They swept presently round a bend in the avenue. Before them on the hill-side, surrounded by trees and with a great walled garden behind, was Hamblin House. Quest gave vent to a little exclamation of wonder as he looked at it. The older part and the whole of the west front was Elizabethan, but the Georgian architect entrusted with the task of building a great extension had carried out his work in a manner almost inspired. Lines and curves, sweeping everywhere towards the same constructive purpose, had been harmonised by the hand of time into a most surprising and effectual unity. The criminologist, notwithstanding his unemotional temperament, repeated his exclamation as he resumed his place in the carriage.

"This is where you've got us beaten," he admitted. "Our country places are like gew-gaw palaces compared to this. Makes me kind of sorry," he went on regretfully, "that I didn't bring Lenora along."

The Professor shook his head.

"You were very wise," he said. "My brother and Lady Ashleigh have recovered from the shock of poor Lena's death in a marvellous manner, I believe, but the sight of the girl might have brought it back to them. You have left her with friends, I hope, Mr. Quest?"



"She has an aunt in Hampstead," the latter explained. "I should have liked to have seen her safely there myself, but we should have been an hour or two later down here, and I tell you," he went on, his voice gathering a note almost of ferocity, "I'm wanting to get my hands on that fellow Craig! I wonder where they're holding him."

"At the local police-station, I expect," the Professor replied. "My brother is a magistrate, of course, and he would see that proper arrangements were made. There he is at the hall door."

The carriage drew up before the great front, a moment or two later. Lord Ashleigh came forward with outstretched hands, the genial smile of the welcoming host upon his lips. In his manner, however, there was a distinct note of anxiety.

"Edgar, my dear fellow," he exclaimed, "I am delighted! Welcome back to your home! Mr. Quest, I am very happy to see you here. You have heard the news, of course?"

"We have heard nothing!" the Professor replied.

"You didn't go to Scotland Yard?" Lord Ashleigh asked.

"We haven't been to London at all," Quest explained. "We got on the boat train at Plymouth, and your brother managed to induce one of the directors whom he saw on the platform to stop the train for us at Hamblin Road. We only left the boat two hours ago. There's nothing wrong with Craig, is there?"

Lord Ashleigh motioned them to follow him.

"Please come this way," he invited.

He led them across the hall—which, dimly-lit and with its stained-glass windows, was almost like the nave of a cathedral,—into the library beyond. He closed the door and turned around.

"I have bad news for you both," he announced. "Craig has escaped."

Neither the Professor nor Quest betrayed any unusual surprise. So far as the latter was concerned, his first glimpse at Lord Ashleigh's face had warned him of what was coming.

"Dear me!" the Professor murmured, sinking into an easy-chair. "This is most unexpected!"

"We'll get him again," Quest declared quickly. "Can you let us have the particulars of his escape, Lord Ashleigh? The sooner we get the hang of things, the better."

Their host turned towards the butler, who was arranging a tray upon the sideboard.

"You must permit me to offer you some refreshments after your journey," he begged. "Then I will tell you the whole story. I think you will agree, when you hear it, that no particular blame can be said to rest upon any one's shoulders. It was simply an extraordinary interposition of chance. There is tea, whisky and soda, and wine here, Mr. Quest. Edgar, I know you'll take some tea."

"English tea for me," the Professor remarked, watching the cream.

"Whisky and soda here," Quest decided.

Lord Ashleigh himself attended to the wants of his guests. Then, at his instigation, they made themselves comfortable in easy-chairs and he commenced his narration.

"You know, of course," he began, "that Craig was arrested at Liverpool in consequence of communications from the New York police. I understand that it was with great difficulty he was discovered, and it is quite clear that some one on the ship had been heavily bribed. However, he was arrested, brought to London, and then down here for purposes of identification. I would have gone to London myself, and in fact offered to do so, but on the other hand, as there are many others on the estate to whom he was well-known, I thought that it would be better to have more evidence than mine alone. Accordingly, they left London one afternoon, and I sent a dogcart to the station to meet them. They arrived quite safely and started for here, Craig handcuffed to one of the Scotland Yard men on the back seat, and the other in front with the driver. About half a mile from the south entrance to the park, the road runs across a rather desolate strip of country with a lot of low undergrowth on one side. We have had a little trouble with poachers, as there is a sort of gipsy camp on some common land a short distance away. My head-keeper, to whom the very idea of a poacher is intolerable, was patrolling this ground himself that afternoon, and caught sight of one of these gipsy fellows setting a trap. He chased him, and more, I am sure, to frighten him than anything else, when he saw that the fellow was getting away he fired his gun, just as the dog-cart was passing. The horse shied, the wheel caught a great stone by the side of the road, and all four men were thrown out. The man to whom Craig was handcuffed was stunned, but Craig himself appears to have been unhurt. He jumped up, took the key of the handcuffs from the pocket of the officer, undid them, and slipped off into the undergrowth before either the groom or the other Scotland Yard man had recovered their senses. To cut a long story short, that was last Thursday, and up till now not a single trace of the fellow has been discovered."

Quest rose abruptly to his feet.

"I'd like to take this matter up right on the spot where Craig disappeared," he suggested. "Couldn't we do that?"

"By all means," Lord Ashleigh agreed, touching a bell. "We have several hours before we change for dinner. I will have a car round and take you to the spot."

The Professor acquiesced readily, and very soon they stepped out of the automobile on to the side of a narrow road, looking very much as it had been described. Further on, beyond a stretch of open common, they could see the smoke from the gipsy encampment. On their left-hand side was a stretch of absolutely wild country, bounded in the far distance by the grey stone wall of the park. Lord Ashleigh led the way through the thicket, talking as he went.

"Craig came along through here," he explained. "The groom and the Scotland Yard man who had been sitting by his side followed him. They searched for an hour but found no trace of him at all. Then they returned to the house to make a report and get help. I will now show you how Craig first eluded them."

He led the way along a tangled path, doubled back, plunged into a little spinney and came suddenly to a small shed.

"This is an ancient gamekeeper's shelter," he explained, "built a long time ago and almost forgotten now. What Craig did, without a doubt, was to hide in this. The Scotland Yard man who took the affair in hand found distinct traces here of recent occupation. That is how he made his first escape."

Quest nodded.

"Sure!" he murmured. "Well now, what about your more extended search?"

"I was coming to that," Lord Ashleigh replied. "As Edgar will remember, no doubt, I have always kept a few bloodhounds in my kennels, and as soon as we could get together one or two of the keepers and a few of the local constabulary, we started off again from here. The dogs brought us without a check to this shed, and started off again in this way."

They walked another half a mile, across a reedy swamp. Every now and then they had to jump across a small dyke, and once they had to make a detour to avoid an osier bed. They came at last to the river.

"Now I can show you exactly how that fellow put us off the scent here," their guide proceeded. "He seems to have picked up something, Edgar, in those South American trips of yours, for a cleverer thing I never saw. You see all these bullrushes everywhere—clouds of them, all along the river?"

"We call them tules," Quest muttered. "Well?"

"When Craig arrived here," Lord Ashleigh continued, "he must have heard the baying of the dogs in the distance and he knew that the game was up unless he could put them off the scent. He cut a quantity of these bullrushes from a place a little further behind those trees there, stepped boldly into the middle of the water, waded down to that spot where, as you see, the trees hang over, stood stock still and leaned them all around him. It was dusk when the chase reached the river bank, and I have no doubt the bullrushes presented quite a natural appearance. At any rate, although the dogs came without a check to the edge of the river, where he stepped off, they never picked the scent up again either on this side or the other. We tried them for four or five hours before we took them home. The next morning, while the place was being thoroughly searched, we came upon the spot where these bullrushes had been cut down, and we found them caught in the low boughs of a tree, drifting down the river."

The Professor's tone was filled with something almost like admiration.

"I must confess," he declared, "I never realised for a single moment that Craig was a person of such gifts. In all the small ways of life, in campaigning, camping out, dealing with natural difficulties incidental to our expeditions, I have found him invariably a person of resource, ready-witted and full of useful suggestions. But that he should be able to apply his gifts with such infinite cunning, to a suddenly conceived career of crime, I must admit amazes me."

Quest had lit a fresh cigar and was smoking vigorously.

"What astonishes me more than anything," he pronounced, as he stood looking over the desolate expanse of country, "is that when one comes face to face with the fellow he presents all the appearance of a nerveless and broken-down coward. Then all of a sudden there spring up these evidences of the most amazing, the most diabolical resource.... Who's this, Lord Ashleigh?"

The latter turned his head. An elderly man in a brown velveteen suit, with gaiters and thick boots, raised his hat respectfully.

"This is my head-keeper, Middleton," his master explained. "He was with us on the chase."

The Professor shook hands heartily with the newcomer.

"Not a day older, Middleton!" he exclaimed. "So you are the man who has given us all this trouble, eh? This gentleman and I have come over from New York on purpose to lay hands on Craig."

"I am very sorry, sir," the man replied. "I wouldn't have fired my gun if I had known what the consequences were going to be, but them poaching devils that come round here rabbiting fairly send me furious and that's a fact. It ain't that one grudges them a few rabbits, but my tame pheasants all run out here from the home wood, and I've seen feathers at the side of the road there that no fox nor stoat had nothing to do with. All the same, sir, I'm very sorry," he added, "to have been the cause of any inconvenience."

"It is rather worse than inconvenience, Middleton," the Professor said gravely. "The man who has escaped is one of the worst criminals of these days."

"He won't get far, sir," the gamekeeper remarked, with a little smile. "It's a wild bit of country, this, and I admit that men might search it for weeks without finding anything, but those gentlemen from Scotland Yard, sir, if you'll excuse my making the remark, and hoping that this gentleman," he added, looking at Quest, "is in no way connected with them—well, they don't know everything, and that's a fact."

"This gentleman is from the United States," Lord Ashleigh reminded him, "so your criticism doesn't affect him. By-the-by, Middleton, I heard this morning that you'd been airing your opinions down in the village. You seem to rather fancy yourself as a thief-catcher."

"I wouldn't go so far as that, my lord," the man replied respectfully, "but still, I hope I may say that I've as much common sense as most people. You see, sir," he went on, turning to Quest, "the spots where he could emerge from this track of country are pretty well guarded, and he'll be in a fine mess, when he does put in an appearance, to show himself upon a public road. Yet by this time I should say he must be nigh starved. Sooner or later he'll have to come out for food. I've a little scheme of my own, sir, I don't mind admitting," the man concluded, with a twinkle in his keen brown eyes. "I'm not giving it away. If I catch him for you, that's all that's wanted, I imagine, and we shan't be any the nearer to it for letting any one into my little secret."

His master smiled.

"You shall have your rise out of the police, if you can, Middleton," he observed. "It seems queer, though, to believe that the fellow's still in hiding round here."

As though by common consent, they all stood, for a moment, perfectly still, looking across the stretch of marshland with its boggy places, its scrubby plantations, its clustering masses of tall grasses and bullrushes. The grey twilight had become even more pronounced during the last few minutes. Little wreaths of white mist hung over the damp places. Everywhere was a queer silence. The very air seemed breathless. The Professor shivered and turned away.

"My nerves," he declared, "are scarcely what they were. I have listened in a primeval forest, listened for the soft rustling of a snake in the undergrowth, or the distant roar of some beast of prey. I have listened then with curiosity. I have not known fear. It seems to me, somehow, that in this place there is something different afoot. I don't like it, George—I don't like it. We will go home, if you please."

They made their way, single file, to the road and up to the house. Lord Ashleigh did his best to dispel a queer little sensation of uneasiness which seemed to have arisen in the minds of all of them.

"Come," he said, "we must put aside our disappointment for the present, and remember that after all the chances are that Craig will never make his escape alive. Let us forget him for a little while.... Mr. Quest," he added, a few minutes later, as they reached the hall, "Moreton here will show you to your room and look after you. Please let me know if you will take an aperitif. I can recommend my sherry. We dine at eight o'clock. Edgar, you know your way. The blue room, of course. I am coming up with you myself. Her ladyship back yet, Moreton?"

"Not yet, my lord."

"Lady Ashleigh," her husband explained, "has gone to the other side of the county to open a bazaar. She is looking forward to the pleasure of welcoming you at dinner-time."

* * * * *

Dinner, served, out of compliment to their transatlantic visitor, in the great banqueting hall, was to Quest especially a most impressive meal. They sat at a small round table lit by shaded lights, in the centre of an apartment which was large in reality, and which seemed vast by reason of the shadows which hovered around the unlit spaces. From the walls frowned down a long succession of family portraits—Ashleighs in the queer Tudor costume of Henry the Seventh; Ashleighs in chain armour, sword in hand, a charger waiting, regardless of perspective, in the near distance; Ashleighs befrilled and bewigged; Ashleighs in the Court dress of the Georges—judges, sailors, statesmen and soldiers. A collection of armour which would have gladdened the eye of many an antiquarian, was ranged along the black-panelled walls. Everything was in harmony, even the grave precision of the solemn-faced butler and the powdered hair of the two footmen. Quest, perhaps for the first time in his life, felt almost lost, hopelessly out of touch with his surroundings, an alien and a struggling figure. Nevertheless, he entertained the little party with many stories. He struggled all the time against that queer sensation of anachronism which now and then became almost oppressive.

The Professor's pleasure at finding himself once more amongst these familiar surroundings was obvious and intense. The conversation between him and his brother never flagged. There were tenants and neighbours to be asked after, matters concerning the estate on which he demanded information. Even the very servants' names he remembered.

"It was a queer turn of fate, George," he declared, as he held out before him a wonderfully chased glass filled with amber wine, "which sent you into the world a few seconds before me and made you Lord of Ashleigh and me a struggling scientific man."

"The world has benefited by it," Lord Ashleigh remarked, with more than fraternal courtesy. "We hear great things of you over here, Edgar. We hear that you have been on the point of proving most unpleasant things with regard to our origin."

"Oh! there is no doubt about that," the Professor observed. "Where we came from and where we are going to are questions which no longer afford room for the slightest doubt to the really scientific mind. What sometimes does elude us is the nature of our tendencies while we are here on earth."

"Mine, I fancy, are obvious enough," Lord Ashleigh interposed.

"Superficially, I grant it," his brother acknowledged. "As a matter of scientific fact, I recognize the probability of your actually being a person utterly different from what you appear. Man becomes what he is according to the circumstances by which he is assailed. Now your life here, George, must be a singularly uneventful one."

"Not during the last six months," Lord Ashleigh remarked, with a sigh. "Even these last few days have been exciting enough. I must confess that they have left me with a queer sort of nervousness. I find myself listening intently sometimes,—conscious, as it were, of the influence or presence of some indefinite danger."

"Very interesting," the Professor murmured. "Spiritualism, as an exact science, has always interested me very much."

Lady Ashleigh made a little grimace.

"Don't encourage George," she begged. "He is much too superstitious, as it is."

There was a brief silence. The port had been placed upon the table and coffee served. The servants, according to the custom of the house, had departed. The great apartment was empty. Even Quest was impressed by some peculiar significance in the long-drawn-out silence. He looked around him uneasily. The frowning regard of that long line of painted warriors seemed somehow to be full of menace. There was something grim, too, in the sight of those empty suits of armour.

"I may be superstitious," Lord Ashleigh said, "but there are times, especially just lately, when I seem to find a new and hateful quality in silence. What is it, I wonder? I ask you but I think I know. It is the conviction that there is some alien presence, something disturbing lurking close at hand."

He suddenly rose to his feet, pushed his chair back and walked to the window, which opened level with the ground. He threw it up and listened. The others came over and joined him. There was nothing to be heard but the distant hooting of an owl, and farther away the barking of some farmhouse dog. Lord Ashleigh stood there with straining eyes, gazing out across the park.

"There was something here," he muttered, "something which has gone. What's that? Quest, your eyes are younger than mine. Can you see anything underneath that tree?"

Quest peered out into the grey darkness.

"I fancied I saw something moving in the shadow of that oak," he muttered. "Wait."

He crossed the terrace, swung down on to the path, across a lawn, over a wire fence and into the park itself. All the time he kept his eyes fixed on a certain spot. When at last he reached the tree, there was nothing there. He looked all around him. He stood and listened for several moments. A more utterly peaceful night it would be hard to imagine. Slowly he made his way back to the house.

"I imagine we are all a little nervous to-night," he remarked. "There's nothing doing out there."

They strolled about for an hour or more, looking into different rooms, showing their guest the finest pictures, even taking him down into the wonderful cellars. They parted early, but Quest stood, for a few moments before retiring, gazing about him with an air almost of awe. His great room, as large as an apartment in an Italian palace, was lit by a dozen wax candles in silver candlesticks. His four-poster was supported by pillars of black oak, carved into strange forms, and surmounted by the Ashleigh coronet and coat of arms. He threw his windows open wide and stood for a moment looking out across the park, more clearly visible now by the light of the slowly rising moon. There was scarcely a breeze stirring, scarcely a sound even from the animal world. Nevertheless, Quest, too, as reluctantly he made his preparations for retiring for the night, was conscious of that queer sensation of unimagined and impalpable danger.



CHAPTER X

LOST IN LONDON

1.

Quest, notwithstanding the unusual nature of his surroundings, slept that night as only a tired and healthy man can. He was awakened the next morning by the quiet movements of a man-servant who had brought back his clothes carefully brushed and pressed. He sat up in bed and discovered a small china tea equipage by his side.

"What's this?" he enquired.

"Your tea, sir."

Quest drank half a cupful without protest.

"Your bath is ready at any time, sir."

"I'm coming right along," Quest replied, jumping out of bed.

The man held up a dressing-gown and escorted him to an unexpectedly modern bathroom at the end of the corridor. When Quest returned, his toilet articles were all laid out for him with prim precision; the window was wide open, the blinds drawn, and a soft breeze was stealing through into the room. Below him, the park, looking more beautiful than ever in the morning sunshine, stretched away to a vista of distant meadowlands and cornfields, with here and there a little farm-house and outbuildings, gathered snugly together. The servant, who had heard him leave the bathroom, reappeared.

"Is there anything further I can do for you, sir?" he enquired.

"Nothing at all, thanks," Quest assured him. "What time's breakfast?"

"Breakfast is served at nine o'clock, sir. It is now half-past eight."

The man withdrew and Quest made a brisk toilet. The nameless fears of the previous night had altogether disappeared. To his saner morning imagination, the atmosphere seemed somehow to have become cleared of that cloud of mysterious depression. He was whistling to himself from sheer light-heartedness as he turned to leave the room. Then the shock came. At the last moment he stretched out his hand to take a handkerchief from his satchel. A sudden exclamation broke from his lips. He stood for a moment as though turned to stone. Before him, on the top of the little pile of white cambric, was a small black box! With a movement of the fingers which was almost mechanical, he removed the lid and drew out the customary little scrap of paper. He smoothed it out before him on the dressing-case and read the message:—

"You will fail here as you have failed before. Better go back. There is more danger for you in this country than you dream of."

His teeth came fiercely together and his hands were clenched. His thoughts had gone like a flash to Lenora. Was it possible that harm was intended to her? He put the idea away from him almost as soon as conceived. The thing was unimaginable. Craig was here, must be here, in the close vicinity of the house. He could have had no time to communicate with confederates in London. Lenora, at any rate, was safe. Then he glanced around the room and thought for a moment of his own danger. In the dead of the night, as he had slept, mysterious feet had stolen across his room, mysterious hands had placed those few words of half mocking warning in that simple hiding-place! It would have been just as easy, he reflected with a grim little smile, for those hands to have stretched their death-dealing fingers over the bed where he had lain asleep. He looked once more out over the park. Somehow, its sunny peace seemed to have become disturbed. The strange sense of foreboding which he, in common with the others, had carried about with him last night, had returned.

The atmosphere of the pleasant breakfast-room to which in due course he descended, was cheerful enough. Lady Ashleigh had already taken her place at the head of the table before a glittering array of silver tea and coffee equipage. The Professor, with a plate in his hand, was making an approving survey of the contents of the dishes ranged upon the sideboard.

"An English breakfast, my dear Quest," he remarked, after they had exchanged the usual greetings, "will, I am sure, appeal to you. I am not, I confess, given to the pleasures of the table, but if anything could move me to enthusiasm in dietary matters, the sight of your sideboard, my dear sister-in-law, would do so. I commend the bacon and eggs to you, Quest, or if you prefer sausages, those long, thin ones are home-made and delicious. Does Mrs. Bland still cure our hams, Julia?"

"Her daughter does," Lady Ashleigh replied, smiling. "We are almost self-supporting here. All our daily produce, of course, comes from the home farm. Tea or coffee, Mr. Quest?"

"Coffee, if you please," Quest decided, returning from his visit to the sideboard. "Is Lord Ashleigh a late riser?"

"Not by any means," his wife declared. "He very often gets up and rides in the park before breakfast. I don't know where he is this morning. He didn't even come in to see me. I think we must send up."

She touched an electric bell under her foot and a moment or two later the butler appeared.

"Go up and see how long your master will be," Lady Ashleigh directed.

"Very good, your ladyship."

The man was backing through the doorway in his usual dignified manner when he was suddenly pushed to one side. The valet who had waited upon Quest, and who was Lord Ashleigh's own servant, rushed into the room. His face was white. He had forgotten all decorum. He almost shouted to Lady Ashleigh.

"Your ladyship—the master! Something has happened! He won't move! He—he—"

They all rose to their feet. Quest groaned to himself. The black box!

"What do you mean?" Lady Ashleigh faltered. "What do you mean, Williams?"

The man shook his head. He seemed almost incapable of speech.

"Something has happened to the master!"

They all trooped out of the room and up the stairs, the Professor leading the way. They pushed open the door of Lord Ashleigh's bedchamber. In the far corner of the large room was the four-poster, and underneath the clothes a silent figure. The Professor turned down the sheets. Then he held out his hand. His face, too, was blanched.

"Julia, don't come," he begged.

"I must know!" she almost shrieked. "I must know!"

"George is dead," the Professor said slowly.

There was a moment's awful silence, broken by a piercing scream from Lady Ashleigh. She sank down upon the sofa and the Professor leaned over her. Quest turned to the little group of frightened servants who were gathering round the doorway.

"Telephone for a doctor," he ordered, "also to the local police-station."



He, too, approached the bed and reverently lifted the covering. Lord Ashleigh was lying there, his body a little doubled up, his arms wide outstretched. On his throat were two black marks.

"Where is the valet—Williams?" Quest asked, as he turned away.

The man came forward.

"Tell us at once what you know?" Quest demanded.

"I came in, as usual, to call his lordship before I called you," the man replied. "He did not answer, but I thought, perhaps, that he was sleepy. I filled his bath, which, as you see, opens out of the room, and then came to attend on you. When you went down to breakfast, I returned to his lordship's room expecting to find him dressed. Instead of that the room was silent, the bath still unused. I spoke to him—there was no answer. Then I lifted the sheet!"

They had led Lady Ashleigh from the room. The Professor and Quest stood face to face. The former's expression, however, had lost all his amiable serenity. His face was white and pinched. He looked shrivelled up. It was as though some physical stroke had fallen upon him.

"Quest! Quest!" he almost sobbed. "My brother!—George, whom I loved like nobody else on earth! Is he really dead?"

"Absolutely!"

The Professor gripped the oak pillar of the bedstead. He seemed on the point of collapse.

"The mark of the Hands is upon his throat," Quest pointed out.

"The Hands! Oh, my God!" the Professor groaned.

"We must not eat or drink or sleep," Quest declared fiercely, "until we have brought this matter to an end. Craig must be found. This is the supreme horror of all. Pull yourself together, Mr. Ashleigh. We shall need every particle of intelligence we possess. I begin to think that we are fighting against something superhuman."

The butler made an apologetic appearance. He spoke in a hushed whisper.

"You are wanted downstairs, gentlemen. Middleton, the head-keeper, is there."

As though inspired with a common idea, both Quest and the Professor hurried out of the room and down the broad stairs. Their inspiration was a true one. The gamekeeper welcomed them with a smile of triumph. By his side, the picture of abject misery, his clothes torn and muddy, was Craig!

"I've managed this little job, sir," Middleton announced, with a smile of slow triumph.

"How did you get him?" Quest demanded.

"Little idea of my own," the gamekeeper continued. "I guessed pretty well what he'd be up to. He'd tumbled to it that the usual way off the moor was pretty well guarded, and he'd doubled back through the thin line of woods close to the house. I dug one of my poachers' pits, sir, and covered it over with a lot of loose stuff. That got him all right. When I went to look this morning I saw where he'd fallen through, and there he was, walking round and round at the bottom like a caged animal. Your servants have telephoned for the police, Mr. Ashleigh," he went on, turning to the Professor, "but I'd like you just to point out to the Scotland Yard gentleman—called us yokels, he did, when he first came down—that we've a few ideas of our own down here."

Quest suddenly whispered to the Professor. Then he turned to the keeper.

"Bring him upstairs, Middleton, for a moment," he directed. "Follow us, please."

The Professor gripped Quest's arm as they ascended the stairs.

"What is this?" he asked hoarsely. "What is it you wish to do?"

"It's just an idea of my own," Quest replied. "I rather believe in that sort of thing. I want to confront him with the result of his crime."

The Professor stopped short. His eyes were half-closed.

"It is too horrible!" he muttered.

"Nothing could be too horrible for an inhuman being like this," Quest answered tersely. "I want to see whether he'll commit himself."

They passed into the bedchamber. Quest signed to the keeper to bring Craig to the side of the four-poster. Then he drew down the sheet.

"Is that your work?" he asked sternly.

Craig, up till then, had spoken no word. He had shambled to the bedside, a broken, yet in a sense, a stolid figure. The sight of the dead man, however, seemed to galvanise him into sudden and awful vitality. He threw up his arms. His eyes were horrible as they glared at those small black marks. His lips moved, helplessly at first. Then at last he spoke.

"Strangled!" he cried. "One more!"

"That is your work," the criminologist said firmly.

Craig collapsed. He would have fallen bodily to the ground if Middleton's grip had not kept him up. Quest bent over him. It was clear that he had fainted. They led him from the room.

"We'd better lock him up until the police arrive," Quest suggested. "I suppose there is a safe place somewhere?"

The Professor awoke from his stupor.

"Let me show you," he begged. "I know the way. We've a subterranean hiding-place which no criminal on this earth could escape from."

They led him down to the back part of the house, a miserable, dejected procession. Holding candles over their heads, they descended two sets of winding stone steps, passed along a gloomy corridor till they came to a heavy oak door, which Moreton, the butler, who carried the keys, opened with some difficulty. It led into a dry cellar which had the appearance of a prison cell. There was a single bench set against the wall. Quest looked around quickly.

"This place has been used before now, in the old days, for malefactors," the Professor remarked. "He'll be safe there. Craig," he added, his voice trembling, "Craig—I—I can't speak to you. How could you!"

There was no answer. Craig's face was buried in his hands. They left him there and turned the key.

2.

Quest stood, frowning, upon the pavement, gazing at the obviously empty house. He looked once more at the slip of paper which Lenora had given him. There was no possibility of any mistake:—

"Mrs. Willet, 157 Elsmere Road, Hampstead."

This was 157 and the house was empty. After a moment's hesitation he rang the bell at the adjoining door. A woman who had been watching him from the front room, answered the summons at once.

"Can you tell me," he enquired, "what has become of the lady who used to live at 157—Mrs. Willet?"

"She's moved," was the uncompromising reply.

"Do you know where to?" Quest asked eagerly.

"West Kensington—Number 17 Princes' Court Road. There was a young lady here yesterday afternoon enquiring for her."

Quest raised his hat. It was a relief, at any rate, to have news of Lenora.

"I am very much obliged to you, madam."

"You're welcome!" was the terse reply.

Quest gave the new address to the taxi-driver and was scarcely able to restrain his impatience during the long drive. They pulled up at last before a somewhat dingy-looking house. He rang the bell, which was answered by a trim-looking little maid-servant.

"Is Mrs. Willet in?" he enquired.

The maid-servant stood on one side to let him pass. Almost at the same moment, the door of the front room opened and a pleasant-looking elderly lady appeared.

"I am Mrs. Willet," she announced.

"I am Mr. Quest," the criminologist told her quickly. "You may have heard your niece, Lenora, speak of me."

"Then perhaps you can tell me what has become of her?" Mrs. Willet observed.

"Isn't she here?"

Mrs. Willet shook her head.

"I had a telegram from her from New York to say that she was coming, but I've seen nothing of her as yet."

"You've changed your address, you know," Quest reminded her, after a moment's reflection.

"I wrote and told her," Mrs. Willet began. "After all, though," she went on thoughtfully, "I am not sure whether she could have had the letter. But if she went up to Hampstead, any one would tell her where I had moved to. There's no secret about me."

"Lenora did go up to 157 Elsmere Road yesterday," Quest told her. "They gave her your address here, as they have just given it to me."

"Then what's become of the child?" Mrs. Willet demanded.

Quest, whose brain was working quickly, scribbled upon one of his cards the address of the hotel where he had taken rooms, and passed it over.

"Why Lenora didn't come on to you here I can't imagine," he said. "However, I'll go back to the hotel where she was to spend the night after she arrived. She may have gone back there. That's my address, Mrs. Willet. If you hear anything, I wish you'd let me know. Lenora's quite a particular friend of mine and I am a little anxious."

Mrs. Willet smiled knowingly.

"I'll let you know certainly, sir," she promised, "and glad I shall be to hear of Lenora's being comfortably settled, after that first unfortunate affair of hers. You'll excuse me a moment. I'm a little slower in my wits than you. Did you say that Lenora was at Hampstead yesterday afternoon and they told her my address?"

"That's so," Quest admitted.

The woman's face grew troubled.

"I don't like it," she said simply.

"Neither do I," Quest agreed.

"London's no place, nowadays," Mrs. Willet continued, "for girls as pretty as Lenora to be wandering about in. Such tales as there have been lately in the Sunday papers as makes one's blood run cold if one can believe them all."

"You don't have any—what we call the White Slave Traffic—over here, do you?" Quest asked quickly.

"I can't say that I've ever come across any case of it myself, sir," the old lady replied. "I was housekeeper to the Duke of Merioneth for fifty years, and where we lived we didn't hear much about London and London ways. You see, I never came to the town house. But since I retired and came up here, and took to reading the Sunday papers, I begin to be thankful that my ways have been country ways all my life."

"No need to alarm ourselves, I'm sure," Quest intervened, making his way towards the door. "Lenora is a particularly capable young lady. I feel sure she'd look after herself. I am going right back to the hotel, Mrs. Willet, and I'll let you know directly I hear anything."

"I shall be very anxious, Mr. Quest," she reminded him, earnestly, "very anxious indeed. Lenora was my sister's favourite child, and my sister—"

Quest had already opened the front door for himself and passed out. He sprang into the taxi which he had kept waiting.

"Clifford's Hotel in Payne Street," he told the man sharply.

He lit a cigar and smoked furiously all the way, throwing it on to the pavement as he hurried into the quiet private hotel which a fellow-passenger on the steamer had recommended as being suitable for Lenora's one night alone in town.

"Can you tell me if Miss Lenora Macdougal is staying here?" he asked at the office.

The woman shook her head.

"Miss Macdougal stayed here the night before last," she said, "and her luggage is waiting for orders. She left here yesterday afternoon to go to her aunt's, and promised to send for her things later on during the day. There they stand, all ready for her."

Quest followed the direction of the woman's finger. Lenora's familiar little belongings were there, standing in a corner of the hall.

"You haven't heard from her, then, since she went out yesterday afternoon?" he asked, with sinking heart.

"No, sir!"

"What time did she go?"

"Directly after an early lunch. It must have been about two o'clock."

Quest hurried away. So after all there was some foundation for this queer sense of depression which had been hovering about him for the last few days!

"Scotland Yard," he told the taxi-driver.

He thrust another cigar between his teeth but forgot to light it. He was amazed at his own sensations, conscious of fears and emotions of which he would never have believed himself capable. He gave in his card, and after a few moments' delay he was shown into the presence of one of the chiefs of the Detective Department, who greeted him warmly.

"My name is Hardaway," the latter announced. "Glad to meet you, Mr. Quest. We've heard of you over here. Take a chair."

"To tell you the truth," Quest replied, "my business is a little urgent."

"Glad to hear you've got that fellow Craig," Mr. Hardaway continued. "Ridiculous the way he managed to slip through our fingers. I understand you've got him all right now, though?"

"He is safe enough," Quest declared, "but to tell you the truth, I'm worried about another little affair."

"Go on," the other invited.

"My assistant, a young lady, Miss Lenora Macdougal, has disappeared! She and I and Professor Ashleigh left the steamer at Plymouth and travelled up in the boat train. It was stopped at Hamblin Road for the Professor and myself, and Miss Macdougal came on to London. She was staying at Clifford's Hotel in Payne Street for the night, and then going on to an aunt. Well, I've found that aunt. She was expecting the girl but the girl never appeared. I have been to the hotel where she spent the night before last, and I find that she left there at two o'clock and left word that she would send for her luggage. She didn't arrive at her aunt's, and the luggage is still uncalled for."



The Inspector was at first only politely interested. It probably occurred to him that young ladies have been known before now to disappear from their guardians for a few hours without serious results.

"Where did this aunt live?" he enquired.

"Number 17, Princes' Court Road, West Kensington," Quest replied. "She had just moved there from Elsmere Road, Hampstead. I went first to Hampstead. Lenora had been there and learnt her aunt's correct address in West Kensington. I followed on to West Kensington and found that her aunt was still awaiting her."

A new interest seemed suddenly to have crept into Hardaway's manner.

"Let me see," he said, "if she left Clifford's Hotel about two, she would have been at Hampstead about half-past two. She would waste a few minutes in making enquiries, then she probably left Hampstead for West Kensington, say, at a quarter to three."

"Somewhere between those two points," Quest pointed out, "she has disappeared."

"Give me at once a description of the young lady," Mr. Hardaway demanded.

Quest drew a photograph from his pocket and passed it silently over. The official glanced at it and down at some papers which lay before him. Then he looked at the clock.

"Mr. Quest," he said, "it is just possible that your visit here has been an exceedingly opportune one."

He snatched his hat from a rack and took Quest by the arm.

"Come along with me," he continued. "We'll talk as we go."

They entered a taxi and drove off westwards.

"Mr. Quest," he went on, "for two months we have been on the track of a man and a woman whom we strongly suspect of having decoyed half a dozen perfectly respectable young women, and shipped them out to South America."

"The White Slave Traffic!" Quest gasped.

"Something of the sort," Hardaway admitted. "Well, we've been closing the net around this interesting couple, and last night I had information brought to me upon which we are acting this afternoon. We've had them watched and it seems that they were sitting in a tea place about three o'clock yesterday afternoon, when a young woman entered who was obviously a stranger to London. You see, the time fits in exactly, if your assistant decided to stop on her way to Kensington and get some tea. She asked the woman at the desk the best means of getting to West Kensington without taking a taxi-cab. Her description tallies exactly with the photograph you have shown me. The woman whom my men were watching addressed her and offered to show her the way. They left the place together. My men followed them. The house has been watched ever since and we are raiding it this afternoon. You and I will just be in time."

"You've left her there since yesterday afternoon? You've left her there all night?" Quest exclaimed. "My God!"

Hardaway touched his arm soothingly.

"Don't worry, Mr. Quest," he said. "We don't want the woman alone; we want the man, too. Now the man was away. He only visits the house occasionally, and I am given to understand that he is a member of several West End clubs. When the two women entered that house yesterday afternoon, there wasn't a soul in it except servants. The woman telephoned for the man. He never turned up last night nor this morning. He arrived at that house twenty minutes ago."

Quest drew a little breath.

"It gave me a turn," he admitted. "Say, this is a slow taxi!"

The Inspector glanced out of the window.

"If this is the young lady you're looking for," he said, "you'll be in plenty of time, never fear. What I am hoping is that we may be able to catch my fellows before they try to rush the place. You understand, with your experience, Mr. Quest, that there are two things we've got to think of. We not only want to put our hand upon the guilty persons, but we want to bring the crime home to them."

"I see that," Quest assented. "How much farther is this place?"

"We're there," Hardaway told him.

He stopped the cab and they got out. A man who seemed to be strolling aimlessly along, reading a newspaper, suddenly joined them.

"Well, Dixon?" his chief exclaimed.

The man glanced around.

"I've got three men round at the back, Mr. Hardaway," he said. "It's impossible for any one to leave the place."

"Anything fresh to tell me?"

"There are two men in the place besides the governor—butler and footman, dressed in livery. They sleep out, and only come after lunch."

Hardaway paused to consider for a moment.

"Look here," Quest suggested, "they know all you, of course, and they'll never let you in until they're forced to. I'm a stranger. Let me go. I'll get in all right."

Hardaway peered around the corner of the street.

"All right," he assented. "We shall follow you up pretty closely, though."

Quest stepped back into the taxi and gave the driver a direction. When he emerged in front of the handsome grey stone house he seemed to have become completely transformed. There was a fatuous smile upon his lips. He crossed the pavement with difficulty, stumbled up the steps, and held on to the knocker with one hand while he consulted a slip of paper. He had scarcely rung the bell before a slightly parted curtain in the front room fell together, and a moment later the door was opened by a man in the livery of a butler, but with the face and physique of a prize-fighter.

"Lady of the house," Quest demanded. "Want to see the lady of the house."

Almost immediately he was conscious of a woman standing in the hall before him. She was quietly but handsomely dressed; her hair was grey; her smile, although a little peculiar, was benevolent.

"You had better come in," she invited. "Please do not stand in the doorway."

Quest, however, who heard the footsteps of the others behind him, loitered there for a moment.

"You're the lady whose name is on this piece of paper?" he demanded. "This place is all right, eh?"

"I really do not know what you mean," the woman replied coldly, "but if you will come inside, I will talk to you in the drawing-room."

Quest, as though stumbling against the front-door, had it now wide open, and in a moment the hall seemed full. The woman shrieked. The butler suddenly sprang upon the last man to enter, and sent him spinning down the steps. Almost at that instant there was a scream from upstairs. Quest took a running jump and went up the stairs four at a time. The butler suddenly snatched the revolver from Hardaway's hand and fired blindly in front of him, missing Quest only by an inch or two.

"Don't be a fool, Karl!" the woman called out. "The game's up. Take it quietly."

Once more the shriek rang through the house. Quest rushed to the door of the room from whence it came, tried the handle and found it locked. He ran back a little way and charged it. From inside he could hear a turmoil of voices. White with rage and passion, he pushed and kicked madly. There was the sound of a shot from inside, a bullet came through the door within an inch of his head, then the crash of broken crockery and a man's groan. With a final effort Quest dashed the door in and staggered into the room. Lenora was standing in the far corner, the front of her dress torn and blood upon her lip. She held a revolver in her hand and was covering a man whose head and hands were bleeding. Around him were the debris of a broken jug.

"Mr. Quest!" she screamed. "Don't go near him—I've got him covered. I'm all right."

Quest drew a long breath. The man who stood glaring at him was well-dressed and still young. He was unarmed, however, and Quest secured him in a moment.

"The girl's mad!" he said sullenly. "No one wanted to do her any harm."

Hardaway and his men came trooping up the stairs. Quest relinquished his prisoner and went over to Lenora.

"I've been so frightened," she sobbed. "They got me in here—they told me that this was the street in which my aunt lived—and they wouldn't let me go. The woman was horrible. And this afternoon this man came. The brute!"

"He hasn't hurt you?" Quest demanded fiercely, as he passed his arm around her.

She shook her head.

"He would never have done that," she murmured. "I had my hatpin in my gown and I should have killed myself first."

Quest turned to Hardaway.

"I'll take the young lady away," he said. "You know where to find us."

Hardaway nodded and Quest supported Lenora down the stairs and into the taxi-cab, which was still waiting. She leaned back and he passed his arm around her.

"Are you faint?" he asked anxiously, as they drove towards the hotel.

"A little," she admitted, "not very. But oh! I am so thankful—so thankful!"

He leaned a little nearer towards her. She looked at him wonderingly. Suddenly the colour flushed into her cheeks.

"I couldn't have done without you, Lenora," he whispered, as he kissed her.

Lenora had almost recovered when they reached the hotel. Walking up and down they found the Professor. His face, as he came towards them, was almost pitiful. He scarcely noticed Lenora's deshabille, which was in a measure concealed by the cloak which Quest had thrown around her.

"My friend!" he exclaimed—"Mr. Quest! It is the devil incarnate against whom we fight!"

"What do you mean?" Quest demanded.

The Professor wrung his hands.

"I put him in our James the Second prison," he declared. "Why should I think of the secret passage? No one has used it for a hundred years. He found it, learnt the trick—"

"You mean," Quest cried—

"He has escaped!" the Professor broke in. "Craig has escaped again! They are searching for him high and low, but he has gone!"

Quest's arm tightened for a moment in Lenora's. It was curious how he seemed to have lost at that moment all sense of proportion. Lenora was safe—the relief of that one thought overshadowed everything else in the world.

"The fellow can't get far," he muttered.

"Who knows?" the Professor replied dolefully. "The passage—I'll show it you some day and you'll see how wonderful his escape has been—leads on to the first floor of the house. He must have got into my dressing-room, for his old clothes are there and he went away in a suit of mine. No one has seen him or knows anything about him. All that the local police can find out is that a man answering somewhat his description caught the morning train for Southampton from Hamblin Roads."

They had been standing together in a little recess of the hall. Suddenly Lenora, whose face was turned towards the entrance doors, gave a little cry. She took a quick step forward.

"Laura!" she exclaimed, wonderingly. "Why, it's Laura!"

They all turned around. A young woman had just entered the hotel, followed by a porter carrying some luggage. Her arm was in a sling and there was a bandage around her forehead. She walked, too, with the help of a stick. She recognized them at once and waved it gaily.

"Hullo, you people?" she cried. "Soon run you to earth, eh?"

They were for a moment dumbfounded; Lenora was the first to find words. "But when did you start, Laura?" she asked. "I thought you were too ill to move for weeks."

The girl smiled contemptuously.

"I left three days after you, on the Kaiser Frederic," she replied. "There was some trouble at Plymouth, and we came into Southampton early this morning, and here I am. But, before we go any farther, tell me about Craig?"

"We've had him," Quest confessed, "and lost him again. He escaped last night."

"Where from?" Laura asked.

"Hamblin House."

"Is that anywhere near the south coast?" the girl demanded excitedly.

"It's not far away," Quest replied quickly. "Why?"

"I'll tell you why," Laura explained. "I was as sure of it as any one could be. Craig passed me in Southampton Water this morning, being rowed out to a steamer. Not only that but he recognized me. I saw him draw back and hide his face, but somehow I couldn't believe that it was really he. I was just coming down the gangway and I nearly fell into the sea, I was so surprised."

Quest was already turning over the pages of a time-table.

"What was the steamer?" he demanded.

"I found out," Laura told him. "I tell you, I was so sure of it's being Craig that I made no end of enquiries. It was the Barton, bound for India, with first stop at Port Said."

"When does she sail?" Quest asked.

"To-night—somewhere about seven," Laura replied.

Quest glanced at the clock and threw down the time-table. He turned towards the door. They all followed him.

"I'm for Southampton," he announced. "I'm going to try to get on board that steamer before she sails. Lenora, you'd better go upstairs and lie down. They'll give you a room here. Don't you stir out till I come back. Professor, what about you?"

"I shall accompany you," the Professor declared. "The discomforts of travelling without luggage are nothing compared with the importance of discovering this human fiend."

"Luggage—pshaw!" Laura exclaimed. "Who cares about that?"

"And nothing," Lenora declared firmly, as she caught at Quest's arm, "would keep me away."

"I'll telephone to Scotland Yard, in case they care to send a man down," Quest decided. "We must remember, though," he reminded them, "that it will very likely be a wild-goose chase."

"It won't be the first," Laura observed grimly, "but Craig's on board that ship all right."...

They caught a train to Southampton, where they were joined by a man from Scotland Yard. The little party drove as quickly as possible to the docks.

"Where does the Barton start from?" Quest asked the pier-master.

The man pointed a little way down the harbor.

"She's not in dock, sir," he said. "She's lying out yonder. You'll barely catch her, I'm afraid," he added, glancing at the clock.

They hurried to the edge of the quay.

"Look here," Quest cried, raising his voice, "I'll give a ten pound note to any one who gets me out to the Barton before she sails."

The little party were almost thrown into a tug, and in a few minutes they were skimming across the smooth water. Just as they reached the steamer, however, she began to move.

"Run up alongside," Quest ordered.

"She won't stop, sir," the Captain of the tug replied doubtfully. "She is an hour late, as it is."

"Do as I tell you," Quest insisted.

They raced along by the side of the great steamer. An officer came to the rail and shouted down to them.

"What do you want?"

"The Captain," Quest replied.

The Captain came down from the bridge, where he had been conferring with the pilot.

"Keep away from the side there," he shouted. "Who are you?"

"We are in search of a desperate criminal whom we believe to be on board your steamer," Quest explained. "Please take us on board."

The Captain shook his head.

"Are you from Scotland Yard?" he asked. "Have you got your warrant?"

"We are from America," Quest answered, "but we've got a Scotland Yard man with us, and a warrant, right enough."

"Any extradition papers?"

"No time to get them yet," Quest replied, "but the man's wanted for murder."

"Are you from the New York police?"

Quest shook his head.

"I am a private detective," he announced. "I am working in conjunction with the New York Police."

The Captain shook his head.

"I am over an hour late," he said, "and it's costing me fifty pounds a minute. If I take you on board, you'll have to come right along with me, unless you find the fellow before we've left your tug behind."

Quest turned around.

"Will you risk it?" he asked.

"Yes!" they all replied.

"We're coming, Captain," Quest decided.

A rope ladder was let down. The steamer began to slow.

"Can you girls manage it?" Quest asked doubtfully.

Laura smiled.

"I should say so," she replied. "I can go up that with only one arm. You watch me!"

They cheered her on board the steamer as she hobbled up. The others followed. The tug, the crew of which had been already well paid, raced along by the side. The Captain spoke once more to the pilot and came down from the bridge.

"I'm forced to go full speed ahead to cross the bar," he told Quest. "I'm sorry, but the tide's just on the turn."

They looked at one another a little blankly.

The Professor, however, beamed upon them all.

"I have always understood," he said, "that Port Said is a most interesting place."



CHAPTER XI

THE SHIP OF HORROR

Quest leaned a little forward and gazed down the line of steamer chairs. The Professor, in a borrowed overcoat and cap, was reclining at full length, studying a book on seagulls which he had found in the library. Laura and Lenora were both dozing tranquilly. Mr. Harris of Scotland Yard was deep in a volume of detective stories.

"As a pleasure cruise," Quest remarked grimly, "this little excursion seems to be a complete success."

Laura opened her eyes at once.

"Trying to get my goat again, eh?" she retorted. "I suppose that's what you're after. Going to tell me, I suppose, that it wasn't Craig I saw board this steamer?"

"We are all liable to make mistakes," Quest observed, "and I am inclined to believe that this is one of yours."

Laura's expression was a little dogged.

"If he's too clever for you and Mr. Harris," she said, "I can't help that. I only know that he came on board. My eyes are the one thing in life I do believe."

"If you'll excuse my saying so, Miss Laura," Harris ventured, leaning deferentially towards her, "there isn't a passenger on board this ship, or a servant, or one of the crew, whom we haven't seen. We've been into every stateroom, and we've even searched the hold. We've been over the ship, backwards and forwards. The Captain's own steward has been our guide, and we've conducted an extra search on our own account. Personally, I must say I have come to the same conclusion as Mr. Quest. At the present moment there is no such person as the man we are looking for, on board this steamer."

"Then he either changed on to another one," Laura declared obstinately, "or else he jumped overboard."

Harris, who was a very polite man, gazed thoughtfully seaward. Quest smiled.

"When Laura's set on a thing," he remarked, "she takes a little moving. What do you think about it, Professor?"

The Professor laid down his book, keeping his finger in the place. He had the air of a man perfectly content with himself and his surroundings.

"My friend," he said, "I boarded this steamer with only one thought in my mind—Craig. At the present moment, I feel myself compelled to plead guilty to a complete change of outlook. The horrors of the last few months seem to have passed from my brain like a dream. I lie here, I watch these white-winged birds wheeling around us, I watch the sunshine make jewels of the spray, I breathe this wonderful air, I relax my body to the slow, soothing movements of the boat, and I feel a new life stealing through me. Is Craig really on board? Was it really he whom Miss Laura here saw? At the present moment, I really do not care. I learn from the steward, who arranged my bath this morning, that we are bound for India. I am very glad to hear it. It is some time since I saw Bombay, and the thought of these long days of complete peace fills me with a most indescribable satisfaction."

Quest grunted a little as he knocked the ash from his cigar.

"Not much of the bloodhound about the Professor," he remarked. "What about you, Lenora?"

She smiled at him.

"I agree entirely with the Professor," she murmured, "except that I am not quite so sure that I appreciate the rhythmical movement of the boat as he seems to. For the rest, I have just that feeling that I would like to go on and on and forget all the horrible things that have happened, to live in a sort of dream, and wake up in a world from which Craig had vanished altogether."

"Enervating effect this voyage seems to be having upon you all," Quest grumbled. "Even Harris there looks far too well contented with life."

The detective smiled. He was young and fresh-coloured, with a shrewd but pleasant face. He glanced involuntarily at Laura as he spoke.

"Well, Mr. Quest," he said, "I didn't bring you on the steamer so I don't feel any responsibility about it, but I must confess that I am enjoying the trip. I haven't had a holiday this year."

Quest struggled to his feet and threw back the rug in his chair.

"If you all persist in turning this into a pleasure cruise," he remarked, "I suppose I'll have to alter my own point of view. Come on, Harris, you and I promised to report to the Captain this morning. I don't suppose he'll be any too pleased with us. Let's get through with it."

The two men walked down the deck together. They found the Captain alone in his room, with a chart spread out in front of him and a pair of compasses in his hand. He turned round and greeted them.

"Well?"

"No luck, sir," Quest announced. "Your steward has given us every assistance possible and we have searched the ship thoroughly. Unless he has found a hiding place unknown to your steward, and not apparent to us, the man is not on board."

The Captain frowned slightly.

"You are not suggesting that that is possible, I suppose?"

Quest did not at once reply. He was thinking of Laura's obstinacy.

"Personally," he admitted, "I should not have believed it possible. The young lady of our party, however, who declares that she saw Craig board the steamer, is quite immovable."

The Captain rose to his feet. He was a man of medium height, strongly built, with short brown beard and keen blue eyes.

"This matter must be cleared up entirely," he declared brusquely. "If you will excuse me for a moment, I will talk to the young lady myself."

He walked firmly down the deck to where the two girls were seated, and paused in front of Laura.

"So you're the young lady," he remarked, touching his cap, "who thinks that I come to sea with criminals stowed away on my ship?"

"I don't know what your habits are, Captain," Laura replied, "but this particular criminal boarded your ship all right in Southampton Harbour."

"Anything wrong with your eyesight?" the Captain enquired blandly.

"No," Laura assured him. "I saw the man, saw him just as plainly as I see you now."

"Do you know," the Captain persisted, "that Mr. Quest and Mr. Harris have searched every nook and corner of the ship? They have had an absolutely free hand, and my own steward has been their guide. They have seen every man, boy, woman and animal amongst my crew or passengers."

"They've been fooled somehow," Laura muttered.

The Captain frowned. He was on the point of a sharp rejoinder when he met Laura's eyes. She was smiling very faintly and there was something in her expression which changed his whole point of view.

"I'll go and make a few enquiries myself," he declared. "See you at dinner-time, I hope, young ladies."

"If you keep her as steady as this," Laura promised, "there are hopes."

He disappeared along the deck, and presently re-entered his room, where Harris and Quest were waiting for him. He was followed by his steward, an under-sized man with pallid complexion and nervous manner. He closed the door behind him.

"Brown," he said, turning to the steward, "I understand you to say that you have taken these gentlemen into every corner of the ship, that you have ransacked every possible hiding-place, that you have given them every possible opportunity of searching for themselves?"

"That is quite true, sir," the man acknowledged.

"You agree with me that it is impossible for any one to remain hidden in this ship?"

"Absolutely, sir."

"You hear, gentlemen?" the Captain continued. "I really can do no more. It is perfectly clear to me that the man you are seeking is not on my ship. Your very charming young lady friend seems to think it impossible that she could have been mistaken, but as a matter of fact she was. If I might take the liberty, Mr. Quest, I would suggest that you ask her, at any rate, to keep her suspicions to herself."

"I'll see she doesn't talk," Quest promised. "Very sorry to have given you all this trouble, I'm sure."

"It's no trouble," the Captain replied, "and apart from the disagreeable nature of your business, I am delighted to have you on board. If you can forget your suspicions about this fellow Craig, I shall do my best to make your trip a pleasant one as far as Port Said, or on to India if you decide to take the trip with me."

"Very good of you, Captain, I'm sure," Quest pronounced. "We shall go on keeping our eyes open, of course, but apart from that we'll forget the fellow."

The Captain nodded.

"I am coming down to dinner to-night," he announced, "and shall hope to find you in your places. What the mischief are you hanging about for, Brown?" he asked, turning to the steward, who was standing by with a carpet-sweeper in his hand.

"Room wants cleaning out badly, sir."

The Captain glanced distastefully at the carpet-sweeper.

"Do it when I am at dinner, then," he ordered, "and take that damned thing away."

The steward obeyed promptly. Quest and Harris followed him down the deck.

"Queer-looking fellow, that," the latter remarked. "Doesn't seem quite at his ease, does he?"

"Seemed a trifle over-anxious, I thought, when he was showing us round the ship," Quest agreed.

"M-m," Harris murmured softly, "as the gentleman who wrote the volume of detective stories I am reading puts it, we'd better keep our eye on Brown."...

The Captain, who was down to dinner unusually early, rose to welcome Quest's little party and himself arranged the seats.

"You, Miss Lenora," he said, "will please sit on my left, and you, Miss Laura, on my right. Mr. Quest, will you sit on the other side of Miss Laura, and Mr. Harris two places down on my left. There is an old lady who expects to be at the table, but the steward tells me she hasn't been in yet."

They settled down into the places arranged for them. Harris was looking a little glum. Lenora and Quest exchanged a meaning glance.

"I'm not sure that I appreciate this arrangement," Harris whispered to his neighbour.

"You may be candid," Lenora replied, "but you aren't very polite, are you?"

Harris almost blushed as he realized his slip.

"I am sorry," he said, "but to tell you the truth," he added, glancing towards Quest, "I fancied that you were feeling about the same."

"We women are poor dissemblers," Lenora murmured. "Do look how angry this old woman seems."

An elderly lady, dressed in somewhat oppressive black, with a big cameo brooch at her throat and a black satin bag in her hand, was being shown by the steward to a seat by Quest's side. She acknowledged the Captain's greeting acidly.

"Good evening, Captain," she said. "I understood from the second steward that the seat on your right hand would be reserved for me. I am Mrs. Foston Rowe."

The Captain received the announcement calmly.

"Very pleased to have you at the table, madam," he replied. "As to the seating, I leave that entirely to the steward. I never interfere myself."

Laura pinched his arm, and Lenora glanced away to hide a smile. Mrs. Foston Rowe studied the menu disapprovingly.

"Hors d'oeuvres," she declared, "I never touch. No one knows how long they've been opened. Bouillon—I will have some bouillon, steward."

"In one moment, madam."

The Professor just then came ambling along towards the table.

"I fear that I am a few moments late," he remarked, as he took the chair next to Mrs. Foston Rowe. "I offer you my apologies, Captain. I congratulate you upon your library. I have discovered a most interesting book upon the habits of seagulls. It kept me engrossed until the very last moment."

"Very disagreeable habits, those I've noticed," Mrs. Foston Rowe sniffed.

"Madam," the Professor assured her, "yours is but a superficial view. For myself, I must confess that the days upon which I learn something new in life are days of happiness for me. To-day is an example; I have learnt something new about seagulls, and I am hungry."

"Well, you'll have to stay hungry a long time at this table, then," Mrs. Foston Rowe snapped. "Seems to me that the service is going to be abominable."

The steward, who had just arrived, presented a cup of bouillon to Quest. The others had all been served. Quest stirred it thoughtfully.

"And as to the custom," Mrs. Foston Rowe continued, "of serving gentlemen before ladies, it is, I suppose, peculiar to this steamer."

Quest hastily laid down his spoon, raised the cup of bouillon and presented it with a little bow to his neighbour.

"Pray allow me, madam," he begged. "The steward was to blame."

Mrs. Foston Rowe did not hesitate for a moment. She broke up some toast in the bouillon and commenced to sip it.

"Your politeness will at least teach them a lesson," she said. "I am used to travel by the P. & O. and from what I have seen of this steamer—"

The spoon suddenly went clattering from her fingers. She caught at the sides of the table, there was a strange look in her face. With scarcely a murmur she fell back in her seat. Quest leaned hurriedly forward.

"Captain!" he exclaimed. "Steward! Mrs. Foston Rowe is ill."

There was a slight commotion. The Doctor came hurrying up from the other side of the salon. He bent over her and his face grew grave.

"What is it?" the Captain demanded.

The Doctor glanced at him meaningly.

"She had better be carried out," he whispered.

It was all done in a moment. There was nothing but Mrs. Foston Rowe's empty place at the table and the cup of bouillon, to remind them of what had happened.

"Was it a faint?" Lenora asked.

"We shall know directly," the Captain replied. "Better keep our places, I think. Steward, serve the dinner as usual."

The man held out his hand to withdraw the cup of bouillon, but Quest drew it towards him.

"Let it wait for a moment," he ordered.

He glanced at the Captain, who nodded back. In a few moments the Doctor reappeared. He leaned down and whispered to the Captain.

"Dead!"

The Captain gave no sign.

"Better call it heart failure," the Doctor continued. "I'll let the people know quietly. I don't in the least understand the symptoms, though."

Quest turned around.

"Doctor," he said, "I happen to have my chemical chest with me, and some special testing tubes. If you'll allow me, I'd like to examine this cup of bouillon. You might come round, too, if you will."

The Captain nodded.

"I'd better stay here for a time," he decided. "I'll follow you presently."

The service of dinner was resumed. Laura, however, sent plate after plate away. The Captain watched her anxiously.

"I can't help it," she explained. "I don't know whether you've had any talk with Mr. Quest, but we've been through some queer times lately. I guess this death business is getting on my nerves."

The Captain was startled.

"You don't for a moment connect Mrs. Foston Rowe's death with the criminal you are in search of?" he exclaimed.

Laura sat quite still for a moment.

"The bouillon was offered first to Mr. Quest," she murmured.

The Captain called his steward.

"Where did you get the bouillon you served—that last cup especially?" he asked.

"From the pantry just as usual, sir," the man answered. "It was all served out from the same cauldron."

"Any chance of any one getting at it?"

"Quite impossible, sir!"

Laura rose to her feet.

"Sorry," she apologized, "I can't eat anything. I'm off on deck."

The Captain rose promptly.

"I'll escort you, if I may," he suggested.

Harris, too, rose from his place, after a final and regretful glance at the menu, and joined the others. The Captain, however, drew Laura's arm through his as they reached the stairs, and Harris, with a little shrug of the shoulders, made his way to Quest's stateroom. The Doctor, the Professor, Quest and Lenora were all gathered around two little tubes, which the criminologist was examining with an electric torch.

"No reaction at all," the latter muttered. "This isn't an ordinary poison, any way."

The Professor, who had been standing on one side, suddenly gave vent to a soft exclamation.

"Wait!" he whispered. "Wait! I have an idea."

He hurried off to his stateroom. The Doctor was poring over a volume of tabulated poisons. Quest was still watching his tubes. Lenora sat upon the couch. Suddenly the Professor reappeared. He was carrying a small notebook in his hand; his manner betrayed some excitement. He closed the door carefully behind him.

"I want you all," he begged, "to listen very carefully to me. You will discover the application of what I am going to read, when I am finished. Now, if you please."

They looked at him wonderingly. It was evident that the Professor was very much in earnest. He held the book a little way away from him and read slowly and distinctly.

"This," he began, "is the diary of a tour made by Craig and myself in Northern Egypt some fourteen years ago. Here is the first entry of import:—

"Monday. Twenty-nine miles south-east of Port Said. We have stayed for two days at a little Mongar village. I have to-day come to the definite conclusion that anthropoid apes were at one time denizens of this country.

"Tuesday. Both Craig and I have been a little uneasy to-day. These Mongars into whose encampment we have found our way, are one of the strangest and fiercest of the nomad tribes. They are descended, without a doubt, from the ancient Mongolians, who invaded this country some seven hundred years before Christ. They have interbred with the Arabs to some extent, but have preserved in a marvellous way their individuality as a race. They have the narrow eyes and the thick nose base of the pure Oriental; also much of his cunning. One of their special weaknesses seems to be the invention of the most hideous forms of torture, which they apply remorselessly to their enemies."

"Pleasant sort of people," Quest muttered.

"We escaped with our lives," the Professor explained earnestly, "from these people, only on account of an incident which you will find in this next paragraph:—"

"Wednesday. This has been a wonderful day for as, chiefly owing to what I must place on record as an act of great bravery by Craig, my servant. Early this morning, a man-eating lion found his way into the encampment. The Mongars behaved like arrant cowards. They fled right and left, leaving the Chief's little daughter, Feerda, at the brute's mercy. Craig, who is by no means an adept in the use of firearms, chased the animal as he was making off with the child, and, more by good luck than anything else, managed to wound it mortally. He brought the child back to the encampment just as the Chief and the warriors of the tribe returned from a hunting expedition. Our position here is now absolutely secure. We are treated like gods, and, appreciating my weakness for all matters of science, the Chief has to-day explained to me many of the secret mysteries of the tribe. Amongst other things, he has shown me a wonderful secret poison, known only to this tribe, which they call Veedemzoo. It brings almost instant death, and is exceedingly difficult to trace. The addition of sugar causes a curious condensation and resolves it almost to a white paste. The only antidote is a substance which they use here freely, and which is exactly equivalent to our camphor."

The Professor closed his book. Quest promptly rang the bell.

"Some sugar," he ordered, turning to the steward.

They waited in absolute silence. The suggestion which the Professor's disclosure had brought to them was stupefying, even Quest's fingers, as a moment or two later he rubbed two knobs of sugar together so that the particles should fall into the tubes of bouillon, shook. The result was magical. The bouillon turned to a strange shade of grey and began slowly to thicken.

"It is the Mongar poison!" the Professor cried, with breaking voice.

They all looked at one another.

"Craig must be here amongst us," Quest muttered.

"And the bouillon," Lenora cried, clasping Quest's arm, "the bouillon was meant for you!"...

There seemed to be, somehow, amongst all of them, a curious indisposition to discuss this matter. Suddenly Lenora, who was sitting on the lounge underneath the porthole, put out her hand and picked up a card which was lying by her side. She glanced at it, at first curiously. Then she shrieked.

"A message!" she cried. "A message from the Hands! Look!"

They crowded around her. In that same familiar handwriting was scrawled across the face of the card these few words—

"To Sanford Quest.

"You have escaped this time by a chance of fortune, not because your wits are keen, not because of your own shrewdness; simply because Fate willed it. It will not be for long."

Underneath was the drawing of the clenched hands.

"There is no longer any doubt," Lenora said calmly. "Craig is on board. He must have been on deck a few minutes ago. It was his hand which placed this card in the porthole.... Listen! What's that?"

There was a scream from the deck. They all recognised Laura's voice. Harris was out of the stateroom first but they were all on deck within ten seconds. Laura was standing with one hand clasping the rail, her hand fiercely outstretched towards the lower part of the promenade deck. Through the darkness they heard the sound of angry voices.

"What is it, Laura?" Lenora cried.

She swung round upon them.

"Craig!" she cried. "Craig! I saw his face as I sat in my chair there, talking to the Captain. I saw a man's white face—nothing else. He must have been leaning over the rail. He heard me call out and he disappeared."

The Captain came slowly out of the shadows, limping a little and followed by his steward, who was murmuring profuse apologies.

"Did you find him?" Laura demanded eagerly.

"I did not," the Captain replied, a little tersely. "I ran into Brown here and we both had a shake-up."

"But he was there—a second ago!" Laura cried out.

"I beg your pardon, miss," Brown ventured, "but the deck's closed at the end, as you can see, with sail-cloth, and I was leaning over the rail myself when you shrieked. There wasn't any one else near me, and no one can possibly have passed round the deck, as you can see plainly for yourself."

Laura stood quite still.

"What doors are there on the side?" she asked.

"The doors of my room only," the Captain replied, a little shortly. "It was Brown you saw, of course. He was standing exactly where you thought you saw Craig."

Laura walked to the end of the deck and back.

"Very well, then," she said, "you people had better get a strait-waistcoat ready for me. If I didn't see Craig there, I'm going off my head."

Quest had disappeared some seconds ago. He came thoughtfully back, a little later.

"Captain," he asked, "what shall you say if I tell you that I have proof that Craig is on board?"

The Captain glanced at Laura and restrained himself.

"I should probably say a great many things which I should regret afterwards," he replied grimly.

"Sit down and we'll tell you what has happened in my room," Quest continued.

He told the story, calmly and without remark. The Captain held his head.

"Of course, I'm convinced that I am a sane man," he said, "but this sounds more like a Munchausen story than anything I've ever heard. I suppose you people are all real? You are in earnest about this, aren't you? It isn't a gigantic joke?"

"We are in deadly earnest," the Professor pronounced gravely.

"I have been down to the pantry," Quest went on. "The porthole has been open all day. It was just possible for a man to have reached the cups of bouillon as they were prepared. That isn't the point, however. Craig is cunning and clever enough for any devilish scheme on earth, and that card proves that he is on board."

"The ship shall be searched," the Captain declared, "once more. We'll look into every crack and every cupboard."

Lenora turned away with a little shiver. It was one of her rare moments of weakness.

"You won't find him! You won't ever find him!" she murmured. "And I am afraid!"

Lenora grasped the rails of the steamer and glanced downwards at the great barge full of Arab sailors and merchandise. In the near background were the docks of Port Said. It was their first glimpse of Eastern atmosphere and colour.

"I can't tell you how happy I am," she declared to Quest, "to think that this voyage is over. Every night I have gone to bed terrified."

He smiled grimly.

"Things have been quiet enough the last few days," he said. "There's Harris on this barge. Look at Laura waving to him!"

The Scotland Yard man only glanced up at them. He was occupied in leaning over towards Laura, who was on the deck below.

"If you said the word," he called out, "I wouldn't be going back, Miss Laura. I'd stick to the ship fast enough."

She laughed at him gaily.

"Not you! You're longing for your smoky old London already. You cut it out, my friend. You're a good sort, and I hope we'll meet again some day. But—"

She shook her head at him good-humouredly. He turned away, disappointed, and waved his hand to Lenora and Quest on the upper deck.

"Coming on shore, any of you?" he enquired.

"We may when the boat moves up," Quest replied. "The Professor went off on the first barge. Here he is, coming back."

A little boat had shot out from the docks, manned by a couple of Arabs. They could see the Professor seated in the stern. He was poring over a small document which he held in his hand. He waved to them excitedly.

"He's got news!" Quest muttered.

With much shouting the boat was brought to the side of the barge. The Professor was hauled up. He stumbled blindly across towards the gangway and came up the steps with amazing speed. He came straight to Quest and Lenora and gripped the former by the arm.

"Look!" he cried. "Look!"

He held out a card. Quest read it aloud:—

"There is not one amongst you with the wit of a Mongar child. Good-bye!"

"THE HANDS!"

"Where did you get it?" Quest demanded.

"That's the point—the whole point!" the Professor exclaimed excitedly. "He's done us! He's landed! That paper was pushed into my hand by a tall Arab, who mumbled something and hurried off across the docks. On the landing-stage, mind!"

The Captain came and put his head out of the door.

"Mr. Quest," he said, "can you spare me a moment? You can all come, if you like."

They moved up towards him. The Captain closed the door of his cabin. He pointed to a carpet-sweeper which lay against the wall.

"Look at that," he invited.

They lifted the top. Inside were several sandwiches and a small can of tea.

"What on earth is this?" Quest demanded.

The Captain, without a word, led them into his inner room. A huge lounge stood in one corner. He lifted the valance. Underneath were some crumbs.

"You see," he pointed out, "there's room there for a man to have hidden, especially if he could crawl out on deck at night. I couldn't make out why the dickens Brown was always sweeping out my room, and I took up this thing a little time ago and looked at it. This is what I found."

"Where's Brown?" Quest asked quickly.

"I rang down for the chief steward," the Captain continued, "and ordered Brown to be sent up at once. The chief steward came himself instead. It seems Brown went off without his wages but with a huge parcel of bedding, on the first barge this morning, before any one was about."

Quest groaned as he turned away.

"Captain," he declared, "I am ashamed. He has been here all the time and we've let him slip through our fingers. Girls," he went on briskly, turning towards Laura, who had just come up, "India's off. We'll catch this barge, if there's time. Our luggage can be put on shore when the boat docks."

The Captain walked gloomily with them to the gangway.

"I shall miss you all," he told Laura.

She laughed in his face.

"If you ask me, I think you'll be glad to be rid of us."

"Not of you, Miss Laura," he insisted.

She made a little grimace.

"You're as bad as Mr. Harris," she declared. "We'll come for another trip with you some day."

They left him leaning disconsolately over the rails. The Professor and Quest sat side by side on one of the trunks which was piled up on the barge.

"Professor," Quest asked, "how long would it take us to get to this Mongar village you spoke about?"

"Two or three days, if we can get camels," the other replied. "I see you agree with me, then, as to Craig's probable destination?"

Quest nodded.

"What sort of fellows are they, any way?" he asked. "Will it be safe for us to push on alone?"

"With me," the Professor assured him, "you will be safe anywhere. I speak a little of their language. I have lived with them. They are far more civilized than some of the interior tribes."

"We'll find a comfortable hotel where we can leave the girls—" Quest began.

"You can cut that out," Laura interrupted. "I don't know about the kid here, but if you think I'm going to miss a camel ride across the desert, you're dead wrong, so that's all there is to it."

Quest glanced towards Lenora. She leaned over and took his arm.

"I simply couldn't be left behind," she pleaded. "I've had quite enough of that."

"The journey will not be an unpleasant one," the Professor declared amiably, "and the riding of a camel is an accomplishment easily acquired. So far as I am aware, too, the district which we shall have to traverse is entirely peaceable."

They disembarked and were driven to the hotel, still discussing their project. Afterwards they all wandered into the bazaars, along the narrow streets, where dusky children pulled at their clothes and ran by their side, where every now and then a brown-skinned Arab, on a slow-moving camel, made his way through the throngs of veiled Turkish women, Syrians, Arabs, and Egyptians. Laura and Lenora, at any rate, attracted by the curious novelty of the scene, forgot the heat, the street smells, and the filthy clothes of the mendicants and loafers who pressed against them. They bought strange jewellery, shawls, beads and perfumes. The Professor had disappeared for some time but rejoined them later.

"It is all arranged," he announced. "I found a dragoman whom I know. We shall have four of the best camels and a small escort ready to start to-morrow morning. Furthermore, I have news. An Englishman whose description precisely tallies with Craig's, started off, only an hour ago, in the same direction. This time, at any rate, Craig cannot escape us."

"He might go on past the Mongar camp," Quest suggested.

The Professor shook his head.

"The Mongar village," he explained, "is placed practically at a cul-de-sac so far as regards further progress southwards without making a detour. It is flanked by a strip of jungle and desert on either side, in which there are no wells for many miles. We shall find Craig with the Mongars."

They made their way back to the hotel, dined in a cool, bare room, and sauntered out again into the streets. The Professor led the way to a little building, outside which a man was volubly inviting all to enter.

"You shall see one of the sights of Port Said," he promised. "This is a real Egyptian dancing girl."

They took their seats in the front row of a dimly-lit, bare-looking room. The stage was dark and empty. From some unseen place came the monotonous rhythm of a single instrument. They waited for some time in vain. At last one or two lights in front were lit, the music grew more insistent. A girl who seemed to be dressed in little more than a winding veil, glided on to the stage, swaying and moving slowly to the rhythm of the monotonous music. She danced a measure which none of them except the Professor had ever seen before, coming now and then so close that they could almost feel her hot breath, and Lenora felt somehow vaguely disturbed by the glitter of her eyes. An odd perfume was shaken into the air around them from her one flowing garment, through which her limbs continually flashed. Lenora looked away.

"I don't like it," she said to Quest simply.

Suddenly Laura leaned forward.

"Look at the Professor," she whispered.

They all turned their heads. A queer change seemed to have come into the Professor's face. His teeth were gleaming between his parted lips, his head was a little thrust forward, his eyes were filled with a strange, hard light. He was a transformed being, unrecognisable, perturbing. Even while they watched, the girl floated close to where he sat and leaned towards him with a queer, mocking smile. His hand suddenly descended upon her foot. She laughed still more. There was a little exclamation from Lenora. The Professor's whole frame quivered, he snatched the anklet from the girl's ankle and bent over it. She leaned towards him, a torrent of words streaming from her lips. The Professor answered her in her own language. She listened to him in amazement. The anger passed. She held out both her hands. The Professor still argued. She shook her head. Finally he placed some gold in her palms. She patted him on the cheek, laughed into his eyes, pointed behind and resumed her dancing. The anklet remained in the Professor's hand.

"Say, we'll get out of this," Quest said. "The girls have had enough."

The Professor made no objection. He led the way, holding the anklet all the time close to his eyes, and turning it round. They none of them spoke to him, yet they were all conscious of an immense sense of relief when, after they had passed into the street, he commenced to talk in his natural voice.

"Congratulate me," he said. "I have been a collector of Assyrian gold ornaments all my life. This is the one anklet I needed to complete my collection. It has the double mark of the Pharaohs. I recognised it at once. There are a thousand like it, you would think, in the bazaars there. In reality there may be, perhaps, a dozen more in all Egypt which are genuine."