young lady did with
the telegram?"

Henry gasped and spoke.

"She crumpled it up into a ball and threw it into the grate, and
made a sort of noise like 'Whoop!' sir."

"Very graphic, Henry," said Tommy.  "Here's your five shillings.
Come on, Julius.  We must find that telegram."

They hurried upstairs.  Tuppence had left the key in her door.
The room was as she had left it.  In the fireplace was a crumpled
ball of orange and white.  Tommy disentangled it and smoothed out
the telegram.

"Come at once, Moat House, Ebury, Yorkshire, great
developments--TOMMY."

They looked at each other in stupefaction.  Julius spoke first:

"You didn't send it?"

"Of course not.  What does it mean?"

"I guess it means the worst," said Julius quietly. "They've got
her."

"WHAT?"

"Sure thing!  They signed your name, and she fell into the trap
like a lamb."

"My God!  What shall we do?"

"Get busy, and go after her!  Right now!  There's no time to
waste. It's almighty luck that she didn't take the wire with her.
If she had we'd probably never have traced her.  But we've got to
hustle. Where's that Bradshaw?"

The energy of Julius was infectious.  Left to himself, Tommy
would probably have sat down to think things out for a good
half-hour before he decided on a plan of action. But with Julius
Hersheimmer about, hustling was inevitable.

After a few muttered imprecations he handed the Bradshaw to Tommy
as being more conversant with its mysteries. Tommy abandoned it
in favour of an A.B.C.

"Here we are.  Ebury, Yorks.  From King's Cross.  Or St. Pancras.
(Boy must have made a mistake.  It was King's Cross, not CHARING
Cross.) 12.50, that's the train she went by.  2.10, that's gone.
3.20 is the next--and a damned slow train too."

"What about the car?"

Tommy shook his head.

"Send it up if you like, but we'd better stick to the train. The
great thing is to keep calm."

Julius groaned.

"That's so.  But it gets my goat to think of that innocent young
girl in danger!"

Tommy nodded abstractedly.  He was thinking.  In a moment or two,
he said:

"I say, Julius, what do they want her for, anyway?"

"Eh?  I don't get you?"

"What I mean is that I don't think it's their game to do her any
harm," explained Tommy, puckering his brow with the strain of his
mental processes. "She's a hostage, that's what she is.  She's in
no immediate danger, because if we tumble on to anything, she'd
be damned useful to them. As long as they've got her, they've got
the whip hand of us.  See?"

"Sure thing," said Julius thoughtfully.  "That's so."

"Besides," added Tommy, as an afterthought, "I've great faith in
Tuppence."

The journey was wearisome, with many stops, and crowded
carriages. They had to change twice, once at Doncaster, once at a
small junction. Ebury was a deserted station with a solitary
porter, to whom Tommy addressed himself:

"Can you tell me the way to the Moat House?"

"The Moat House?  It's a tidy step from here.  The big house near
the sea, you mean?"

Tommy assented brazenly.  After listening to the porter's
meticulous but perplexing directions, they prepared to leave the
station. It was beginning to rain, and they turned up the collars
of their coats as they trudged through the slush of the road.
Suddenly Tommy halted.

"Wait a moment."  He ran back to the station and tackled the
porter anew.

"Look here, do you remember a young lady who arrived by an
earlier train, the 12.50 from London?  She'd probably ask you the
way to the Moat House."

He described Tuppence as well as he could, but the porter shook
his head.  Several people had arrived by the train in question.
He could not call to mind one young lady in particular. But he
was quite certain that no one had asked him the way to the Moat
House.

Tommy rejoined Julius, and explained.  Depression was settling on
him like a leaden weight.  He felt convinced that their quest was
going to be unsuccessful.  The enemy had over three hours' start.
Three hours was more than enough for Mr. Brown.  He would not
ignore the possibility of the telegram having been found.

The way seemed endless.  Once they took the wrong turning and
went nearly half a mile out of their direction. It was past seven
o'clock when a small boy told them that "t' Moat House" was just
past the next corner.

A rusty iron gate swinging dismally on its hinges! An overgrown
drive thick with leaves.  There was something about the place
that struck a chill to both their hearts. They went up the
deserted drive.  The leaves deadened their footsteps. The
daylight was almost gone.  It was like walking in a world of
ghosts. Overhead the branches flapped and creaked with a mournful
note. Occasionally a sodden leaf drifted silently down, startling
them with its cold touch on their cheek.

A turn of the drive brought them in sight of the house. That,
too, seemed empty and deserted.  The shutters were closed, the
steps up to the door overgrown with moss. Was it indeed to this
desolate spot that Tuppence had been decoyed? It seemed hard to
believe that a human footstep had passed this way for months.

Julius jerked the rusty bell handle.  A jangling peal rang
discordantly, echoing through the emptiness within.  No one came.
They rang again and again--but there was no sign of life. Then
they walked completely round the house.  Everywhere silence, and
shuttered windows.  If they could believe the evidence of their
eyes the place was empty.

"Nothing doing," said Julius.

They retraced their steps slowly to the gate.

"There must be a village handy," continued the young American.
"We'd better make inquiries there.  They'll know something about
the place, and whether there's been anyone there lately."

"Yes, that's not a bad idea."

Proceeding up the road, they soon came to a little hamlet. On the
outskirts of it, they met a workman swinging his bag of tools,
and Tommy stopped him with a question.

"The Moat House?  It's empty.  Been empty for years.  Mrs;
Sweeny's got the key if you want to go over it--next to the post
office."

Tommy thanked him.  They soon found the post office, which was
also a sweet and general fancy shop, and knocked at the door of
the cottage next to it. A clean, wholesome-looking woman opened
it.  She readily produced the key of the Moat House.

"Though I doubt if it's the kind of place to suit you, sir. In a
terrible state of repair.  Ceilings leaking and all. 'Twould need
a lot of money spent on it."

"Thanks," said Tommy cheerily.  "I dare say it'll be a washout,
but houses are scarce nowadays."

"That they are," declared the woman heartily.  "My daughter and
son-in-law have been looking for a decent cottage for I don't
know how long.  It's all the war.  Upset things terribly, it has.
But excuse me, sir, it'll be too dark for you to see much of the
house. Hadn't you better wait until to-morrow?"

"That's all right.  We'll have a look around this evening,
anyway. We'd have been here before only we lost our way.  What's
the best place to stay at for the night round here?"

Mrs. Sweeny looked doubtful.

"There's the Yorkshire Arms, but it's not much of a place for
gentlemen like you."

"Oh, it will do very well.  Thanks.  By the way, you've not had a
young lady here asking for this key to-day?"

The woman shook her head.

"No one's been over the place for a long time."

"Thanks very much."

They retraced their steps to the Moat House.  As the front door
swung back on its hinges, protesting loudly, Julius struck a
match and examined the floor carefully. Then he shook his head.

"I'd swear no one's passed this way.  Look at the dust.  Thick.
Not a sign of a footmark."

They wandered round the deserted house.  Everywhere the same
tale. Thick layers of dust apparently undisturbed.

"This gets me," said Julius.  "I don't believe Tuppence was ever
in this house."

"She must have been."

Julius shook his head without replying.

"We'll go over it again to-morrow," said Tommy.  "Perhaps we'll
see more in the daylight."

On the morrow they took up the search once more, and were
reluctantly forced to the conclusion that the house had not been
invaded for some considerable time.  They might have left the
village altogether but for a fortunate discovery of Tommy's. As
they were retracing their steps to the gate, he gave a sudden
cry, and stooping, picked something up from among the leaves, and
held it out to Julius.  It was a small gold brooch.

"That's Tuppence's!"

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely.  I've often seen her wear it."

Julius drew a deep breath.

"I guess that settles it.  She came as far as here, anyway.
We'll make that pub our head-quarters, and raise hell round here
until we find her. Somebody MUST have seen her."

Forthwith the campaign began.  Tommy and Julius worked separately
and together, but the result was the same.  Nobody answering to
Tuppence's description had been seen in the vicinity. They were
baffled--but not discouraged.  Finally they altered their
tactics.  Tuppence had certainly not remained long in the
neighbourhood of the Moat House.  That pointed to her having been
overcome and carried away in a car.  They renewed inquiries. Had
anyone seen a car standing somewhere near the Moat House that
day? Again they met with no success.

Julius wired to town for his own car, and they scoured the
neighbourhood daily with unflagging zeal.  A grey limousine on
which they had set high hopes was traced to Harrogate, and turned
out to be the property of a highly respectable maiden lady!

Each day saw them set out on a new quest.  Julius was like a
hound on the leash.  He followed up the slenderest clue.  Every
car that had passed through the village on the fateful day was
tracked down. He forced his way into country properties and
submitted the owners of the motors to a searching
cross-examination. His apologies were as thorough as his methods,
and seldom failed in disarming the indignation of his victims;
but, as day succeeded day, they were no nearer to discovering
Tuppence's whereabouts. So well had the abduction been planned
that the girl seemed literally to have vanished into thin air.

And another preoccupation was weighing on Tommy's mind.

"Do you know how long we've been here?" he asked one morning as
they sat facing each other at breakfast.  "A week! We're no
nearer to finding Tuppence, and NEXT SUNDAY IS THE 29TH!"

"Shucks!" said Julius thoughtfully.  "I'd almost forgotten about
the 29th. I've been thinking of nothing but Tuppence."

"So have I. At least, I hadn't forgotten about the 29th, but it
didn't seem to matter a damn in comparison to finding Tuppence.
But to-day's the 23rd, and time's getting short. If we're ever
going to get hold of her at all, we must do it before the
29th--her life won't be worth an hour's purchase afterwards. The
hostage game will be played out by then.  I'm beginning to feel
that we've made a big mistake in the way we've set about this.
We've wasted time and we're no forrader."

"I'm with you there.  We've been a couple of mutts, who've bitten
off a bigger bit than they can chew. I'm going to quit fooling
right away!"

"What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you.  I'm going to do what we ought to have done a
week ago. I'm going right back to London to put the case in the
hands of your British police.  We fancied ourselves as sleuths.
Sleuths!  It was a piece of damn-fool foolishness!  I'm through!
I've had enough of it. Scotland Yard for me!"

"You're right," said Tommy slowly.  "I wish to God we'd gone
there right away."

"Better late than never.  We've been like a couple of babes
playing 'Here we go round the Mulberry Bush.'  Now I'm going
right along to Scotland Yard to ask them to take me by the hand
and show me the way I should go. I guess the professional always
scores over the amateur in the end. Are you coming along with
me?"

Tommy shook his head.

"What's the good?  One of us is enough.  I might as well stay
here and nose round a bit longer.  Something MIGHT turn up. One
never knows."

"Sure thing.  Well, so long.  I'll be back in a couple of shakes
with a few inspectors along.  I shall tell them to pick out their
brightest and best."

But the course of events was not to follow the plan Julius had
laid down. Later in the day Tommy received a wire:


"Join me Manchester Midland Hotel.  Important news--JULIUS."


At 7:30 that night Tommy alighted from a slow cross-country
train. Julius was on the platform.

"Thought you'd come by this train if you weren't out when my wire
arrived."

Tommy grasped him by the arm.

"What is it?  Is Tuppence found?"

Julius shook his head.

"No. But I found this waiting in London.  Just arrived."

He handed the telegraph form to the other.  Tommy's eyes opened
as he read:


"Jane Finn found.  Come Manchester Midland Hotel
immediately--PEEL EDGERTON."


Julius took the form back and folded it up.

"Queer," he said thoughtfully.  "I thought that lawyer chap had
quit!"



CHAPTER XIX

JANE FINN

"MY train got in half an hour ago," explained Julius, as he led
the way out of the station.  "I reckoned you'd come by this
before I left London, and wired accordingly to Sir James.  He's
booked rooms for us, and will be round to dine at eight."

"What made you think he'd ceased to take any interest in the
case?" asked Tommy curiously.

"What he said," replied Julius dryly.  "The old bird's as close
as an oyster! Like all the darned lot of them, he wasn't going to
commit himself till he was sure he could deliver the goods."

"I wonder," said Tommy thoughtfully.

Julius turned on him.

"You wonder what?"

"Whether that was his real reason."

"Sure.  You bet your life it was."

Tommy shook his head unconvinced.

Sir James arrived punctually at eight o'clock, and Julius
introduced Tommy.  Sir James shook hands with him warmly.

"I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Beresford.  I have
heard so much about you from Miss Tuppence"--he smiled
involuntarily--"that it really seems as though I already know you
quite well."

"Thank you, sir," said Tommy with his cheerful grin. He scanned
the great lawyer eagerly.  Like Tuppence, he felt the magnetism
of the other's personality. He was reminded of Mr. Carter.  The
two men, totally unlike so far as physical resemblance went,
produced a similar effect. Beneath the weary manner of the one
and the professional reserve of the other, lay the same quality
of mind, keen-edged like a rapier.

In the meantime he was conscious of Sir James's close scrutiny.
When the lawyer dropped his eyes the young man had the feeling
that the other had read him through and through like an open
book. He could not but wonder what the final judgment was, but
there was little chance of learning that.  Sir James took in
everything, but gave out only what he chose.  A proof of that
occurred almost at once.

Immediately the first greetings were over Julius broke out into a
flood of eager questions.  How had Sir James managed to track the
girl? Why had he not let them know that he was still working on
the case? And so on.

Sir James stroked his chin and smiled.  At last he said:

"Just so, just so.  Well, she's found.  And that's the great
thing, isn't it?  Eh!  Come now, that's the great thing?"

"Sure it is.  But just how did you strike her trail? Miss
Tuppence and I thought you'd quit for good and all."

"Ah!"  The lawyer shot a lightning glance at him, then resumed
operations on his chin.  "You thought that, did you?  Did you
really? H'm, dear me."

"But I guess I can take it we were wrong," pursued Julius.

"Well, I don't know that I should go so far as to say that. But
it's certainly fortunate for all parties that we've managed to
find the young lady."

"But where is she?" demanded Julius, his thoughts flying off on
another tack. "I thought you'd be sure to bring her along?"

"That would hardly be possible," said Sir James gravely.

"Why?"

"Because the young lady was knocked down in a street accident,
and has sustained slight injuries to the head.  She was taken to
the infirmary, and on recovering consciousness gave her name as
Jane Finn.  When--ah!--I heard that, I arranged for her to be
removed to the house of a doctor--a friend of mine, and wired at
once for you. She relapsed into unconsciousness and has not
spoken since."

"She's not seriously hurt?"

"Oh, a bruise and a cut or two; really, from a medical point of
view, absurdly slight injuries to have produced such a condition.
Her state is probably to be attributed to the mental shock
consequent on recovering her memory."

"It's come back?" cried Julius excitedly.

Sir James tapped the table rather impatiently.

"Undoubtedly, Mr. Hersheimmer, since she was able to give her
real name. I thought you had appreciated that point."

"And you just happened to be on the spot," said Tommy.  "Seems
quite like a fairy tale."

But Sir James was far too wary to be drawn.

"Coincidences are curious things," he said dryly.

Nevertheless Tommy was now certain of what he had before only
suspected. Sir James's presence in Manchester was not accidental.
Far from abandoning the case, as Julius supposed, he had by some
means of his own successfully run the missing girl to earth. The
only thing that puzzled Tommy was the reason for all this
secrecy. He concluded that it was a foible of the legal mind.

Julius was speaking.

"After dinner," he announced, "I shall go right away and see
Jane."

"That will be impossible, I fear," said Sir James.  "It is very
unlikely they would allow her to see visitors at this time of
night. I should suggest to-morrow morning about ten o'clock."

Julius flushed.  There was something in Sir James which always
stirred him to antagonism.  It was a conflict of two masterful
personalities.

"All the same, I reckon I'll go round there to-night and see if I
can't ginger them up to break through their silly rules."

"It will be quite useless, Mr. Hersheimmer."

The words came out like the crack of a pistol, and Tommy looked
up with a start.  Julius was nervous and excited.  The hand with
which he raised his glass to his lips shook slightly, but his
eyes held Sir James's defiantly. For a moment the hostility
between the two seemed likely to burst into flame, but in the end
Julius lowered his eyes, defeated.

"For the moment, I reckon you're the boss."

"Thank you," said the other.  "We will say ten o'clock then?"
With consummate ease of manner he turned to Tommy.  "I must
confess, Mr. Beresford, that it was something of a surprise to me
to see you here this evening.  The last I heard of you was that
your friends were in grave anxiety on your behalf. Nothing had
been heard of you for some days, and Miss Tuppence was inclined
to think you had got into difficulties."

"I had, sir!"  Tommy grinned reminiscently.  "I was never in a
tighter place in my life."

Helped out by questions from Sir James, he gave an abbreviated
account of his adventures.  The lawyer looked at him with renewed
interest as he brought the tale to a close.

"You got yourself out of a tight place very well," he said
gravely. "I congratulate you.  You displayed a great deal of
ingenuity and carried your part through well."

Tommy blushed, his face assuming a prawnlike hue at the praise.

"I couldn't have got away but for the girl, sir."

"No." Sir James smiled a little.  "It was lucky for you she
happened to--er--take a fancy to you." Tommy appeared about to
protest, but Sir James went on. "There's no doubt about her being
one of the gang, I suppose?"

"I'm afraid not, sir.  I thought perhaps they were keeping her
there by force, but the way she acted didn't fit in with that.
You see, she went back to them when she could have got away."

Sir James nodded thoughtfully.

"What did she say?  Something about wanting to be taken to
Marguerite?"

"Yes, sir.  I suppose she meant Mrs. Vandemeyer."

"She always signed herself Rita Vandemeyer.  All her friends
spoke of her as Rita.  Still, I suppose the girl must have been
in the habit of calling her by her full name.  And, at the moment
she was crying out to her, Mrs. Vandemeyer was either dead or
dying! Curious!  There are one or two points that strike me as
being obscure--their sudden change of attitude towards yourself,
for instance. By the way, the house was raided, of course?"

"Yes, sir, but they'd all cleared out."

"Naturally," said Sir James dryly.

"And not a clue left behind."

"I wonder----" The lawyer tapped the table thoughtfully.

Something in his voice made Tommy look up.  Would this man's eyes
have seen something where theirs had been blind? He spoke
impulsively:

"I wish you'd been there, sir, to go over the house!"

"I wish I had," said Sir James quietly.  He sat for a moment in
silence. Then he looked up.  "And since then?  What have you been
doing?"

For a moment, Tommy stared at him.  Then it dawned on him that of
course the lawyer did not know.

"I forgot that you didn't know about Tuppence," he said slowly.
The sickening anxiety, forgotten for a while in the excitement of
knowing Jane Finn was found at last, swept over him again.

The lawyer laid down his knife and fork sharply.

"Has anything happened to Miss Tuppence?"  His voice was
keen-edged.

"She's disappeared," said Julius.

"When?"

"A week ago."

"How?"

Sir James's questions fairly shot out.  Between them Tommy and
Julius gave the history of the last week and their futile search.

Sir James went at once to the root of the matter.

"A wire signed with your name?  They knew enough of you both for
that. They weren't sure of how much you had learnt in that house.
Their kidnapping of Miss Tuppence is the counter-move to your
escape. If necessary they could seal your lips with a threat of
what might happen to her."

Tommy nodded.

"That's just what I thought, sir."

Sir James looked at him keenly.  "You had worked that out, had
you? Not bad--not at all bad.  The curious thing is that they
certainly did not know anything about you when they first held
you prisoner. You are sure that you did not in any way disclose
your identity?"

Tommy shook his head.

"That's so," said Julius with a nod.  "Therefore I reckon some
one put them wise--and not earlier than Sunday afternoon."

"Yes, but who?"

"That almighty omniscient Mr. Brown, of course!"

There was a faint note of derision in the American's voice which
made Sir James look up sharply.

"You don't believe in Mr. Brown, Mr. Hersheimmer?"

"No, sir, I do not," returned the young American with emphasis.
"Not as such, that is to say.  I reckon it out that he's a
figurehead--just a bogy name to frighten the children with.  The
real head of this business is that Russian chap Kramenin.  I
guess he's quite capable of running revolutions in three
countries at once if he chose! The man Whittington is probably
the head of the English branch."

"I disagree with you," said Sir James shortly.  "Mr. Brown
exists." He turned to Tommy.  "Did you happen to notice where
that wire was handed in?"

"No, sir, I'm afraid I didn't."

"H'm. Got it with you?"

"It's upstairs, sir, in my kit."

"I'd like to have a look at it sometime.  No hurry.  You've
wasted a week"--Tommy hung his head--"a day or so more is
immaterial. We'll deal with Miss Jane Finn first.  Afterwards,
we'll set to work to rescue Miss Tuppence from bondage.  I don't
think she's in any immediate danger.  That is, so long as they
don't know that we've got Jane Finn, and that her memory has
returned. We must keep that dark at all costs.  You understand?"

The other two assented, and, after making arrangements for
meeting on the morrow, the great lawyer took his leave.

At ten o'clock, the two young men were at the appointed spot. Sir
James had joined them on the doorstep.  He alone appeared
unexcited. He introduced them to the doctor.

"Mr. Hersheimmer--Mr. Beresford--Dr. Roylance.  How's the
patient?"

"Going on well.  Evidently no idea of the flight of time. Asked
this morning how many had been saved from the Lusitania.  Was it
in the papers yet?  That, of course, was only what was to be
expected. She seems to have something on her mind, though."

"I think we can relieve her anxiety.  May we go up?"

"Certainly."

Tommy's heart beat sensibly faster as they followed the doctor
upstairs. Jane Finn at last!  The long-sought, the mysterious,
the elusive Jane Finn!  How wildly improbable success had seemed!
And here in this house, her memory almost miraculously restored,
lay the girl who held the future of England in her hands.  A half
groan broke from Tommy's lips. If only Tuppence could have been
at his side to share in the triumphant conclusion of their joint
venture!  Then he put the thought of Tuppence resolutely aside.
His confidence in Sir James was growing. There was a man who
would unerringly ferret out Tuppence's whereabouts. In the
meantime Jane Finn!  And suddenly a dread clutched at his heart.
It seemed too easy.... Suppose they should find her dead ...
stricken down by the hand of Mr. Brown?

In another minute he was laughing at these melodramatic fancies.
The doctor held open the door of a room and they passed in. On
the white bed, bandages round her head, lay the girl. Somehow the
whole scene seemed unreal.  It was so exactly what one expected
that it gave the effect of being beautifully staged.

The girl looked from one to the other of them with large
wondering eyes. Sir James spoke first.

"Miss Finn," he said, "this is your cousin, Mr. Julius P.
Hersheimmer."

A faint flush flitted over the girl's face, as Julius stepped
forward and took her hand.

"How do, Cousin Jane?" he said lightly.

But Tommy caught the tremor in his voice.

"Are you really Uncle Hiram's son?" she asked wonderingly.

Her voice, with the slight warmth of the Western accent, had an
almost thrilling quality.  It seemed vaguely familiar to Tommy,
but he thrust the impression aside as impossible.

"Sure thing."

"We used to read about Uncle Hiram in the papers," continued the
girl, in her low soft tones.  "But I never thought I'd meet you
one day. Mother figured it out that Uncle Hiram would never get
over being mad with her."

"The old man was like that," admitted Julius.  "But I guess the
new generation's sort of different.  Got no use for the family
feud business. First thing I thought about, soon as the war was
over, was to come along and hunt you up."

A shadow passed over the girl's face.

"They've been telling me things--dreadful things--that my memory
went, and that there are years I shall never know about--years
lost out of my life."

"You didn't realize that yourself?"

The girl's eyes opened wide.

"Why, no.  It seems to me as though it were no time since we were
being hustled into those boats.  I can see it all now." She
closed her eyes with a shudder.

Julius looked across at Sir James, who nodded.

"Don't worry any.  It isn't worth it.  Now, see here, Jane,
there's something we want to know about.  There was a man aboard
that boat with some mighty important papers on him, and the big
guns in this country have got a notion that he passed on the
goods to you. Is that so?"

The girl hesitated, her glance shifting to the other two. Julius
understood.

"Mr. Beresford is commissioned by the British Government to get
those papers back.  Sir James Peel Edgerton is an English Member
of Parliament, and might be a big gun in the Cabinet if he liked.
It's owing to him that we've ferreted you out at last. So you can
go right ahead and tell us the whole story. Did Danvers give you
the papers?"

"Yes.  He said they'd have a better chance with me, because they
would save the women and children first."

"Just as we thought," said Sir James.

"He said they were very important--that they might make all the
difference to the Allies.  But, if it's all so long ago, and the
war's over, what does it matter now?"

"I guess history repeats itself, Jane.  First there was a great
hue and cry over those papers, then it all died down, and now the
whole caboodle's started all over again--for rather different
reasons. Then you can hand them over to us right away?"

"But I can't."

"What?"

"I haven't got them."

"You--haven't--got them?"  Julius punctuated the words with
little pauses.

"No--I hid them."

"You hid them?"

"Yes.  I got uneasy.  People seemed to be watching me. It scared
me--badly."  She put her hand to her head. "It's almost the last
thing I remember before waking up in the hospital...."

"Go on," said Sir James, in his quiet penetrating tones. "What do
you remember?"

She turned to him obediently.

"It was at Holyhead.  I came that way--I don't remember why...."

"That doesn't matter.  Go on."

"In the confusion on the quay I slipped away.  Nobody saw me. I
took a car.  Told the man to drive me out of the town. I watched
when we got on the open road.  No other car was following us.  I
saw a path at the side of the road. I told the man to wait."

She paused, then went on.  "The path led to the cliff, and down
to the sea between big yellow gorse bushes--they were like golden
flames. I looked round.  There wasn't a soul in sight.  But just
level with my head there was a hole in the rock.  It was quite
small--I could only just get my hand in, but it went a long way
back. I took the oilskin packet from round my neck and shoved it
right in as far as I could.  Then I tore off a bit of gorse--My!
but it did prick--and plugged the hole with it so that you'd
never guess there was a crevice of any kind there.  Then I marked
the place carefully in my own mind, so that I'd find it again.
There was a queer boulder in the path just there--for all the
world like a dog sitting up begging.  Then I went back to the
road. The car was waiting, and I drove back.  I just caught the
train. I was a bit ashamed of myself for fancying things maybe,
but, by and by, I saw the man opposite me wink at a woman who was
sitting next to me, and I felt scared again, and was glad the
papers were safe. I went out in the corridor to get a little air.
I thought I'd slip into another carriage.  But the woman called
me back, said I'd dropped something, and when I stooped to look,
something seemed to hit me--here."  She placed her hand to the
back of her head. "I don't remember anything more until I woke up
in the hospital."

There was a pause.

"Thank you, Miss Finn."  It was Sir James who spoke. "I hope we
have not tired you?"

"Oh, that's all right.  My head aches a little, but otherwise I
feel fine."

Julius stepped forward and took her hand again.

"So long, Cousin Jane.  I'm going to get busy after those papers,
but I'll be back in two shakes of a dog's tail, and I'll tote you
up to London and give you the time of your young life before we
go back to the States!  I mean it--so hurry up and get well."

CHAPTER XX

TOO LATE

IN the street they held an informal council of war. Sir James had
drawn a watch from his pocket.  "The boat train to Holyhead stops
at Chester at 12.14. If you start at once I think you can catch
the connection."

Tommy looked up, puzzled.

"Is there any need to hurry, sir?  To-day is only the 24th."

"I guess it's always well to get up early in the morning," said
Julius, before the lawyer had time to reply. "We'll make tracks
for the depot right away."

A little frown had settled on Sir James's brow.

"I wish I could come with you.  I am due to speak at a meeting at
two o'clock. It is unfortunate."

The reluctance in his tone was very evident.  It was clear, on
the other hand, that Julius was easily disposed to put up with
the loss of the other's company.

"I guess there's nothing complicated about this deal," he
remarked. "Just a game of hide-and-seek, that's all."

"I hope so," said Sir James.

"Sure thing.  What else could it be?"

"You are still young, Mr. Hersheimmer.  At my age you will
probably have learnt one lesson.  'Never underestimate your
adversary.'  "

The gravity of his tone impressed Tommy, but had little effect
upon Julius.

"You think Mr. Brown might come along and take a hand? If he
does, I'm ready for him."  He slapped his pocket. "I carry a gun.
Little Willie here travels round with me everywhere."  He
produced a murderous-looking automatic, and tapped it
affectionately before returning it to its home. "But he won't be
needed this trip.  There's nobody to put Mr. Brown wise."

The lawyer shrugged his shoulders.

"There was nobody to put Mr. Brown wise to the fact that Mrs.
Vandemeyer meant to betray him.  Nevertheless, MRS. VANDEMEYER
DIED WITHOUT SPEAKING."

Julius was silenced for once, and Sir James added on a lighter
note:

"I only want to put you on your guard.  Good-bye, and good luck.
Take no unnecessary risks once the papers are in your hands. If
there is any reason to believe that you have been shadowed,
destroy them at once.  Good luck to you.  The game is in your
hands now." He shook hands with them both.

Ten minutes later the two young men were seated in a first-class
carriage en route for Chester.

For a long time neither of them spoke.  When at length Julius
broke the silence, it was with a totally unexpected remark.

"Say," he observed thoughtfully, "did you ever make a darned fool
of yourself over a girl's face?"

Tommy, after a moment's astonishment, searched his mind.

"Can't say I have," he replied at last.  "Not that I can
recollect, anyhow.  Why?"

"Because for the last two months I've been making a sentimental
idiot of myself over Jane!  First moment I clapped eyes on her
photograph my heart did all the usual stunts you read about in
novels. I guess I'm ashamed to admit it, but I came over here
determined to find her and fix it all up, and take her back as
Mrs. Julius P. Hersheimmer!"

"Oh!" said Tommy, amazed.

Julius uncrossed his legs brusquely and continued:

"Just shows what an almighty fool a man can make of himself! One
look at the girl in the flesh, and I was cured!"

Feeling more tongue-tied than ever, Tommy ejaculated "Oh!" again.

"No disparagement to Jane, mind you," continued the other. "She's
a real nice girl, and some fellow will fall in love with her
right away."

"I thought her a very good-looking girl," said Tommy, finding his
tongue.

"Sure she is.  But she's not like her photo one bit. At least I
suppose she is in a way--must be--because I recognized her right
off.  If I'd seen her in a crowd I'd have said 'There's a girl
whose face I know' right away without any hesitation. But there
was something about that photo"--Julius shook his head, and
heaved a sigh--"I guess romance is a mighty queer thing!"

"It must be," said Tommy coldly, "if you can come over here in
love with one girl, and propose to another within a fortnight."

Julius had the grace to look discomposed.

"Well, you see, I'd got a sort of tired feeling that I'd never
find Jane--and that it was all plumb foolishness anyway.  And
then--oh, well, the French, for instance, are much more sensible
in the way they look at things. They keep romance and marriage
apart----"

Tommy flushed.

"Well, I'm damned!  If that's----"

Julius hastened to interrupt.

"Say now, don't be hasty.  I don't mean what you mean.  I take it
Americans have a higher opinion of morality than you have even.
What I meant was that the French set about marriage in a
businesslike way--find two people who are suited to one another,
look after the money affairs, and see the whole thing
practically, and in a businesslike spirit."

"If you ask me," said Tommy, "we're all too damned businesslike
nowadays. We're always saying, 'Will it pay?'  The men are bad
enough, and the girls are worse!"

"Cool down, son.  Don't get so heated."

"I feel heated," said Tommy.

Julius looked at him and judged it wise to say no more.

However, Tommy had plenty of time to cool down before they
reached Holyhead, and the cheerful grin had returned to his
countenance as they alighted at their destination.

After consultation, and with the aid of a road map, they were
fairly well agreed as to direction, so were able to hire a taxi
without more ado and drive out on the road leading to Treaddur
Bay.  They instructed the man to go slowly, and watched narrowly
so as not to miss the path. They came to it not long after
leaving the town, and Tommy stopped the car promptly, asked in a
casual tone whether the path led down to the sea, and hearing it
did paid off the man in handsome style.

A moment later the taxi was slowly chugging back to Holyhead.
Tommy and Julius watched it out of sight, and then turned to the
narrow path.

"It's the right one, I suppose?" asked Tommy doubtfully. "There
must be simply heaps along here."

"Sure it is.  Look at the gorse.  Remember what Jane said?"

Tommy looked at the swelling hedges of golden blossom which
bordered the path on either side, and was convinced.

They went down in single file, Julius leading.  Twice Tommy
turned his head uneasily.  Julius looked back.

"What is it?"

"I don't know.  I've got the wind up somehow.  Keep fancying
there's some one following us."

"Can't be," said Julius positively.  "We'd see him."

Tommy had to admit that this was true.  Nevertheless, his sense
of uneasiness deepened.  In spite of himself he believed in the
omniscience of the enemy.

"I rather wish that fellow would come along," said Julius.  He
patted his pocket.  "Little William here is just aching for
exercise!"

"Do you always carry it--him--with you?" inquired Tommy with
burning curiosity.

"Most always.  I guess you never know what might turn up."

Tommy kept a respectful silence.  He was impressed by little
William. It seemed to remove the menace of Mr. Brown farther
away.

The path was now running along the side of the cliff, parallel to
the sea. Suddenly Julius came to such an abrupt halt that Tommy
cannoned into him.

"What's up?" he inquired.

"Look there.  If that doesn't beat the band!"

Tommy looked.  Standing out half obstructing the path was a huge
boulder which certainly bore a fanciful resemblance to a
"begging" terrier.

"Well," said Tommy, refusing to share Julius's emotion, "it's
what we expected to see, isn't it?"

Julius looked at him sadly and shook his head.

"British phlegm!  Sure we expected it--but it kind of rattles me,
all the same, to see it sitting there just where we expected to
find it!"

Tommy, whose calm was, perhaps, more assumed than natural, moved
his feet impatiently.

"Push on.  What about the hole?"

They scanned the cliff-side narrowly.  Tommy heard himself saying
idiotically:

"The gorse won't be there after all these years."

And Julius replied solemnly:

"I guess you're right."

Tommy suddenly pointed with a shaking hand.

"What about that crevice there?"

Julius replied in an awestricken voice:

"That's it--for sure."

They looked at each other.

"When I was in France," said Tommy reminiscently, "whenever my
batman failed to call me, he always said that he had come over
queer.  I never believed it.  But whether he felt it or not,
there IS such a sensation. I've got it now!  Badly!"

He looked at the rock with a kind of agonized passion.

"Damn it!" he cried.  "It's impossible!  Five years!  Think of
it! Bird's-nesting boys, picnic parties, thousands of people
passing! It can't be there!  It's a hundred to one against its
being there! It's against all reason!"

Indeed, he felt it to be impossible--more, perhaps, because he
could not believe in his own success where so many others had
failed. The thing was too easy, therefore it could not be. The
hole would be empty.

Julius looked at him with a widening smile.

"I guess you're rattled now all right," he drawled with some
enjoyment.  "Well, here goes!"  He thrust his hand into the
crevice, and made a slight grimace.  "It's a tight fit. Jane's
hand must be a few sizes smaller than mine. I don't feel
anything--no--say, what's this?  Gee whiz!" And with a flourish
he waved aloft a small discoloured packet. "It's the goods all
right.  Sewn up in oilskin.  Hold it while I get my penknife."

The unbelievable had happened.  Tommy held the precious packet
tenderly between his hands.  They had succeeded!

"It's queer," he murmured idly, "you'd think the stitches would
have rotted. They look just as good as new."

They cut them carefully and ripped away the oilskin.  Inside was
a small folded sheet of paper.  With trembling fingers they
unfolded it. The sheet was blank!  They stared at each other,
puzzled.

"A dummy?" hazarded Julius.  "Was Danvers just a decoy?"

Tommy shook his head.  That solution did not satisfy him.
Suddenly his face cleared.

"I've got it!  SYMPATHETIC INK!"

"You think so?"

"Worth trying anyhow.  Heat usually does the trick.  Get some
sticks. We'll make a fire."

In a few minutes the little fire of twigs and leaves was blazing
merrily. Tommy held the sheet of paper near the glow.  The paper
curled a little with the heat.  Nothing more.

Suddenly Julius grasped his arm, and pointed to where characters
were appearing in a faint brown colour.

"Gee whiz!  You've got it!  Say, that idea of yours was great. It
never occurred to me."

Tommy held the paper in position some minutes longer until he
judged the heat had done its work.  Then he withdrew it. A moment
later he uttered a cry.

Across the sheet in neat brown printing ran the words: WITH THE
COMPLIMENTS OF MR.  BROWN.

CHAPTER XXI

TOMMY MAKES A DISCOVERY

FOR a moment or two they stood staring at each other stupidly,
dazed with the shock.  Somehow, inexplicably, Mr. Brown had
forestalled them.  Tommy accepted defeat quietly. Not so Julius.

"How in tarnation did he get ahead of us?  That's what beats me!"
he ended up.

Tommy shook his head, and said dully:

"It accounts for the stitches being new.  We might have
guessed...."

"Never mind the darned stitches.  How did he get ahead of us? We
hustled all we knew.  It's downright impossible for anyone to get
here quicker than we did.  And, anyway, how did he know? Do you
reckon there was a dictaphone in Jane's room? I guess there must
have been."

But Tommy's common sense pointed out objections.

"No one could have known beforehand that she was going to be in
that house--much less that particular room."

"That's so," admitted Julius.  "Then one of the nurses was a
crook and listened at the door.  How's that?"

"I don't see that it matters anyway," said Tommy wearily. "He may
have found out some months ago, and removed the papers,
then----No, by Jove, that won't wash! They'd have been published
at once."

"Sure thing they would!  No, some one's got ahead of us to-day by
an hour or so.  But how they did it gets my goat."

"I wish that chap Peel Edgerton had been with us," said Tommy
thoughtfully.

"Why?"  Julius stared.  "The mischief was done when we came."

"Yes----" Tommy hesitated.  He could not explain his own
feeling--the illogical idea that the K.C.'s presence would
somehow have averted the catastrophe.  He reverted to his former
point of view. "It's no good arguing about how it was done.  The
game's up. We've failed.  There's only one thing for me to do."

"What's that?"

"Get back to London as soon as possible.  Mr. Carter must be
warned. It's only a matter of hours now before the blow falls.
But, at any rate, he ought to know the worst."

The duty was an unpleasant one, but Tommy had no intention of
shirking it. He must report his failure to Mr. Carter.  After
that his work was done. He took the midnight mail to London.
Julius elected to stay the night at Holyhead.

Half an hour after arrival, haggard and pale, Tommy stood before
his chief.

"I've come to report, sir.  I've failed--failed badly."

Mr. Carter eyed him sharply.

"You mean that the treaty----"

"Is in the hands of Mr. Brown, sir."

"Ah!" said Mr. Carter quietly.  The expression on his face did
not change, but Tommy caught the flicker of despair in his eyes.
It convinced him as nothing else had done that the outlook was
hopeless.

"Well," said Mr. Carter after a minute or two, "we mustn't sag at
the knees, I suppose.  I'm glad to know definitely. We must do
what we can."

Through Tommy's mind flashed the assurance:  "It's hopeless, and
he knows it's hopeless!"

The other looked up at him.

"Don't take it to heart, lad," he said kindly.  "You did your
best. You were up against one of the biggest brains of the
century. And you came very near success.  Remember that."

"Thank you, sir.  It's awfully decent of you."

"I blame myself.  I have been blaming myself ever since I heard
this other news."

Something in his tone attracted Tommy's attention. A new fear
gripped at his heart.

"Is there--something more, sir?"

"I'm afraid so," said Mr. Carter gravely.  He stretched out his
hand to a sheet on the table.

"Tuppence----?" faltered Tommy.

"Read for yourself."

The typewritten words danced before his eyes.  The description of
a green toque, a coat with a handkerchief in the pocket marked
P.L.C. He looked an agonized question at Mr. Carter.  The latter
replied to it:

"Washed up on the Yorkshire coast--near Ebury.  I'm afraid--it
looks very much like foul play."

"My God!" gasped Tommy.  "TUPPENCE!  Those devils--I'll never
rest till I've got even with them!  I'll hunt them down!
I'll----"

The pity on Mr. Carter's face stopped him.

"I know what you feel like, my poor boy.  But it's no good.
You'll waste your strength uselessly.  It may sound harsh, but my
advice to you is:  Cut your losses.  Time's merciful. You'll
forget."

"Forget Tuppence?  Never!"

Mr. Carter shook his head.

"So you think now.  Well, it won't bear thinking of--that brave
little girl! I'm sorry about the whole business--confoundedly
sorry."

Tommy came to himself with a start.

"I'm taking up your time, sir," he said with an effort. "There's
no need for you to blame yourself.  I dare say we were a couple
of young fools to take on such a job. You warned us all right.
But I wish to God I'd been the one to get it in the neck.
Good-bye, sir."

Back at the Ritz, Tommy packed up his few belongings
mechanically, his thoughts far away.  He was still bewildered by
the introduction of tragedy into his cheerful commonplace
existence.  What fun they had had together, he and Tuppence!  And
now--oh, he couldn't believe it--it couldn't be true!
TUPPENCE--DEAD!  Little Tuppence, brimming over with life! It was
a dream, a horrible dream.  Nothing more.

They brought him a note, a few kind words of sympathy from Peel
Edgerton, who had read the news in the paper.  (There had been a
large headline: EX-V.A.D. FEARED DROWNED.) The letter ended with
the offer of a post on a ranch in the Argentine, where Sir James
had considerable interests.

"Kind old beggar," muttered Tommy, as he flung it aside.

The door opened, and Julius burst in with his usual violence. He
held an open newspaper in his hand.

"Say, what's all this?  They seem to have got some fool idea
about Tuppence."

"It's true," said Tommy quietly.

"You mean they've done her in?"

Tommy nodded.

"I suppose when they got the treaty she--wasn't any good to them
any longer, and they were afraid to let her go."

"Well, I'm darned!" said Julius.  "Little Tuppence.  She sure was
the pluckiest little girl----"

But suddenly something seemed to crack in Tommy's brain. He rose
to his feet.

"Oh, get out!  You don't really care, damn you!  You asked her to
marry you in your rotten cold-blooded way, but I LOVED her. I'd
have given the soul out of my body to save her from harm. I'd
have stood by without a word and let her marry you, because you
could have given her the sort of time she ought to have had, and
I was only a poor devil without a penny to bless himself with.
But it wouldn't have been because I didn't care!"

"See here," began Julius temperately.

"Oh, go to the devil!  I can't stand your coming here and talking
about 'little Tuppence.'  Go and look after your cousin.
Tuppence is my girl! I've always loved her, from the time we
played together as kids. We grew up and it was just the same.  I
shall never forget when I was in hospital, and she came in in
that ridiculous cap and apron! It was like a miracle to see the
girl I loved turn up in a nurse's kit----"

But Julius interrupted him.

"A nurse's kit!  Gee whiz!  I must be going to Colney Hatch!  I
could swear I've seen Jane in a nurse's cap too.  And that's
plumb impossible! No, by gum, I've got it!  It was her I saw
talking to Whittington at that nursing home in Bournemouth.  She
wasn't a patient there! She was a nurse!"

"I dare say," said Tommy angrily, "she's probably been in with
them from the start.  I shouldn't wonder if she stole those
papers from Danvers to begin with."

"I'm darned if she did!" shouted Julius.  "She's my cousin, and
as patriotic a girl as ever stepped."

"I don't care a damn what she is, but get out of here!" retorted
Tommy also at the top of his voice.

The young men were on the point of coming to blows.  But
suddenly, with an almost magical abruptness, Julius's anger
abated.

"All right, son," he said quietly, "I'm going.  I don't blame you
any for what you've been saying.  It's mighty lucky you did say
it.  I've been the most almighty blithering darned idiot that
it's possible to imagine. Calm down"--Tommy had made an impatient
gesture--"I'm going right away now--going to the London and North
Western Railway depot, if you want to know."

"I don't care a damn where you're going," growled Tommy.

As the door closed behind Julius, he returned to his suit-case.

"That's the lot," he murmured, and rang the bell.

"Take my luggage down."

"Yes, sir.  Going away, sir?"

"I'm going to the devil," said Tommy, regardless of the menial's
feelings.

That functionary, however, merely replied respectfully:

"Yes, sir.  Shall I call a taxi?"

Tommy nodded.

Where was he going?  He hadn't the faintest idea.  Beyond a fixed
determination to get even with Mr. Brown he had no plans. He
re-read Sir James's letter, and shook his head. Tuppence must be
avenged.  Still, it was kind of the old fellow.

"Better answer it, I suppose."  He went across to the
writing-table. With the usual perversity of bedroom stationery,
there were innumerable envelopes and no paper.  He rang.  No one
came.  Tommy fumed at the delay. Then he remembered that there
was a good supply in Julius's sitting-room. The American had
announced his immediate departure, there would be no fear of
running up against him.  Besides, he wouldn't mind if he did. He
was beginning to be rather ashamed of the things he had said. Old
Julius had taken them jolly well.  He'd apologize if he found him
there.

But the room was deserted.  Tommy walked across to the
writing-table, and opened the middle drawer.  A photograph,
carelessly thrust in face upwards, caught his eye.  For a moment
he stood rooted to the ground. Then he took it out, shut the
drawer, walked slowly over to an arm-chair, and sat down still
staring at the photograph in his hand.

What on earth was a photograph of the French girl Annette doing
in Julius Hersheimmer's writing-table?

CHAPTER XXII

IN DOWNING STREET

THE Prime Minister tapped the desk in front of him with nervous
fingers. His face was worn and harassed.  He took up his
conversation with Mr. Carter at the point it had broken off.  "I
don't understand," he said. "Do you really mean that things are
not so desperate after all?"

"So this lad seems to think."

"Let's have a look at his letter again."

Mr. Carter handed it over.  It was written in a sprawling boyish
hand.

"DEAR MR.  CARTER,

"Something's turned up that has given me a jar.  Of course I may
be simply making an awful ass of myself, but I don't think so. If
my conclusions are right, that girl at Manchester was just a
plant. The whole thing was prearranged, sham packet and all, with
the object of making us think the game was up--therefore I fancy
that we must have been pretty hot on the scent.

"I think I know who the real Jane Finn is, and I've even got an
idea where the papers are.  That last's only a guess, of course,
but I've a sort of feeling it'll turn out right. Anyhow, I
enclose it in a sealed envelope for what it's worth. I'm going to
ask you not to open it until the very last moment, midnight on
the 28th, in fact.  You'll understand why in a minute. You see,
I've figured it out that those things of Tuppence's are a plant
too, and she's no more drowned than I am. The way I reason is
this:  as a last chance they'll let Jane Finn escape in the hope
that she's been shamming this memory stunt, and that once she
thinks she's free she'll go right away to the cache. Of course
it's an awful risk for them to take, because she knows all about
them--but they're pretty desperate to get hold of that treaty.
BUT IF THEY KNOW THAT THE PAPERS HAVE BEEN RECOVERED BY US,
neither of those two girls' lives will be worth an hour's
purchase. I must try and get hold of Tuppence before Jane
escapes.

"I want a repeat of that telegram that was sent to Tuppence at
the Ritz.  Sir James Peel Edgerton said you would be able to
manage that for me.  He's frightfully clever.

"One last thing--please have that house in Soho watched day and
night.
    "Yours, etc.,                       
    "THOMAS BERESFORD."


The Prime Minister looked up.

"The enclosure?"

Mr. Carter smiled dryly.

"In the vaults of the Bank.  I am taking no chances."

"You don't think"--the Prime Minister hesitated a minute--"that
it would be better to open it now?  Surely we ought to secure the
document, that is, provided the young man's guess turns out to be
correct, at once. We can keep the fact of having done so quite
secret."

"Can we?  I'm not so sure.  There are spies all round us. Once
it's known I wouldn't give that"--he snapped his fingers--"for
the life of those two girls.  No, the boy trusted me, and I
shan't let him down."

"Well, well, we must leave it at that, then.  What's he like,
this lad?"

"Outwardly, he's an ordinary clean-limbed, rather block-headed
young Englishman.  Slow in his mental processes.  On the other
hand, it's quite impossible to lead him astray through his
imagination. He hasn't got any--so he's difficult to deceive.  He
worries things out slowly, and once he's got hold of anything he
doesn't let go. The little lady's quite different.  More
intuition and less common sense. They make a pretty pair working
together.  Pace and stamina."

"He seems confident," mused the Prime Minister.

"Yes, and that's what gives me hope.  He's the kind of diffident
youth who would have to be VERY sure before he ventured an
opinion at all."

A half smile came to the other's lips.

"And it is this--boy who will defeat the master criminal of our
time?"

"This--boy, as you say!  But I sometimes fancy I see a shadow
behind."

"You mean?"

"Peel Edgerton."

"Peel Edgerton?" said the Prime Minister in astonishment.

"Yes.  I see his hand in THIS."  He struck the open letter. "He's
there--working in the dark, silently, unobtrusively. I've always
felt that if anyone was to run Mr. Brown to earth, Peel Edgerton
would be the man.  I tell you he's on the case now, but doesn't
want it known.  By the way, I got rather an odd request from him
the other day."

"Yes?"

"He sent me a cutting from some American paper.  It referred to a
man's body found near the docks in New York about three weeks
ago. He asked me to collect any information on the subject I
could."

"Well?"

Carter shrugged his shoulders.

"I couldn't get much.  Young fellow about thirty-five--poorly
dressed--face very badly disfigured.  He was never identified."

"And you fancy that the two matters are connected in some way?"

"Somehow I do.  I may be wrong, of course."

There was a pause, then Mr. Carter continued:

"I asked him to come round here.  Not that we'll get anything out
of him he doesn't want to tell.  His legal instincts are too
strong. But there's no doubt he can throw light on one or two
obscure points in young Beresford's letter.  Ah, here he is!"

The two men rose to greet the new-comer. A half whimsical thought
flashed across the Premier's mind.  "My successor, perhaps!"

"We've had a letter from young Beresford," said Mr. Carter,
coming to the point at once.  "You've seen him, I suppose?"

"You suppose wrong," said the lawyer.

"Oh!"  Mr. Carter was a little nonplussed.

Sir James smiled, and stroked his chin.

"He rang me up," he volunteered.

"Would you have any objection to telling us exactly what passed
between you?"

"Not at all.  He thanked me for a certain letter which I had
written to him--as a matter of fact, I had offered him a job.
Then he reminded me of something I had said to him at Manchester
respecting that bogus telegram which lured Miss Cowley away. I
asked him if anything untoward had occurred.  He said it
had--that in a drawer in Mr. Hersheimmer's room he had discovered
a photograph."  The laywer{sic} paused, then continued: "I asked
him if the photograph bore the name and address of a Californian
photographer.  He replied:  'You're on to it, sir. It had.'  Then
he went on to tell me something I DIDN'T know. The original of
that photograph was the French girl, Annette, who saved his
life."

"What?"

"Exactly.  I asked the young man with some curiosity what he had
done with the photograph.  He replied that he had put it back
where he found it." The lawyer paused again.  "That was good, you
know--distinctly good. He can use his brains, that young fellow.
I congratulated him. The discovery was a providential one.  Of
course, from the moment that the girl in Manchester was proved to
be a plant everything was altered. Young Beresford saw that for
himself without my having to tell it him. But he felt he couldn't
trust his judgment on the subject of Miss Cowley.  Did I think
she was alive?  I told him, duly weighing the evidence, that
there was a very decided chance in favour of it. That brought us
back to the telegram."

"Yes?"

"I advised him to apply to you for a copy of the original wire.
It had occurred to me as probable that, after Miss Cowley flung
it on the floor, certain words might have been erased and altered
with the express intention of setting searchers on a false
trail."

Carter nodded.  He took a sheet from his pocket, and read aloud:


"Come at once, Astley Priors, Gatehouse, Kent.  Great
developments--TOMMY.


"Very simple," said Sir James, "and very ingenious. Just a few
words to alter, and the thing was done. And the one important
clue they overlooked."

"What was that?"

"The page-boy's statement that Miss Cowley drove to Charing
Cross.  They were so sure of themselves that they took it for
granted he had made a mistake."

"Then young Beresford is now?"

"At Gatehouse, Kent, unless I am much mistaken."

Mr. Carter looked at him curiously.

"I rather wonder you're not there too, Peel Edgerton?"

"Ah, I'm busy on a case."

"I thought you were on your holiday?"

"Oh, I've not been briefed.  Perhaps it would be more correct to
say I'm preparing a case.  Any more facts about that American
chap for me?"

"I'm afraid not.  Is it important to find out who he was?"

"Oh, I know who he was," said Sir James easily.  "I can't prove
it yet--but I know."

The other two asked no questions.  They had an instinct that it
would be mere waste of breath.

"But what I don't understand," said the Prime-Minister suddenly,
"is how that photograph came to be in Mr. Hersheimmer's drawer?"

"Perhaps it never left it," suggested the lawyer gently.

"But the bogus inspector?  Inspector Brown?"

"Ah!" said Sir James thoughtfully.  He rose to his feet. "I
mustn't keep you.  Go on with the affairs of the nation. I must
get back to--my case."

Two days later Julius Hersheimmer returned from Manchester.  A
note from Tommy lay on his table:

"DEAR HERSHEIMMER,

"Sorry I lost my temper.  In case I don't see you again,
good-bye. I've been offered a job in the Argentine, and might as
well take it.                          "Yours,                   
"TOMMY BERESFORD."


A peculiar smile lingered for a moment on Julius's face. He threw
the letter into the waste-paper basket.

"The darned fool!" he murmured.

CHAPTER XXIII

A RACE AGAINST TIME

AFTER ringing up Sir James, Tommy's next procedure was to make a
call at South Audley Mansions.  He found Albert discharging his
professional duties, and introduced himself without more ado as a
friend of Tuppence's. Albert unbent immediately.

"Things has been very quiet here lately," he said wistfully.
"Hope the young lady's keeping well, sir?"

"That's just the point, Albert.  She's disappeared." You don't
mean as the crooks have got her?"

"In the Underworld?"

"No, dash it all, in this world!"

"It's a h'expression, sir," explained Albert.  "At the pictures
the crooks always have a restoorant in the Underworld.  But do
you think as they've done her in, sir?"

"I hope not.  By the way, have you by any chance an aunt, a
cousin, a grandmother, or any other suitable female relation who
might be represented as being likely to kick the bucket?"

A delighted grin spread slowly over Albert's countenance.

"I'm on, sir.  My poor aunt what lives in the country has been
mortal bad for a long time, and she's asking for me with her
dying breath."

Tommy nodded approval.

"Can you report this in the proper quarter and meet me at Charing
Cross in an hour's time?"

"I'll be there, sir.  You can count on me."

As Tommy had judged, the faithful Albert proved an invaluable
ally. The two took up their quarters at the inn in Gatehouse.  To
Albert fell the task of collecting information There was no
difficulty about it.

Astley Priors was the property of a Dr. Adams.  The doctor no
longer practiced, had retired, the landlord believed, but he took
a few private patients--here the good fellow tapped his forehead
knowingly--"balmy ones!  You understand!" The doctor was a
popular figure in the village, subscribed freely to all the local
sports--"a very pleasant, affable gentleman." Been there long?
Oh, a matter of ten years or so--might be longer. Scientific
gentleman, he was.  Professors and people often came down from
town to see him.  Anyway, it was a gay house, always visitors.

In the face of all this volubility, Tommy felt doubts. Was it
possible that this genial, well-known figure could be in reality
a dangerous criminal?  His life seemed so open and aboveboard. No
hint of sinister doings.  Suppose it was all a gigantic mistake?
Tommy felt a cold chill at the thought.

Then he remembered the private patients--"balmy ones." He
inquired carefully if there was a young lady amongst them,
describing Tuppence.  But nothing much seemed to be known about
the patients--they were seldom seen outside the grounds. A
guarded description of Annette also failed to provoke
recognition.

Astley Priors was a pleasant red-brick edifice, surrounded by
well-wooded grounds which effectually shielded the house from
observation from the road.

On the first evening Tommy, accompanied by Albert, explored the
grounds. Owing to Albert's insistence they dragged themselves
along painfully on their stomachs, thereby producing a great deal
more noise than if they had stood upright.  In any case, these
precautions were totally unnecessary. The grounds, like those of
any other private house after nightfall, seemed untenanted.
Tommy had imagined a possible fierce watchdog. Albert's fancy ran
to a puma, or a tame cobra.  But they reached a shrubbery near
the house quite unmolested.

The blinds of the dining-room window were up.  There was a large
company assembled round the table.  The port was passing from
hand to hand. It seemed a normal, pleasant company.  Through the
open window scraps of conversation floated out disjointedly on
the night air. It was a heated discussion on county cricket!

Again Tommy felt that cold chill of uncertainty.  It seemed
impossible to believe that these people were other than they
seemed. Had he been fooled once more?  The fair-bearded,
spectacled gentleman who sat at the head of the table looked
singularly honest and normal.

Tommy slept badly that night.  The following morning the
indefatigable Albert, having cemented an alliance with the
greengrocer's boy, took the latter's place and ingratiated
himself with the cook at Malthouse.  He returned with the
information that she was undoubtedly "one of the crooks," but
Tommy mistrusted the vividness of his imagination.  Questioned,
he could adduce nothing in support of his statement except his
own opinion that she wasn't the usual kind.  You could see that
at a glance.

The substitution being repeated (much to the pecuniary advantage
of the real greengrocer's boy) on the following day, Albert
brought back the first piece of hopeful news.  There WAS a French
young lady staying in the house.  Tommy put his doubts aside.
Here was confirmation of his theory.  But time pressed. To-day
was the 27th.  The 29th was the much-talked-of "Labour Day,"
about which all sorts of rumours were running riot. Newspapers
were getting agitated.  Sensational hints of a Labour coup d'etat
were freely reported.  The Government said nothing. It knew and
was prepared.  There were rumours of dissension among the Labour
leaders.  They were not of one mind. The more far-seeing among
them realized that what they proposed might well be a death-blow
to the England that at heart they loved. They shrank from the
starvation and misery a general strike would entail, and were
willing to meet the Government half-way. But behind them were
subtle, insistent forces at work, urging the memories of old
wrongs, deprecating the weakness of half-and-half measures,
fomenting misunderstandings.

Tommy felt that, thanks to Mr. Carter, he understood the position
fairly accurately.  With the fatal document in the hands of Mr.
Brown, public opinion would swing to the side of the Labour
extremists and revolutionists. Failing that, the battle was an
even chance.  The Government with a loyal army and police force
behind them might win--but at a cost of great suffering.  But
Tommy nourished another and a preposterous dream. With Mr. Brown
unmasked and captured he believed, rightly or wrongly, that the
whole organization would crumble ignominiously and
instantaneously. The strange permeating influence of the unseen
chief held it together. Without him, Tommy believed an instant
panic would set in; and, the honest men left to themselves, an
eleventh-hour reconciliation would be possible.

"This is a one-man show," said Tommy to himself. "The thing to do
is to get hold of the man."

It was partly in furtherance of this ambitious design that he had
requested Mr. Carter not to open the sealed envelope. The draft
treaty was Tommy's bait.  Every now and then he was aghast at his
own presumption.  How dared he think that he had discovered what
so many wiser and clever men had overlooked? Nevertheless, he
stuck tenaciously to his idea.

That evening he and Albert once more penetrated the grounds of
Astley Priors.  Tommy's ambition was somehow or other to gain
admission to the house itself.  As they approached cautiously,
Tommy gave a sudden gasp.

On the second floor window some one standing between the window
and the light in the room threw a silhouette on the blind. It was
one Tommy would have recognized anywhere! Tuppence was in that
house!

He clutched Albert by the shoulder.

"Stay here!  When I begin to sing, watch that window."

He retreated hastily to a position on the main drive, and began
in a deep roar, coupled with an unsteady gait, the following
ditty:

          I am a Soldier           A jolly British Soldier;       
   You can see that I'm a Soldier by my feet . . .


It had been a favourite on the gramophone in Tuppence's hospital
days.  He did not doubt but that she would recognize it and draw
her own conclusions. Tommy had not a note of music in his voice,
but his lungs were excellent. The noise he produced was terrific.

Presently an unimpeachable butler, accompanied by an equally
unimpeachable footman, issued from the front door. The butler
remonstrated with him.  Tommy continued to sing, addressing the
butler affectionately as "dear old whiskers." The footman took
him by one arm, the butler by the other. They ran him down the
drive, and neatly out of the gate. The butler threatened him with
the police if he intruded again. It was beautifully done--soberly
and with perfect decorum. Anyone would have sworn that the butler
was a real butler, the footman a real footman--only, as it
happened, the butler was Whittington!

Tommy retired to the inn and waited for Albert's return. At last
that worthy made his appearance.

"Well?" cried Tommy eagerly.

"It's all right.  While they was a-running of you out the window
opened, and something was chucked out."  He handed a scrap of
paper to Tommy.  "It was wrapped round a letterweight."

On the paper were scrawled three words:  "To-morrow--same time."

"Good egg!" cried Tommy.  "We're getting going."

"I wrote a message on a piece of paper, wrapped it round a stone,
and chucked it through the window," continued Albert
breathlessly.

Tommy groaned.

"Your zeal will be the undoing of us, Albert.  What did you say?"

"Said we was a-staying at the inn.  If she could get away, to
come there and croak like a frog."

"She'll know that's you," said Tommy with a sigh of relief. "Your
imagination runs away with you, you know, Albert.  Why, you
wouldn't recognize a frog croaking if you heard it."

Albert looked rather crest-fallen.

"Cheer up," said Tommy.  "No harm done.  That butler's an old
friend of mine--I bet he knew who I was, though he didn't let on.
It's not their game to show suspicion.  That's why we've found it
fairly plain sailing.  They don't want to discourage me
altogether. On the other hand, they don't want to make it too
easy. I'm a pawn in their game, Albert, that's what I am.  You
see, if the spider lets the fly walk out too easily, the fly
might suspect it was a put-up job.  Hence the usefulness of that
promising youth, Mr. T. Beresford, who's blundered in just at the
right moment for them. But later, Mr. T. Beresford had better
look out!"

Tommy retired for the night in a state of some elation. He had
elaborated a careful plan for the following evening. He felt sure
that the inhabitants of Astley Priors would not interfere with
him up to a certain point.  It was after that that Tommy proposed
to give them a surprise.

About twelve o'clock, however, his calm was rudely shaken. He was
told that some one was demanding him in the bar. The applicant
proved to be a rude-looking carter well coated with mud.

"Well, my good fellow, what is it?" asked Tommy.

"Might this be for you, sir?"  The carter held out a very dirty
folded note, on the outside of which was written:  "Take this to
the gentleman at the inn near Astley Priors.  He will give you
ten shillings."

The handwriting was Tuppence's. Tommy appreciated her
quick-wittedness in realizing that he might be staying at the inn
under an assumed name. He snatched at it.

"That's all right."

The man withheld it.

"What about my ten shillings?"

Tommy hastily produced a ten-shilling note, and the man
relinquished his find.  Tommy unfastened it.

"DEAR TOMMY,

"I knew it was you last night.  Don't go this evening. They'll be
lying in wait for you.  They're taking us away this morning.  I
heard something about Wales--Holyhead, I think. I'll drop this on
the road if I get a chance.  Annette told me how you'd escaped.
Buck up.                         
    "Yours,                         
    "TWOPENCE."


Tommy raised a shout for Albert before he had even finished
perusing this characteristic epistle.

"Pack my bag!  We're off!"

"Yes, sir."  The boots of Albert could be heard racing upstairs.
Holyhead?  Did that mean that, after all----Tommy was puzzled. He
read on slowly.

The boots of Albert continued to be active on the floor above.

Suddenly a second shout came from below.

"Albert!  I'm a damned fool!  Unpack that bag!"

"Yes, sir."

Tommy smoothed out the note thoughtfully.

"Yes, a damned fool," he said softly.  "But so's some one else!
And at last I know who it is!"

CHAPTER XXIV

JULIUS TAKES A HAND

IN his suite at Claridge's, Kramenin reclined on a couch and
dictated to his secretary in sibilant Russian.

Presently the telephone at the secretary's elbow purred, and he
took up the receiver, spoke for a minute or two, then turned to
his employer.

"Some one below is asking for you."

"Who is it?"

"He gives the name of Mr. Julius P. Hersheimmer."

"Hersheimmer," repeated Kramenin thoughtfully.  "I have heard
that name before."

"His father was one of the steel kings of America," explained the
secretary, whose business it was to know everything. "This young
man must be a millionaire several times over."

The other's eyes narrowed appreciatively.

"You had better go down and see him, Ivan.  Find out what he
wants."

The secretary obeyed, closing the door noiselessly behind him. In
a few minutes he returned.

"He declines to state his business--says it is entirely private
and personal, and that he must see you."

"A millionaire several times over," murmured Kramenin.  "Bring
him up, my dear Ivan."

The secretary left the room once more, and returned escorting
Julius.

"Monsieur Kramenin?" said the latter abruptly.

The Russian, studying him attentively with his pale venomous
eyes, bowed.

"Pleased to meet you," said the American.  "I've got some very
important business I'd like to talk over with you, if I can see
you alone." He looked pointedly at the other.

"My secretary, Monsieur Grieber, from whom I have no secrets."

"That may be so--but I have," said Julius dryly. "So I'd be
obliged if you'd tell him to scoot."

"Ivan," said the Russian softly, "perhaps you would not mind
retiring into the next room----"

"The next room won't do," interrupted Julius.  "I know these
ducal suites--and I want this one plumb empty except for you and
me. Send him round to a store to buy a penn'orth of peanuts."

Though not particularly enjoying the American's free and easy
manner of speech, Kramenin was devoured by curiosity. "Will your
business take long to state?"

"Might be an all night job if you caught on."

"Very good, Ivan.  I shall not require you again this evening. Go
to the theatre--take a night off."

"Thank you, your excellency."

The secretary bowed and departed.

Julius stood at the door watching his retreat.  Finally, with a
satisfied sigh, he closed it, and came back to his position in
the centre of the room.

"Now, Mr. Hersheimmer, perhaps you will be so kind as to come to
the point?"

"I guess that won't take a minute," drawled Julius.  Then, with
an abrupt change of manner:  "Hands up--or I shoot!"

For a moment Kramenin stared blindly into the big automatic,
then, with almost comical haste, he flung up his hands above his
head.  In that instant Julius had taken his measure. The man he
had to deal with was an abject physical coward--the rest would be
easy.

"This is an outrage," cried the Russian in a high hysterical
voice. "An outrage!  Do you mean to kill me?"

"Not if you keep your voice down.  Don't go edging sideways
towards that bell.  That's better."

"What do you want?  Do nothing rashly.  Remember my life is of
the utmost value to my country.  I may have been maligned----"

"I reckon," said Julius, "that the man who let daylight into you
would be doing humanity a good turn.  But you needn't worry any.
I'm not proposing to kill you this trip--that is, if you're
reasonable."

The Russian quailed before the stern menace in the other's eyes.
He passed his tongue over his dry lips.

"What do you want?  Money?"

"No. I want Jane Finn."

"Jane Finn?  I--never heard of her!"

"You're a darned liar!  You know perfectly who I mean."

"I tell you I've never heard of the girl."

"And I tell you," retorted Julius, "that Little Willie here is
just hopping mad to go off!"

The Russian wilted visibly.

"You wouldn't dare----"

"Oh, yes, I would, son!"

Kramenin must have recognized something in the voice that carried
conviction, for he said sullenly:

"Well?  Granted I do know who you mean--what of it?"

"You will tell me now--right here--where she is to be found."

Kramenin shook his head.

"I daren't."

"Why not?"

"I daren't. You ask an impossibility."

"Afraid, eh?  Of whom?  Mr. Brown?  Ah, that tickles you up!
There is such a person, then?  I doubted it.  And the mere
mention of him scares you stiff!"

"I have seen him," said the Russian slowly.  "Spoken to him face
to face. I did not know it until afterwards.  He was one of a
crowd. I should not know him again.  Who is he really?  I do not
know. But I know this--he is a man to fear."

"He'll never know," said Julius.

"He knows everything--and his vengeance is swift. Even
I--Kramenin!--would not be exempt!"

"Then you won't do as I ask you?"

"You ask an impossibility."

"Sure that's a pity for you," said Julius cheerfully. "But the
world in general will benefit."  He raised the revolver.

"Stop," shrieked the Russian.  "You cannot mean to shoot me?"

"Of course I do.  I've always heard you Revolutionists held life
cheap, but it seems there's a difference when it's your own life
in question. I gave you just one chance of saving your dirty
skin, and that you wouldn't take!"

"They would kill me!"

"Well," said Julius pleasantly, "it's up to you.  But I'll just
say this. Little Willie here is a dead cert, and if I was you I'd
take a sporting chance with Mr. Brown!"

"You will hang if you shoot me," muttered the Russian
irresolutely.

"No, stranger, that's where you're wrong.  You forget the
dollars. A big crowd of solicitors will get busy, and they'll get
some high-brow doctors on the job, and the end of it all will be
that they'll say my brain was unhinged.  I shall spend a few
months in a quiet sanatorium, my mental health will improve, the
doctors will declare me sane again, and all will end happily for
little Julius.  I guess I can bear a few months' retirement in
order to rid the world of you, but don't you kid yourself I'll
hang for it!"

The Russian believed him.  Corrupt himself, he believed
implicitly in the power of money.  He had read of American murder
trials running much on the lines indicated by Julius.  He had
bought and sold justice himself. This virile young American, with
the significant drawling voice, had the whip hand of him.

"I'm going to count five," continued Julius, "and I guess, if you
let me get past four, you needn't worry any about Mr. Brown.
Maybe he'll send some flowers to the funeral, but YOU won't smell
them!  Are you ready? I'll begin.  One--two three--four----"

The Russian interrupted with a shriek:

"Do not shoot.  I will do all you wish."

Julius lowered the revolver.

"I thought you'd hear sense.  Where is the girl?"

"At Gatehouse, in Kent.  Astley Priors, the place is called."

"Is she a prisoner there?"

"She's not allowed to leave the house--though it's safe enough
really. The little fool has lost her memory, curse her!"

"That's been annoying for you and your friends, I reckon. What
about the other girl, the one you decoyed away over a week ago?"

"She's there too," said the Russian sullenly.

"That's good," said Julius.  "Isn't it all panning out
beautifully? And a lovely night for the run!"

"What run?" demanded Kramenin, with a stare.

"Down to Gatehouse, sure.  I hope you're fond of motoring?"

"What do you mean?  I refuse to go."

"Now don't get mad.  You must see I'm not such a kid as to leave
you here. You'd ring up your friends on that telephone first
thing!  Ah!"  He observed the fall on the other's face.  "You
see, you'd got it all fixed. No, sir, you're coming along with
me.  This your bedroom next door here? Walk right in.  Little
Willie and I will come behind.  Put on a thick coat, that's
right.  Fur lined?  And you a Socialist!  Now we're ready. We
walk downstairs and out through the hall to where my car's
waiting. And don't you forget I've got you covered every inch of
the way. I can shoot just as well through my coat pocket.  One
word, or a glance even, at one of those liveried menials, and
there'll sure be a strange face in the Sulphur and Brimstone
Works!"

Together they descended the stairs, and passed out to the waiting
car. The Russian was shaking with rage.  The hotel servants
surrounded them. A cry hovered on his lips, but at the last
minute his nerve failed him. The American was a man of his word.

When they reached the car, Julius breathed a sigh of relief. The
danger-zone was passed.  Fear had successfully hypnotized the man
by his side.

"Get in," he ordered.  Then as he caught the other's sidelong
glance, "No, the chauffeur won't help you any.  Naval man. Was on
a submarine in Russia when the Revolution broke out. A brother of
his was murdered by your people.  George!"

"Yes, sir?"  The chauffeur turned his head.

"This gentleman is a Russian Bolshevik.  We don't want to shoot
him, but it may be necessary.  You understand?"

"Perfectly, sir."

"I want to go to Gatehouse in Kent.  Know the road at all?"

"Yes, sir, it will be about an hour and a half's run."

"Make it an hour.  I'm in a hurry."

"I'll do my best, sir."  The car shot forward through the
traffic.

Julius ensconced himself comfortably by the side of his victim.
He kept his hand in the pocket of his coat, but his manner was
urbane to the last degree.

"There was a man I shot once in Arizona----" he began cheerfully.

At the end of the hour's run the unfortunate Kramenin was more
dead than alive.  In succession to the anecdote of the Arizona
man, there had been a tough from 'Frisco, and an episode in the
Rockies.  Julius's narrative style, if not strictly accurate, was
picturesque!

Slowing down, the chauffeur called over his shoulder that they
were just coming into Gatehouse.  Julius bade the Russian direct
them.  His plan was to drive straight up to the house. There
Kramenin was to ask for the two girls.  Julius explained to him
that Little Willie would not be tolerant of failure. Kramenin, by
this time, was as putty in the other's hands. The terrific pace
they had come had still further unmanned him. He had given
himself up for dead at every corner.

The car swept up the drive, and stopped before the porch. The
chauffeur looked round for orders.

"Turn the car first, George.  Then ring the bell, and get back to
your place. Keep the engine going, and be ready to scoot like
hell when I give the word."

"Very good, sir."

The front door was opened by the butler.  Kramenin felt the
muzzle of the revolver pressed against his ribs.

"Now," hissed Julius.  "And be careful."

The Russian beckoned.  His lips were white, and his voice was not
very steady:

"It is I--Kramenin!  Bring down the girl at once! There is no
time to lose!"

Whittington had come down the steps.  He uttered an exclamation
of astonishment at seeing the other.

"You!  What's up?  Surely you know the plan----"

Kramenin interrupted him, using the words that have created many
unnecessary panics:

"We have been betrayed!  Plans must be abandoned. We must save
our own skins.  The girl!  And at once! It's our only chance."

Whittington hesitated, but for hardly a moment.

"You have orders--from HIM?"

"Naturally!  Should I be here otherwise?  Hurry!  There is no
time to be lost. The other little fool had better come too."

Whittington turned and ran back into the house. The agonizing
minutes went by.  Then--two figures hastily huddled in cloaks
appeared on the steps and were hustled into the car. The smaller
of the two was inclined to resist and Whittington shoved her in
unceremoniously.  Julius leaned forward, and in doing so the
light from the open door lit up his face. Another man on the
steps behind Whittington gave a startled exclamation. Concealment
was at an end.

"Get a move on, George," shouted Julius.

The chauffeur slipped in his clutch, and with a bound the car
started.

The man on the steps uttered an oath.  His hand went to his
pocket. There was a flash and a report.  The bullet just missed
the taller girl by an inch.

"Get down, Jane," cried Julius.  "Flat on the bottom of the car."
He thrust her sharply forward, then standing up, he took careful
aim and fired.

"Have you hit him?" cried Tuppence eagerly.

"Sure," replied Julius.  "He isn't killed, though.  Skunks like
that take a lot of killing.  Are you all right, Tuppence?"

"Of course I am.  Where's Tommy?  And who's this?" She indicated
the shivering Kramenin.

"Tommy's making tracks for the Argentine.  I guess he thought
you'd turned up your toes.  Steady through the gate, George!
That's right. It'll take 'em at least five minutes to get busy
after us. They'll use the telephone, I guess, so look out for
snares ahead--and don't take the direct route.  Who's this, did
you say, Tuppence?  Let me present Monsieur Kramenin.  I
persuaded him to come on the trip for his health."

The Russian remained mute, still livid with terror.

"But what made them let us go?" demanded Tuppence suspiciously.

"I reckon Monsieur Kramenin here asked them so prettily they just
couldn't refuse!"

This was too much for the Russian.  He burst out vehemently:

"Curse you--curse you!  They know now that I betrayed them. My
life won't be safe for an hour in this country."

"That's so," assented Julius.  "I'd advise you to make tracks for
Russia right away."

"Let me go, then," cried the other.  "I have done what you asked.
Why do you still keep me with you?"

"Not for the pleasure of your company.  I guess you can get right
off now if you want to.  I thought you'd rather I tooled you back
to London."

"You may never reach London," snarled the other. "Let me go here
and now."

"Sure thing.  Pull up, George.  The gentleman's not making the
return trip. If I ever come to Russia, Monsieur Kramenin, I shall
expect a rousing welcome, and----"

But before Julius had finished his speech, and before the car had
finally halted, the Russian had swung himself out and disappeared
into the night.

"Just a mite impatient to leave us," commented Julius, as the car
gathered way again.  "And no idea of saying good-bye politely to
the ladies. Say, Jane, you can get up on the seat now."

For the first time the girl spoke.

"How did you 'persuade' him?" she asked.

Julius tapped his revolver.

"Little Willie here takes the credit!"

"Splendid!" cried the girl.  The colour surged into her face, her
eyes looked admiringly at Julius.

"Annette and I didn't know what was going to happen to us," said
Tuppence.  "Old Whittington hurried us off. We thought it was
lambs to the slaughter."

"Annette," said Julius.  "Is that what you call her?"

His mind seemed to be trying to adjust itself to a new idea.

"It's her name," said Tuppence, opening her eyes very wide.

"Shucks!" retorted Julius.  "She may think it's her name, because
her memory's gone, poor kid.  But it's the one real and original
Jane Finn we've got here."

"What?" cried Tuppence.

But she was interrupted.  With an angry spurt, a bullet embedded
itself in the upholstery of the car just behind her head.

"Down with you," cried Julius.  "It's an ambush.  These guys have
got busy pretty quickly.  Push her a bit, George."

The car fairly leapt forward.  Three more shots rang out, but
went happily wide.  Julius, upright, leant over the back of the
car.

"Nothing to shoot at," he announced gloomily.  "But I guess
there'll be another little picnic soon.  Ah!"

He raised his hand to his cheek.

"You are hurt?" said Annette quickly.

"Only a scratch."

The girl sprang to her feet.

"Let me out!  Let me out, I say!  Stop the car.  It is me they're
after. I'm the one they want.  You shall not lose your lives
because of me. Let me go."  She was fumbling with the fastenings
of the door.

Julius took her by both arms, and looked at her. She had spoken
with no trace of foreign accent.

"Sit down, kid," he said gently.  "I guess there's nothing wrong
with your memory.  Been fooling them all the time, eh?"

The girl looked at him, nodded, and then suddenly burst into
tears. Julius patted her on the shoulder.

"There, there--just you sit tight.  We're not going to let you
quit."

Through her sobs the girl said indistinctly:

"You're from home.  I can tell by your voice.  It makes me
home-sick."

"Sure I'm from home.  I'm your cousin--Julius Hersheimmer.  I
came over to Europe on purpose to find you--and a pretty dance
you've led me."

The car slackened speed.  George spoke over his shoulder:

"Cross-roads here, sir.  I'm not sure of the way."

The car slowed down till it hardly moved.  As it did so a figure
climbed suddenly over the back, and plunged head first into the
midst of them.

"Sorry," said Tommy, extricating himself.

A mass of confused exclamations greeted him.  He replied to them
severally:

"Was in the bushes by the drive.  Hung on behind.  Couldn't let
you know before at the pace you were going.  It was all I could
do to hang on. Now then, you girls, get out!"

"Get out?"

"Yes.  There's a station just up that road.  Train due in three
minutes. You'll catch it if you hurry."

"What the devil are you driving at?" demanded Julius.  "Do you
think you can fool them by leaving the car?"

"You and I aren't going to leave the car.  Only the girls."

"You're crazed, Beresford.  Stark staring mad!  You can't let
those girls go off alone.  It'll be the end of it if you do."

Tommy turned to Tuppence.

"Get out at once, Tuppence.  Take her with you, and do just as I
say. No one will do you any harm.  You're safe.  Take the train
to London.  Go straight to Sir James Peel Edgerton.  Mr. Carter
lives out of town, but you'll be safe with him."

"Darn you!" cried Julius.  "You're mad.  Jane, you stay where you
are."

With a sudden swift movement, Tommy snatched the revolver from
Julius's hand, and levelled it at him.

"Now will you believe I'm in earnest?  Get out, both of you, and
do as I say--or I'll shoot!"

Tuppence sprang out, dragging the unwilling Jane after her.

"Come on, it's all right.  If Tommy's sure--he's sure.  Be quick.
We'll miss the train."

They started running.

Julius's pent-up rage burst forth.

"What the hell----"

Tommy interrupted him.

"Dry up!  I want a few words with you, Mr. Julius Hersheimmer."