Both horses were fit; they went moving past in free and easy style. Some said Bandmaster was a bit above himself; another gallop or two would have made all the difference, but the trainer said no; the horse always did better when a trifle big.

They were to run over the last two miles of the Caesarewitch course, a sure test of a horse's stamina.

They were sent on their journey at once and Rainstorm made the running. Wrench told Bradley he need not fear making as much use of him as he thought fit.

Colley was content to wait, keeping well in the track of the leader. Skane said to him before he mounted:

"Don't bustle him, let the other fellow make the pace; come as fast as you like at the end of the first mile, he'll think it's another Hunt Cup gallop. He's got the speed, we all know that, and I want to prove he's a stayer as well."

Rainstorm reveled in the going, which was fairly hard. He loved to hear his feet rattle; this was the sort of ground he was used to. Bandmaster seemed indifferent to the going, he galloped just as well when the ground was heavy; his temper was of the best, an easy horse to ride, always ready to run a genuine race.

Colley knew he was going well, and was content to wait for the end of the first mile as Skane had told him.

There was much jubilation as Rainstorm came striding along in front; this time no doubt the result would be in favor of the Australian. Mr. Hallam was satisfied; his favorite was going in his best form; the honor of Australia would be upheld, he felt certain of winning.

Fred Skane looked on with a smile of satisfaction. At the end of the first mile Bandmaster was going as strong as when he had started, and had not been at full speed. He waited for Colley to bring him along, thinking there would be a surprise for the folks who regarded the horse as a non-stayer.

Alan, despite the trainer's assurance, still had doubts about his horse. He thought Bandmaster was running unkindly, and put it down to his objections to going the distance.

Colley still waited, and Fred Skane wondered if he had mistaken the distance. The jockey had not, but it occurred to him Bandmaster's run would come better at the six furlongs than the mile. Skane gave him discretionary powers because he knew the horse and how to ride him.

"Here he comes," said Skane to himself, as he fixed his glasses on the horse.

Bandmaster responded to Colley's call; he dashed forward at a great pace and drew almost level with Rainstorm. This was a revelation to doubters, and some wagers were laid that Alan's horse would win.

Bradley, having been just beaten on Southerly Buster, was determined to turn the tables this time. Jack Wrench told him what a great horse Rainstorm was, one of the best stayers in Australia. "Nearly as good as Carbine," he said.

This, combined with his own opinion that Bandmaster was only a miler, made him sanguine, and when Rainstorm made the running without an effort he considered the race at the end of ten furlongs as good as won.

It came as a surprise when Bandmaster drew alongside, but he considered this effort a flash in the pan, anticipating the horse's falling back. At the end of another furlong Bandmaster still stuck to his work, and Colley appeared to be taking things easily.

"He's trying to fox me," thought Bradley.

Four furlongs from home Alan's horse was still going strong, showing no signs of shirking or giving way under pressure.

Bradley began to have doubts. Bandmaster traveled like a stayer, no doubt about it; still he could not quite believe he would last it out.

Rainstorm lacked one thing, a fine turn of speed to finish up with; this was where Bandmaster came in.

Colley urged his mount forward and headed his opponent. Bandmaster showed in front, and Bradley began to niggle at Rainstorm in order to keep his place. The Hunt Cup winner was traveling almost as fast as at Ascot and so great was the pace that Rainstorm felt the pressure. There seemed every possibility of this race's being as close as the first; it was astonishing how well the horses were matched. If anybody had doubts about the merits of Australian horses they were being rapidly dispelled.

There was a bigger crowd than the previous day, for the great race between The Duke and Southerly Buster roused sporting enthusiasm to a high pitch. The best patrons of racing were present, men who thoroughly enjoyed a match of this kind and were content with a fiver on the one they fancied.

The cheering began when the pair reached the stands, and was renewed again and again.

Alan was keenly interested in the result. If Bandmaster beat Rainstorm he would be delightfully surprised. He smiled as he pictured Fred Skane crowing over the doubters and pronouncing Bandmaster the best horse in the land.

Eve was anxious. She wanted Alan to win both matches; at the same time she was glad Mr. Hallam's horses showed such good form. She was quite willing to accept his excuse that they would have done better had they been thoroughly acclimatized. There was, however, little time to think over these things; all attention was concentrated on the race, which was now at the most exciting part, and the tumult at its height. The brown jacket with the blue sleeves held the lead as they came up the rise, but the black and orange hoops were close on to them, and Rainstorm's head was at Bandmaster's girth.

It was a punishing finish, but neither horse gave way—a splendid display of dogged courage and endurance, it appealed to all that was best in thousands of people witnessing it.

Bradley roused himself for a final effort; few jockeys had his strength at the end of a severe course; he had snatched races out of the fire by sheer power of endurance.

Tommy had beaten him yesterday; he was almost savagely determined not to be placed second to-day. Every nerve was strained, all his resources, and they were many, were called upon. He rode with his head as well as his legs, and judged every little thing in favor of his mount.

If Rainstorm had a bit of brilliant dash in him all would be well, but had he? From the way the horse had traveled Ben doubted but nevertheless determined to test him to the utmost. He felt the horse roll a trifle and held him firm. What caused this? He was certain Rainstorm was not beaten.

Then Bandmaster did the same thing, but it was more of a lurch and Colley gasped in surprise. Both jockeys were straining to the utmost but had not drawn their whips. Bradley was the first to raise his arm; Colley saw it and immediately followed suit. The whips came down simultaneously, the result was equal and the horses kept their positions. Again the whips fell and this time it was Bandmaster made the better response.

It was not a cruel race; these reminders were not vicious, so sensitive were the wonderfully bred horses that they answered to the least call.

Alan's horse gained half a length and there was a terrific cheer; the brown and blue was well in front, the black and orange hoops fell back.

A look of disappointment stole over Bernard Hallam's face. Rainstorm was his favorite; he would have given much to see him win. Two miles was his best distance. What a horse Bandmaster must be to beat him! A Hunt Cup winner giving Rainstorm the go-by over two miles—it was hardly credible; but there was the hard fact.

"Ah!"

Mr. Hallam exclaimed loudly.

"Hurrah!"

He shouted at the top of his voice.

"Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!"

The cry came again in three loud, victorious cheers.

And what caused it? Why this sudden change from despondency to joyful hope of victory?

Rainstorm, after a prodigious effort on Bradley's part, drew level with Bandmaster, got his head in front, kept it there, and the judge's box was only a few yards away. A wonderful bit of riding, a great and gallant effort on the part of a good horse.

Tommy almost yelled as he drove Bandmaster along; to be defeated after all, no, he couldn't stand that. He never rode a better race and he had a good horse under him.

The last effort made by Rainstorm seemed likely to carry him first past the post, and Bernard Hallam was sure of winning. Bandmaster, however, would not be denied, the horse divined there was danger of losing; being full of courage he resented this and put forth his strength and speed to stave off defeat. How he did it Colley could not tell, but by some almost magical power he drew level with Rainstorm again and the desperate struggle continued.

The best thoroughbred never knows when he is beaten; so it was in the case of Bandmaster, who hung on to his opponent with bulldog tenacity. Bernard Hallam hardly believed it possible that Alan's horse had again got on terms with Rainstorm. The angle was deceiving and his colors still appeared to be in front; so thought hundreds of others.

For a brief moment the eyes of the jockeys met; each saw grim determination there, then they looked ahead and the judge's box loomed up clear and close.

The finish was thrilling. As they flashed past the post the question was asked, "What's won?" and nobody could tell.

"Close as The Duke's race," said one.

"Gone one better; Rainstorm won," said one of the Australians.

"Don't think so; that was a terrific run of Bandmaster's," replied another.

The numbers seemed a long time going up, then number one was slipped in; before the roar of Bandmaster's supporters died away number two appeared alongside it. The result was a dead heat—a mighty struggle—a dead heat over two miles. The owners were not likely to run it off, so which was the better horse was not settled and there would be much food for argument.



CHAPTER XXI

THE RAID

"We shall have to make another match to settle the question," said Mr. Hallam.

"I'm willing," laughed Alan, "but give me time. I must go back at once; there's some tough work to be done before long."

"When you like," replied Mr. Hallam. "I am not going back to Australia at present. I have no wish to be sent to the bottom of the sea."

Alan said good-bye to Eve at The Forest. Before leaving for London he saw Duncan Fraser. Everything was going well, no cause for anxiety, and the manager spoke hopefully of the future.

Alan was surprised when he heard of Jane Thrush's marriage and rated Tom soundly for "throwing her away" on such a fellow.

Tom remonstrated in a sullen way, saying he thought it a good match for his daughter.

"You'll find out it is not," said Alan sharply. "The man is probably in the pay of the enemy, and will be laid by the heels before long; then she will come back to you and you'll be glad to have her."

Alan suspected Tom had been bribed by Meason; he knew his fondness for money but did not question him on this subject.

Tom Thrush thought over what Alan said. It caused him some uneasiness. He had a great respect for him and his opinions and knew he would not make an assertion without good grounds for doing so.

Carl Meason and his wife arrived at a small resort on the East Coast and stayed at an hotel. She wondered why he came here; there was not much to see, it was dull. Once she had been to Scarboro' and enjoyed the brief stay, but H—— was a different place.

Meason left her alone a good deal. The excuse was he had work to do; he did not explain what it was.

After a week in Meason's company Jane already began to repent her hurried marriage. Carl was rough; some of the veneer wore off rapidly. He gave her money and told her to amuse herself, but there was little chance of that in such a place.

"Why don't you take me with you? I'd like to see the country," said Jane.

"Can't be done, my dear; not yet, at least. Wait a week or two and I may be able to do so," he replied.

"What are you so very busy about?" she asked.

He declined to gratify her curiosity and said a wife ought to trust her husband; to which she responded that he didn't seem to trust her.

"Perhaps you'd rather go back to your father?" he sneered.

"You are unkind; you know I would not, but I think you might be with me more; it's lonely here," she said with tears in her eyes.

He kissed her, talked soothingly, and she was pacified. When alone she wondered what he was about. She thought the proprietor of the hotel and others regarded him with suspicion; it made her uneasy; she began to consider what Abel Head and others had said about him at Little Trent.

Already Zeppelin raids had been made on the coast, also S.E. counties, but Jane paid little heed to them. She looked at the pictures but they gave little information.

Carl came back very late, or rather early in the morning; she had gone to bed in a depressed state. What kept him out until this hour? It was three o'clock when he came into the room. She sat up in bed, the light was burning, and looked at him half frightened.

"I thought you were never coming," she said. "Where have you been?"

He locked the door, then sank into a chair exhausted.

"I'm tired out," he said.

"Where have you been?" she asked again.

"I went to ——; the car broke down; I had to have it repaired. It's all right now; I'll take you out to-morrow, Jane," he said.

This pacified her, but as she looked at him she fancied she detected signs of fear in his face; there was a furtive, hunted look about him. There was startling news in the papers next morning. A Zeppelin raid on the Norfolk coast was reported. Several people were killed and injured.

There was much excitement in the hotel; nothing else was talked about, and Carl Meason was regarded with curiosity. It was known he had been out in his motor until the early hours of the morning—perhaps he had seen the Zeppelins.

Questions were put to him. He replied that he saw nothing of them; his car broke down and it was a long time before he got it repaired. He was miles away in a lonely part of the country when it happened; fortunately he knew all about cars and the works; it was a great advantage to put your car right when it went wrong. He spoke freely, courting questions, made comments on the raid. He had recovered his self-possession during the few hours' rest and was willing to meet all comers.

Jane was packing in her room when he went downstairs; he told her they would leave in the afternoon. After all it was a dull place for her and another part of the country would suit her best, or would she prefer to go to London for a few days?

She said she would love to see London, she had never been there; it must be a grand place.

He promised to consider it over and left her in the room.

Carl went out to examine his car; he was very particular about it.

"Nobody's been meddling," he thought; "it's just as I brought it in. It was a deuce of a run, exciting while it lasted. I don't think anybody spotted me."

When Jane reached the foot of the stairs she heard people talking in the private bar. There were three or four of them, she concluded, but the door was almost closed and she could not see inside. One voice she recognized as the landlord's.

The mention of her husband's name caused her to stand still and listen. The men were discussing the raid, from which she gathered that it was supposed the Zeppelins were guided by a motor car with a powerful light. Strong remarks were passed and hopes expressed that the scoundrel would be caught. It was surmised he was in the pay of the Huns—a spy—and he deserved shooting.

"He's a mysterious fellow," said the landlord, alluding to Carl Meason. "He was out in his motor half the night, came home between two and three. I'd like to know where he went; if I had something definite to go on I'd give warning to the police."

"You'd better do that in any case," said one of the men. "You'll be on the safe side then."

"That's all right," said the landlord, "but I might get into trouble if there's nothing wrong with him."

"Risk it, Frank; it's worth it. There's no end of these spies about, and the sooner they're stopped the better."

"I'll think it over—if he's a spy I'm sorry for his wife. She's a pretty quiet little woman, far too good for him."

Jane heard this conversation; she saw the door move and stepped into the hall. It was the landlord looked out and wished her good-day.

"I have been packing," she said, with a faint attempt at a smile.

"You are leaving?" he asked.

"I believe so. My husband talks about going this afternoon," she replied.

"He has not said anything to me at present. He's outside looking over his motor; he had a breakdown yesterday—lucky he could put it right. He was a long way from a town—Norwich would probably be the nearest," said Frank Spatts, the landlord.

Jane looked at him inquiringly. Carl told her he had the car repaired at ——. This was another tale.

"Yes, I believe he had a breakdown," she said hesitatingly.

"You've heard of the Zeppelin raid last night? Some damage was done on the Coast, a cowardly thing killing innocent people, women and children."

"Oh, I am sorry!" exclaimed Jane. "It is terrible. They must have been near here. Perhaps that is why my husband is leaving."

Spatts smiled as he said:

"It may be the reason. I'll ask him when he comes in."

Jane went out. The sea breeze blew refreshingly; she felt rather faint and it revived her. She did not go direct to the garage but walked along the front; there were few visitors about. She sat down presently. Two men occupied the other end of the seat.

"The police are almost certain the Zeppelins were guided by a motor car. Wish they'd find it," said one of the men.

Jane got up; she could not stand any more of this; she blamed herself for connecting this motor car with Carl. Why did he tell her he had the car repaired at —— and the landlord that he did it himself? She walked back to the hotel very uneasy and found Carl standing at the door with the landlord; they were laughing—this relieved her. Carl turned to her and said:

"Have you packed? We leave after lunch."

She said she had, and asked if he had read about the Zeppelin raid.

"We were just talking about it," he replied.

Spatts went inside, leaving them together.

"The man's a fool," said Carl, jerking his head in the direction of the landlord.

"Is he? What were you laughing at?" asked Jane.

"He said he thought it probable somebody in a motor car guided the airships," said Carl.

"And you think that is not correct?"

"Of course it isn't; how could they do it? I soon proved to him it was not possible, and it was then he laughed at the absurdity of the idea."

"You told me you had the car repaired at ——," she said.

"Well?"

"You told him you did the repairs yourself, in a lonely part of the country."

"Don't be a fool, Jane. I don't wish everybody to know where I have been."

"You were at ——?"

"Yes."

"Did you see the airship over there?"

"I saw something hovering in the air but of course I never dreamed it was one of those things."

"And you heard no bombs explode?"

He laughed as he replied:

"Not likely. I should hardly wait for that."

She was not satisfied. When they started on their journey the landlord said:

"I hope you will not have another breakdown, Mr. Meason."

"No fear of that. I've patched it up well; it will carry us to our destination."

"Where's that?"

"Beyond York," said Carl.

"Inquisitive beggar," he said to Jane when the car was away.

"We are not going to York?" she asked.

"No, you asked to go to London; we'll get there to-night," he said.

"Then why did you tell him we were going to York?"

"Because it suited my purpose," he replied.



CHAPTER XXII

JANE SUSPECTS

The journey to London was accomplished without mishap. Carl was a good driver; the car sped along at a rapid pace. Jane enjoyed the ride; the scenery was new to her, and she was observant.

Arriving at the city he drove to the Fairfax Hotel, a quiet place mostly used by families. There was no garage. Leaving Jane there, he went to put up the car.

She waited for him. He seemed a long time coming. She did not care to leave the room in his absence.

At last he came. He made no apology for being away so long; he seemed preoccupied and said little.

They dined together, and then he took her out. The streets were dull and dark, very few lights in the shops, hardly any in the streets. The noise and bustle confused her.

"There's not much to see at night," he said; "we'll have a look round to-morrow."

"What's that?" she asked in alarm.

"A searchlight," he replied laughing. "There's any amount of them but they don't appear to be of much service."

"What are they used for?"

"To discover the whereabouts of Zeppelins."

"It can't be very safe here?"

"It's safe enough; they won't drop bombs near where we are staying."

"How do you know?"

"Oh well, it's not likely; they'll go for something more important than the Fairfax Hotel," he replied.

Jane was tired. They went to bed early. She awoke in the middle of the night and found Carl missing. She thought this strange. There was a dim light burning. She sat up; perhaps he had only gone out of the room, then she noticed his clothes were not there; he had evidently dressed.

She tried to sleep but could not. She was afraid and shivered under the bed-clothes. He had no right to leave her in the hotel at this hour. His actions were mysterious; he always appeared to have something to do in the night. She had no watch and wondered what time it was; then she heard a clock strike one. He must have gone out when she fell asleep.

Soon after she heard an explosion. It sounded some distance away. Then she heard movements in the house, people hurrying about, voices calling. It was strange and disquieting.

Some one paused outside her door; then she heard the handle turn and Carl came into the room, swiftly, silently, closing the door after him and locking it.

She pretended to be asleep, heard him come to the bedside and breathed heavily. He seemed satisfied she did not hear him. He moved away. She opened her eyes and saw him unlocking his suitcase; his back was toward her. He took out some papers, sorted them, put a couple on the dressing-table, then placed the others in the case.

He lit a candle but first turned round and looked at her. She breathed heavily.

She was cautious but she watched him over the top of the clothes, which were drawn up to her face. She was surprised to see him carefully burn the papers. He placed the candle on a newspaper so that the ashes would fall on it. He pressed the pieces with his hand as they fell. When they were consumed he wrapped the remains in a piece of the paper, screwed it tightly, then put the small package in the case. He then undressed and came to the bed.

There was a knock at the door but he made no response. It was repeated, this time louder, sharper.

Carl said in a half-sleepy voice:

"Who's there?"

"It's me, the hall porter; I want to see you for a moment."

Carl got out of bed grumbling. Jane thought he was a long time unlocking the door. She moved restlessly but still pretended to be asleep.

"What is it? Why the deuce do you rouse me at this hour of the night?" asked Carl angrily.

"Mr. Hurd, the manager, said he thought he saw you come into the house a few minutes ago; I said you had not, that you were in your room; I did not see you and I was in the hall."

"Confound him! I shan't stay here if I'm roused up at this unearthly hour. It's abominable! You are disturbing my wife's rest. What are the people tearing about the place for?" asked Carl as he heard footsteps.

"Didn't you hear the explosion? They are at it again."

"Hush!" said Carl. "You'll wake my wife; it will frighten her. You've all gone mad. I heard nothing."

"I'm sorry, sir, but Mr. Hurd was so certain he saw you come in I thought I'd see for myself."

"And what the devil does it matter to him whether I was out or in?" asked Carl sharply.

"That's not my business, sir. Please excuse me. I'll tell him you are in your room," said the man, shuffling away. "Queer smell of burning," he muttered as he went along the landing; "seemed to be in his room."

The manager was in the hall. With him were an inspector of police and a detective.

"Well?" asked Hurd.

"He's in his room, undressed and in bed. I knew he didn't come in."

"You're mistaken," said the Inspector. "He did. I saw him."

"He gave me an accurate description of Mr. Meason," said Hurd, "and I am certain I saw him come in."

The hall porter shook his head.

"I was here when you came downstairs and I didn't see him."

"It's very strange," said the Inspector, looking at the detective. "Are you sure he's the man you followed, that he came in here?"

"We both saw him," said the detective dryly.

"If it is the man, he's been precious quick undressing and getting into bed," said the Inspector doubtfully.

Several people were in the hall. The explosion roused them. They made anxious inquiries; the manager assured them.

Carl Meason listening upstairs little knew what a narrow escape he had. He was not aware he was followed as he hurried back to the hotel nor was he aware that an accurate description of him was in the hands of the police.

It was Valentine Braund, the American millionaire, who had given information to the authorities. He had been to Little Trent the day after Meason left the Sherwood Inn, and a piece of paper found in Carl's room by Abel Head confirmed his suspicions that the man was Karl Shultz who he was convinced was the organizer of the explosion at the Valentine Steel Works. He had asked Head to give him the paper. It did not appear to be of much importance but the name Mannie Kerrnon was written on it. Braund knew this was the woman who worked with Shultz, and his interest became active. He was a determined man and had made up his mind never to forget Shultz. He had already spent money freely trying to find him. He left Head very much mystified and proceeded to interview Tom Thrush.

Thrush recognized him and as usual scented money. Braund proceeded cautiously, asking all sorts of questions about the country, Mr. Chesney, and the stud, also speaking of the two matches at Newmarket which he saw decided.

Tom was completely off his guard and replied with a laugh to his question as to Jane's marriage:

"I don't think she's done amiss. He seems a good sort of man and he has money."

"Well, I hope it will turn out all right," said Braund. "Where did they spend the honeymoon?"

Tom explained. He had heard from Jane. They were at H——.

Braund had some difficulty in restraining his impatience.

"Nice place, isn't it?" he said.

"Quiet, she found it a bit dull; expect they've left by this."

Braund remained with him some little time and then drove away in his motor. He did not return to the Sherwood Inn but told his chauffeur to go the nearest way to H——, "and get there as fast as you can without running into danger."

He soon discovered where Meason and his wife stayed, made inquiries, Frank Spatts gave him every information.

"He was out till nearly three in the morning," said Spatts.

"The night the Zeppelins were over?"

"Yes; he left the next afternoon," said Spatts.

Valentine Braund also discovered that Meason's car had not taken the York road but had traveled London way. He followed quickly and arrived in town not long after Meason. It was Braund who set the police on his track. He was with them when he found they had allowed him to leave the Fairfax Hotel. The Inspector told him they had not sufficient evidence to go upon and were not justified in arresting him.

"You might have stretched a point," grumbled Braund.

"That's all very well. I don't say you're not right, but we have to be very careful in such cases," said the Inspector.

"You are so careful that you allow fellows in motor cars to scour the country and pilot these raiders," snapped Braund.

Carl Meason was alarmed. The police had been informed as to his movements; he had very little doubt about that. He told Jane he must leave London at once, it was very important; he was going to Margate, but she must not tell anybody.

She was disappointed. He had promised to take her about London; she had seen nothing of it.

He answered her sharply. His business was more important than tramping about London.

What was his business, she asked again, and her constant repetition irritated him. He gave no satisfactory replies and she resented this. Jane was sharp, her faculties developed. She was not so simple as he imagined. He was surprised at her persistence. Was she beginning to suspect him? If so what did she think?

The journey to Margate by road was interesting. There was not much conversation. When she spoke he answered in monosyllables. He drove to the White Hart Hotel facing the harbor and engaged a front room.

"You'll be able to pass the time watching the people," he said, "and the harbor is always interesting."

"What shall you be doing?" she asked.

"Don't keep cross-examining me," he replied. "It puts me in a bad temper."

"You are generally in a bad temper," she said.

"Look here, Jane, my girl, we'd better understand each other," he replied. "I have work to do and I mean to carry it out whether you like it or not."

"Are you tired of me already?" she asked.

"Not exactly, but you are going the right way to bring it about," he answered.

"I have a right to know what you are doing."

"Some day if you are very good I may tell you," he said.

Jane became suspicious. The more she was left to herself, the more time she had to think matters over. It seemed strange that Carl was always about where there were Zeppelin raids. She began to connect him with them. Abel Head had called him a spy, perhaps he was, at any rate his movements were suspicious.

The conversations she had heard were disquieting. It was evident several people had doubts about him. She was his wife and she was determined if he did not treat her well not to put up with his conduct. She had money—she took care of that—and she could always go home.



CHAPTER XXIII

ALAN'S DANGER

Eve Berkeley was anxious, having not heard from Alan for several weeks. She eagerly scanned the papers but found no mention of his name. Ella Hallam was with her. Eve was glad of company, it cheered her, and Duncan Fraser came frequently to The Forest, generally looking in at Trent Park on the way.

Eve surmised that Ella was the attraction and hoped that her friend would recognize his many good qualities. She liked Fraser. He did so much for Alan, and the business prospered under his management. He had not heard from him and, like Eve, was growing anxious.

"Perhaps he has been sent on an important mission," he said, "and is unable to write. When he left he hinted at something of the kind."

"The suspense is more than I can bear," she replied.

"I am sure he is safe," said Ella. "Mr. Chesney is capable of taking care of himself."

"Under ordinary circumstances," said Eve; "but there is danger everywhere in France."

Captain Morby was home on leave. He came to see Eve. She welcomed him cordially. Had he any news of Alan?

He looked grave and her heart sank.

"You will keep it secret?" he said.

"Anything you will tell me I will not repeat," she replied.

"He was sent to Brussels," said Harry.

"Brussels!" exclaimed Eve. "Right into the enemy's quarters!"

"Yes, a dangerous mission, but no one so competent to perform it successfully as Alan."

"But Brussels! He will never come out alive!"

Harry smiled as he replied:

"It is part of a great danger, but even if he were discovered I do not suppose his life would be forfeited, although he might be detained."

"Why did he go, who sent him?" she asked.

"A highly placed member of the Belgian Government. I was told on best authority he was specially requested to go," said Harry.

"Then I am not surprised he placed his services at their disposal," said Eve.

"No more am I."

It was quite true. Alan had accepted this dangerous mission which, if successfully accomplished, would render great service. He had full permission to go and did not underestimate the risk.

Discarding his uniform he put on civilian clothes and posed as a Belgian. He spoke French fairly well and this helped him. After many narrow escapes he succeeded in reaching Brussels, where he was in danger of discovery every hour. He walked about the streets openly, sat in several cafes, and talked with the people. There were hundreds of German officers and soldiers, but there was nothing particularly suspicious about Alan's appearance. He was well disguised and did not look at all like an Englishman.

Despite this some officers looked at him curiously and in the course of a few days he fancied he was followed.

He succeeded in his mission and learned by heart what he had to say on his return. There were many willing Belgians ready to help him at the risk of their lives. In a fortnight he was ready to leave the city; but this was more difficult than entering it. On every side were Germans, and nobody was allowed to leave Brussels without a special permit, and these were hard to get. He had to wait as patiently as possible for a favorable opportunity. Every day he remained the situation became more dangerous.

So far he had avoided speaking to any of the Englishwomen who were still in the city. He knew he was watched, that the first false step might be fatal.

He did not think there would be much risk in calling at the English nursing home. Many Belgians went there, and he had so far passed as such.

He called, Nurse Ranger received him in her private room. She heard who he was and why he was there. She volunteered to assist him in getting away.

She offered to procure him a permit to leave Brussels, but was afraid it would take some time. When it was secured it would only take him to Bruges or somewhere within the German occupied territory.

Alan said his chief difficulty was to get out of Brussels. Once free from the city he would have a chance of returning to the English lines.

Nurse Ranger was a courageous, a fearless woman, who had rendered valuable assistance to Belgians desirous of joining their comrades in arms.

After some difficulty she procured Alan a permit to leave the city under the name of Armand Roche. This she obtained through a German officer she had nursed back to life and who, for once in a way, proved grateful. Alan did not immediately make use of it.

The permit was countersigned by the Governor and therefore he considered it would frank him anywhere. It expressly stated, however, the limits in which it was available. At last he put it to the test, and arrived as far as Bruges. He had been in the quaint old city before and knew it well. What a contrast to the last time he was there! He recalled it vividly. Now the old market-place was filled with German troops and the hotel where he had formerly stayed tenanted by German officers. It was lucky for him his permit was signed by the Governor of Brussels; he soon found nothing less would have franked him.

The risk would come when he tried to return to his own lines and he prepared for it. All went well. He had a horse provided for him, a fast one that had once been a racer, and he must trust to luck once he got clear of the German lines. How to get clear was, however, a puzzle and he tried to solve it as best he could.

He met one or two German officers who spoke French, and seemed to get on well with them. They were suspicious—he saw that—and of course he did not trust them, but they proved useful as he went about with them. They bragged about their conquests, and Alan urged them on until in their boastfulness they gave him an account of the vast power of the German Army on the Western front and he got valuable information as to the best way to reach the scene of the fighting and the nearest trenches.

He made his attempt to leave Bruges one dark night and had not much trouble in getting out of the town. The danger began when he came to the outskirts and had to pass the cordon drawn round the town to prevent people from leaving in certain directions.

He made the attempt in several quarters and found it too risky; but on this particular night fortune favored him.

It was dark. He rode up to the guard and was challenged. He handed his permit, and when it was being examined he made a bolt into the more open country. For a few precious moments the Germans were surprised and Alan was away in the dark at top speed. The horse was a flyer and no mistake. His heart beat high with hope as he felt it bound under him. Shots were fired but fell short. Then he heard a noise behind him but it was too dark to see anything.

He rode straight ahead, judging this would take him out of the Germans' country. For several hours he went on at a great pace. Occasionally his horse stumbled, but that gave him no anxiety, for he was used to all kinds of situations when riding.

When light began to steal over the landscape he took in the lay of the land. He was in the middle of a wide flat country; the ground was wet and marshy. He had no idea where he was but he seemed safe from pursuit. Not a soul was to be seen. He slowed the horse down to a walk, it was time the animal had a rest.

Where was he?

He went slowly on; then he saw in the distance what looked like a white farm-house. It was a dwelling of some kind and he made for it. As he came within hail an old man stepped out, a Belgian peasant, so Alan judged him by his appearance. He spoke to him in French. The old man regarded him curiously. As Alan looked at him he thought:

"He's a better man than I imagined. Perhaps he's disguised."

In answer to Alan's question he said in excellent French:

"Who are you? You don't look like a civilian."

Alan determined to be straight with him; it would probably be best.

"I am a soldier. I wish to find the English lines."

"Ah!" exclaimed the man. "Get down, come inside. Where are you from?"

"Bruges."

The man held up his hands, tears came into his eyes. He lamented the fall of the city, its occupation by the Germans. He had a daughter in Bruges when the enemy entered the city. He wrung his hands; his grief was painful. He said no more, but Alan guessed and grasped his hands in sympathy—and hate.

Alan put the horse in the tumble-down stable, the roof was half off, the rafters hanging down, the walls crumbling—an old place. It had been in the family of Jean Baptistine for many years. He was a lone man, no wife, three sons fighting, and his daughter—ah well, she was where no harm could come to her. She had saved her honor and sacrificed her life. He was glad of that, very glad, honor was more than life.

He gave Alan food, coarse but clean, which he enjoyed, for he was hungry.

Jean talked freely. He supposed he and his farmhouse were left alone because they were out of the fire zone, or perhaps the barbarians did not think it worth while to meddle with him. There was no wine in the house. He procured a little brandy which he gave to Alan and sipped a small quantity himself.

Alan learned that he was in the enemies' country, that it would be difficult for him to get to the Allied lines. He might be taken at any moment and shot on the spot. He had left his permit in the hands of the guard when he galloped away.

Jean Baptistine said there was no immediate danger. Soldiers did not often come his way. His guest had better lie concealed for a few days. He would be glad of his company, something might happen, the Boches might be driven back defeated.

Alan being tired went upstairs to lie down. The bed was clean, the room smelt fresh. Jean told him to rest comfortably. He threw himself on the bed; before Jean left the room he was asleep.

The sun streaming through the small windows woke him. He sat up, wondering at first where he was.

On the old-fashioned table he saw a pair of gloves and a cigar-case. How came they there?

He got off the bed, took the cigar-case in his hands, and stared in amazement. The monogram V.N. was engraved on it, he recognized it, he had given it to Vincent Newport when he resigned his commission; and Captain Newport was posted among the missing. How came the case here, and the glove?

He was examining them when Jean came up the crazy stairs into the room.

To Alan's rapid question he said:

"He was an officer, he escaped from the escort, they tracked him down. I hid him, but it was no use—they found him."

"What became of him?" asked Alan.

"They took him away," he said. "They would have shot me but he pleaded for me, said I did not hide him, knew nothing about it, that he crept into the house and took the clothes he was wearing himself."

"Then he is alive?" said Alan.

"I believe so. Look," said Jean. He pulled open a drawer and Alan saw in it an officer's uniform.



CHAPTER XXIV

TAKEN PRISONER

It was Vincent Newport's uniform. Alan did not hesitate to use it, he felt he would be safer, as nobody would imagine him to be the man who escaped through the line from Bruges.

Jean raised no objections and Alan gave him the clothes he wore. He offered to guide him to a spot where he might get through the enemy and reach his friends. It would be difficult but there was risk everywhere. Alan protested, if Jean were caught he would be shot, he was sure he could find the way from directions.

"I care little whether they shoot me," said Jean, "my life is ruined."

"It will all come right again after the war," said Alan.

Jean held up his hands, shaking his head despairingly.

"After the war—God knows when that will be," he said sadly.

They started at night. Alan was for leaving the horse behind but Jean said a good steed might save his life.

"It is not fair that you should walk," said Alan. "How far is it?"

"Some thirty miles," said Jean. "That is nothing to me."

They took flasks of brandy and a parcel of eatables. Alan walked with him, leading the horse.

It was a lonely, desolate country, treeless, a barren waste; but Jean loved it. He said the land was better than it looked.

They walked all night. In the early morning they came to an old barn and walked inside with the horse. They were hungry and ate well, a few drops of brandy revived them, some loose hay was given to the horse. A low booming sound was heard, an artillery duel, it continued the greater part of the day. At nightfall Alan mounted his horse and bade good-bye to Jean Baptistine.

"I will hunt you out when we have beaten the Huns," said Alan cheerfully.

"You will beat them," said Jean, "but they are strong, their sins will hang heavy on them when the judgment comes, they are murderers." He cursed them and Alan shivered as he heard what deadly hate there was in the old man's breast. Was it to be wondered at?

Alan rode in the direction of the booming. Jean told him to bear to the right and that would give him more chance of passing the German trenches. He carried his life in his hands but he was cheerful, the sense of danger roused him, the true sporting spirit manifested itself, he was against great odds and meant to succeed. As he went on at a slow pace the heavy firing ceased for a time, then broke out in the occasional boom of a gun. Alan thought they were knocking off for the night; he might have a chance to get through.

As the horse walked along he thought of home and wondered how things were going on at Trent Park and The Forest. It was nearly two months since he had been away from headquarters, and he was not able to write. Eve would be anxious, he must let her know he was safe as soon as possible. He was glad they were not married, it would not have been fair to her; but he vowed she should be his wife if he came safely out of the struggle.

Just before he left for Brussels he had received a letter from Fred Skane in which he said he was preparing Bandmaster for the big steeplechase to be run in Trent Park over a course of four miles. This would be a great event, a sort of Grand National on a small scale. He hoped Alan would be able to come over and ride his horse; he must not forget the date. With the owner up he thought Bandmaster had a chance second to none.

During the excitement and suspense of his journey and stay in Brussels he had forgotten all this but it came to mind now as he rode quietly on toward danger. He remembered the date and began to reckon up, he had lost count during the past few days but he knew there was very little time to spare.

His message delivered, he would have no difficulty in obtaining leave. He hoped to be home in time to ride Bandmaster a few gallops over the course before the race took place.

He gave himself up to pleasant ruminations over his chance of winning until he was rudely roused by a bullet whistling past his ear.

"Snipers about," was his first thought as he set his horse to a gallop.

Another bullet whizzed above his head. He looked round, but saw nobody. It was dark; the sniper must have heard the sound of his horse's hoofs and fired in that direction.

There were only two shots but they roused him out of his reverie and put him on the alert.

Then he wondered how it came about that the sniper was behind the German trenches. Jean told him he would have to pass them somehow. Had he by some strange piece of luck got past the trenches? Was he between two fires? That was hardly possible, yet it might be so.

He pulled his horse up and listened. A strange, buzzing sound was heard—probably some aircraft, although it seemed too dark for aviators to see their whereabouts.

He heard voices and movements of men. A gust of wind carried them toward him. The men spoke German; he had only just stopped in time.

He had no idea where he was. To wait there until daylight would court danger but in which direction ought he to go?

Had he reached a strip of "no man's land," a space left unborrowed and unbroken, lying between two fires? If so he was "between the devil and the deep sea," for he might be fired on by friend and foe alike.

It was a thrilling position, a solitary man on horseback on a dark night on unknown ground and surrounded by enemies. Alan listened with the keen ears of a sportsman, all his faculties alert. A false movement and he was lost.

A scrambling sound close on his left startled him. He fancied it was the men quitting a trench and if so it could only be with one object in view—a night attack. If this were the case it was well planned, for there was very little noise. Alan, however, being near, heard that faint peculiar sound of many men silently on the move.

He would have given much to know where he was—the exact spot. He wondered if old Jean Baptistine had made a mistake and given him wrong directions. He was glad he wore uniform and had Newport's revolver on him—it might be useful.

A faint streak in the sky, a rosy tint wearing down the pale gray, warned him day was breaking and he must be prepared.

There were others waiting for daybreak as well as himself, for the heavy boom of a huge gun sounded quite close at hand. Alan looked in the direction, and saw a cloud of smoke. This was answered by a boom and a cloud from the opposite side and he knew an artillery duel had commenced. Suddenly four men sprang out of a hole formed by a bursting shell. They were Germans. What they were doing there it was impossible to say. They were as surprised to see Alan as he was to see them. In the growing light as he sat on his horse he looked like a phantom emerging out of the mist.

A few minutes passed and the situation was summed up on both sides. A dash was made at Alan, shots fired as he turned his horse to the right and headed right straight at them. His charge was the last thing they expected. He crashed into them, sending two to the ground; the others hung to the horse and saddle.

Alan drew his revolver and shot one man through the head. The horse plunged, reared, but he kept his seat. The two Germans who were knocked down were on him again, but he wrenched free and galloped away. Over this vacant space before him men seemed to spring up like mushrooms. It was impossible to get through and reach the English lines, which he could now see. He made the most of it. His horse faced the situation bravely, but he was pulled out of the saddle and made prisoner. He had narrowly escaped being killed, as sundry bullet tears in his uniform showed. He thanked Heaven he was not in mufti or it would have gone hard with him. He was dragged into the crater-hole from which the four men who had first attacked him emerged. He had killed a man, would they kill him?

A young officer ran up. He looked keenly at Alan, then, in excellent English, asked him his name and regiment. A fire of questions followed as to how he came there and what he was about, why he had left his lines? He was searched but no paper found.

The officer seemed rather a better class man. He ordered Alan to be kept in the hole, and put three men to guard him; then he went away in the direction his men were returning to their trench.

Alan judged there must have been a night attack on the English lines and these were the remnants returning scattered all over the place; if so they must have suffered severely, been almost annihilated.

His guards took very little notice of him. They knew he could not escape; moreover, they had orders to shoot if he attempted it.

It was a dull day and there was very little firing. He judged they were resting after the night attack. It was an awkward fix he was in but nothing daunted he puzzled his brains as to how to get out of it; they had tethered his horse close by—that was in his favor.

The officer did not return, and Alan had nothing to eat or drink—the soldiers did not offer him anything.

Night came on. He wondered whether he would be kept there or removed. At last the young officer came, and with him a soldier carrying a bag which contained food. Alan was handed some, also given a drink, and the officer said he must remain there until next day. If he tried to escape he would be shot. Alan wondered why they did not take him to a more secure spot; something must have happened to prevent this.

He settled himself down, after taking good stock of his position and where the horse was. He pretended to sleep. The three soldiers were left on guard.

They seemed tired, they must have been many hours without sleep. They spoke together in low voices. Presently one of them lay down—it was evident they were to keep guard in turns.

Alan was wide awake and alert now. If he could only make a dash for his horse and spring into the saddle there would be a chance of escaping.

The two men on guard seemed drowsy. The man on the ground breathed heavily. Alan moved and loosened some stones. The men were alert in a moment and growled at him savagely. Alan waited about an hour—it seemed much longer. He knew exactly where the men were: one on either side, the other still on the ground.

Without a moment's warning he sprang to his feet, let out right and left, and by sheer good luck hit his men hard. He scrambled out of the hole, reached his horse, broke the rope by which it was tied to a stake, cutting his hands as he did so, sprang into the saddle and was galloping away at a great pace before his guard recovered from the shock. They dare not fire for fear of being discovered in the act of letting the prisoner go. The two roused their sleeping comrade, explained the situation, then marched off toward the enemy's lines. They preferred surrender to the death awaiting them if they remained.



CHAPTER XXV

ALIVE AND WELL

Alan was far from being out of the wood, there was danger on every side, and it was light. Fortune favored him, for the enemy had suffered terrible losses and were occupied in beating a hasty retreat, what was left of them. The ground was covered with dead, dying, and wounded. As he rode rapidly to the right he got clear of them; several shots were fired and missed him.

A feeling of exultation possessed him as he neared his lines a couple of miles away. Once there he was safe, his perilous mission accomplished.

His horse shied. Looking ahead he saw half a dozen forms hidden behind some stunted bushes. The enemy again. Rifles were pointed at him. It meant death if he went on.

He halted and faced his enemies, but showed no signs of giving in. The men crept forward, still covering him with their rifles. He was angry at the thought of being taken prisoner again. If recognized he would be shot off-hand. This was not at all likely although he was not aware of it.

Providence intervened in the shape of a shell which hurtled into the midst of the creeping men. There was a terrific explosion. Alan reeled in the saddle, recovered by a great effort, and managed to control his frightened horse. He was struck on the forehead but fortunately the peak of his cap saved him. Still the effect was stunning, stupefying. A whistling in the air and another shell burst, throwing up a cloud of mud and dirt round him, thus lessening the danger of being badly hit.

His enemies were cut up, shattered; but he had to ride for his life to avoid the shells. He was in danger from his friends.

The horse was equal to the emergency and sped across the open space at a great pace.

The solitary horseman seemed to puzzle the gunners, for they ceased firing. Probably he had been recognized as an officer escaping from the enemy.

He waved his cap and, taking all risks, galloped toward the Allies' lines. He knew where he was now. These trenches were the nearest to headquarters and in a few minutes he would be in safety.

Something trickled down his face. He brushed it aside with his hand—blood—his wound was more serious than he thought.

His left arm pained—blood on the sleeve. His left thigh twinged sharply—there was blood here also.

"Must have had a narrow squeak," he thought. He felt faint, inclined to swoon, but held on to his horse firmly.

His head swam, his sight grew dim, he heard a roar from the front trench and then—oblivion.

When he came to he was being attended behind the firing line. He wondered where he was, and tried to sit up, but fell back exhausted. The doctor told him to keep still.

He slept several hours. When he awoke he was in the ambulance, jolting farther away from the line.

It was twenty-four hours or more before he was able to stand. Once on his legs he quickly recovered and, asking for his horse, which was near at hand, declared his intention of riding to headquarters.

The doctor protested; but when Alan explained who he was and the nature of his mission no further objections were raised.

"You have had a marvelous escape," said the doctor, looking at him admiringly. "You are a brave man."

Alan smiled as he thanked him, saying there would have been many officers who would have been glad of the chance to take his place and run the risks.

He rode to headquarters and was heartily welcomed. In a few moments he stood before his chief, who held out his hand, shook his heartily, and congratulated him.

It was then Alan learned it had been reported that he was shot in Bruges as a spy. No doubt this report had been made in order to save the men responsible for his escape through the lines.

"Shot as a spy," thought Alan. "I wonder if it has been made public in England. If so, what a terrible shock to Eve and all my friends."

He suppressed his feelings and gave an account of how he fulfilled his mission.

"You must see King Albert at once," said the chief. "It was a blow to him when he heard you were shot."

The news of Captain Chesney's return was soon noised abroad, and on all sides he was congratulated.

He hunted up Skane's letter and found the date of the Trent Park Grand Steeplechase would give him ample time to get home and ride Bandmaster over the course two or three times. He must see about his leave at once.

He supposed his safe arrival would be at once reported at home and that Eve would see it and others.

There was a budget of letters for him some six weeks old. One of the last he opened came from his trainer. The date of the Steeplechase had been altered because the troops camped in the Park had left earlier than was expected.

Alan was uncertain about the date. He asked, and found he had just a couple of days to spare to get there in time.

Then came another thought which made him gasp. Had Bandmaster been struck out when he was reported shot?

Every minute was precious.

He wired to Skane at once, imposing secrecy, and asking it Bandmaster was still in the race. If so he would be home to ride.

"Not a word about this."

Fred Skane had not scratched Bandmaster. He would not believe Alan Chesney had been shot, and this firm conviction cheered Eve Berkeley wonderfully. Then came the news that Captain Chesney had returned to headquarters after many hairbreadth escapes and that he was severely wounded.

The reaction set in at Trent Park, The Forest, and Little Trent. Gloom turned to joy; everybody was gay and festive. Captain Chesney was safe, he would soon recover from a few wounds, these were trifles to a brave strong man.

"There you are," said Fred Skane. "What did I tell you, Miss Berkeley. I knew he was not shot—not likely. Supposing I'd scratched Bandmaster—there'd have been a row and no mistake. 'Scratch the horse out of respect,' says Abel Head. 'Memory,' says I, 'what memory? He's alive. There's no memory about Captain Chesney yet, I'll bet, or I'm a Dutchman.'"

Eve laughed.

"Splendid, Fred, splendid! You were right; we were all wrong. But he was reported shot."

"Reported be——" said Fred, checking himself. "Who believes reports? Not me! We get too much or too little, and it came from a German source; not good enough, says I, not half good enough for this child."

When the trainer received Alan's telegram he chuckled, then laughed heartily.

"By Jove, this is grand! Won't there be a double distilled surprise for 'em all. If he can get home—if? He must!—and ride, wounds or no wounds—and he'll win, I can see him doing it—what a day it will be! Not a word, not me; I wouldn't miss the shock of his appearance on the course, in an unexpected way, not for a thousand."

"Fred's a bit above himself," said Abel Head. "He's confounded cheeky because his opinion has turned out correct. I never thought Captain Chesney was shot, did you?"

"No," said Tom Thrush, "not likely."

"And Fred takes it all on himself. He goes about with his 'What did I tell you?' until I'm sick of hearing it," said Abel.

"The main thing is, the master's alive; nowt else matters," said Tom.

"Heard from Jane lately?" asked Abel.

"No; can't make it out," said Tom gloomily.

"I hope it's all right with her. You were a fool to let her marry him," said Abel.

"What's the sense in pitching that into me now?" growled Tom.

"I pitched it into you before it was too late, but you took no notice."

"Do you always follow good advice?" asked Tom.

"Maybe not, not always."

"Then dry up about me. I'm sorry, Abel, sorry for my lass; but he'd best behave well to her or he'll know about it," said Tom savagely.

"Where are they?"

"Don't know; haven't heard from her since they left Margate."

"I'll tell you another thing, Tom. It's what I've always said, Carl Meason's a German spy and it's my belief Jane's found him out."

"If that's so and she has you can lay she'll give him away, it's her duty to do it," said Tom.

"Probably she will if he gives her a chance," was Abel's reply.

"What chance? He can't interfere with her."

"There's no telling what a man like that will do," answered Abel.

To return to Alan Chesney, he was anxious in the extreme. His wounds troubled him but he endeavored to shake off the feeling. He had no wish to be invalided at home. He wanted the change on his own account and for a particular purpose, to ride Bandmaster in the Steeplechase. He applied for leave, which was readily granted, and was ordered not to return until quite well.

He told two or three of his brother officers why he was anxious to get home and of course they were determined to have "a bet on" Bandmaster. His servant heard the news and it quickly got about among the rank and file.

A vexatious delay occurred—one of those small but important matters to be attended to at the last minute which are forever turning up at important moments.

Alan motored to Calais; and here again there was delay, no steamer being available for several hours. He fretted and fumed about. If this sort of thing continued there would be little chance of being home in time to see the race, let alone ride.

He passed a restless time but at last the boat started and he was fairly on the way. All being well he would reach Little Trent in good time on the morning of the meeting.

None of his friends knew he was coming except Fred Skane, the trainer. His brief telegram to Eve said nothing about it. She was overwhelmed with joy to hear from him that he was really safe and well.

Being a sensible woman she determined to celebrate Alan's good news by taking a large party of friends to Trent Park to see Bandmaster win. Fred Skane said to her:

"I think he'll win, but I wish Captain Chesney was here to ride him. It would be 'a cert' then."



CHAPTER XXVI

THE RIDER IN KHAKI

A splendid four-mile was planned out at Trent Park, a real test for chasers, almost up to the famous Aintree Grand National journey. There were stiff fences, two water jumps, some plough lane, and excellent going on grass. The horse that won would be a good 'un.

Bandmaster had done a great preparation. The trainer did not spare him; he had been over the course three or four times.

Sam Kerridge's son Will was to ride in the event of Captain Chesney's not being able to do so.

It was a clear, bright, sharp morning, and from an early hour motors and buses came by road. There was every promise of a big gathering even without the use of train service. Keen sportsmen were not to be denied the pleasure of such a meeting by any inconveniences they might have to put up with.

Eve Berkeley and her house party arrived in good time. Duncan Fraser was one, he attached himself to Ella Hallam. She could not fail to notice he was attracted. She liked him, his sterling worth appealed to her and Eve was always singing his praises.

Bernard Hallam was friendly with him. He was not at all displeased to notice Fraser and Ella were on excellent terms. He was partial to keen business men and such an one was Duncan Fraser.

There were three events before the Trent Grand Steeplechase, but the chief interest was centered in the big event, on which there was a lot of wagering.

Baron Childs was running Handy Man, a formidable steeplechaser who had missed the Grand National by an ace on two occasions. He was fully expected to make amends for two unlucky seconds at Aintree.

There was an interval of nearly an hour between the third event and the Steeplechase. The time was occupied in wagering and looking at the twenty-seven runners.

Bandmaster was favorite, the popularity of his owner had much to do with this. An official account of Alan's mission to Brussels had been made public, and he was the hero of the hour; much was given out but it was guessed more remained to be disclosed.

Apart from this, Bandmaster was regarded as a great horse. If half as good over a steeplechase course as on the flat he must possess a great chance. His speed was undeniable. If he proved a safe jumper nothing would be able to live with him on the flat at the finish. Fred Skane's opinion was known. The trainer had little fear of defeat. He said confidently that Bandmaster would carry the brown and blue to victory.

Eve Berkeley never looked better. Her cheeks glowed with health. She was happy—Alan was safe, what else mattered? She was radiant. Baron Childs did not conceal his admiration. She wore costly furs; they became her well. She walked proudly because of her hero, the man of the hour, the bravest of the brave.

There was only one thing lacking. If Alan could have ridden Bandmaster how glorious it would have been.

The party from The Forest caught her enthusiasm and exuberance of spirits. Their merry laughter rang clear and joyous.

Captain Morby was there, paying a flying visit from the front to see Bandmaster win. He had not met Alan since his return from his adventure.

It was half an hour before the race and a bustling scene took place as the twenty-seven horses were put to rights.

Riders hurried across the enclosure, stopping to speak to friends, colors just showing through the half-open coats, for the air was nipping. Most of them were gentlemen jockeys, five or six officers who had won their spurs over stiff courses and had capped this by brave actions at the front. Everybody recognized that racing, sport generally, had much to do with the wonderful heroism displayed in the war.

Will Kerridge was anxious. He hoped Bandmaster would win. He wanted the ride badly, but would have stood down gladly to let Alan Chesney have the mount. Fred Skane said nothing to him about Alan's intention to arrive home in time to have the ride on his horse. He was glad he had not mentioned it now; he thought Alan was detained, that he had not sufficiently recovered from his wounds to bear the journey.

A quarter of an hour more it was hopeless to expect him and yet even now Fred did not quite give up hope.

He looked anxiously about, raised his glasses and fixed them on the road from Trent Park house. Nobody was coming. After all, Kerridge must ride—and win. He had given particular instructions how Bandmaster was to be handled. The riding of the horse had been discussed at the stud groom's house on several occasions. Sam was very anxious his son should win.

While the bustle and excitement was at its height at Trent Park a powerful motor car was speeding along the high-road at top pace. The driver was experienced and working under pressure, he had been promised a liberal tip if he arrived in time.

Behind sat Alan, endeavoring to restrain his feelings and keep quiet. From time to time he looked at his watch and replaced it in his pocket with an impatient movement.

The car stopped with a jerk. The driver was out in a moment. Alan followed. What was wrong?

The tool box was relied upon. The man knew his work. In a quarter of an hour the car moved on, but precious time had been lost.

"We'll do it all right," said the driver.

Alan doubted, but held his peace. It would be a terrible disappointment to arrive too late.

He must keep as calm as possible, excitement was bad for him, his nerve had been severely tried.

The landscape became more familiar with each mile passed. He was lucky to be home again. He gave a few thoughts to his recent adventures and was thankful he had pulled through.

The Park appeared in the distance. A glance at the watch showed it would be "neck or nothing," he might just do it.

Something went wrong with the steering gear, the car swerved and the front wheels stuck in the ditch. The driver was shot out and Alan flung against the back of the front seat. The man was unhurt and on his feet in a few seconds.

Alan swore; he could not help it.

"Lost by a few seconds," he said.

"I'll have her out," said the driver, who was in the car. By much display of skill and force he backed it out, fixed the steering gear, and said:

"Get in, sir, we'll do it yet. Is that the course?" and he pointed to where the flags waved.

"That's it," said Alan excitedly.

"Is the going on the grass good?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll steer straight for it."

The car bounded over the turf with occasional jumps. Alan held on to the seat, no chance, the race was timed for three-thirty. The horses must be going out. He hoped they would be late. Probably there were many runners, a big field, and the weighing facilities improvised for the occasion would not conduce to rapidity.

Fred Skane took a final sweep over the Park through his glasses. He saw the car, guessed who it was and, calling to Will Kerridge not to go out on to the course for a minute, made a bolt to the entrance gate.

The car pulled up quickly. Alan sprang out.

"You, Fred, am I in time?" he said.

"Just follow me," replied Fred as he ran toward the weighing room.

"Get into the scales. Eleven stone," he yelled, then bolted to find the stewards.

There was a hurried consultation. Major Daven consulted for a few minutes, then went to the weighing room.

"God bless me—Chesney! This is a surprise," he gasped.

"Can I ride Bandmaster?" asked Alan breathlessly.

"Yes, of course; I'll tell 'em. They're not all out yet. God bless my soul, this is a surprise! How do you feel?" said the Major, giving out orders between gasps, sending attendants flying in all directions.

"No time to change; I'll have to ride in khaki," said Alan.

"And there's no better color," said the Major.

"How about the weight?" said the trainer, stumbling and gasping.

"All right; two pounds over weight," said the clerk of the scales.

"Declare it," said Fred.

"Two pounds over," shouted the Major; "up with it on the board, owner up, don't stand there gaping. Bandmaster's the horse—fly! God bless my soul, what a surprise it will be!"

Alan pitched his cap in a corner.

"You've spurs on, don't use them."

"All right," said Alan.

"And I say, mind the water jumps—they're stiff."

"All right," said Alan as he was rushing out, the trainer on his heels shouting hints and instructions.

"Something's causing delay," said the Baron, noticing three or four horses still in the paddock.

Eve looked.

"Bandmaster is still there," she said, "and Kerridge has dismounted."

"There's a regular bustle round the weighing room," said Harry Morby.

They saw attendants running in and out and Fred Skane hurriedly appearing, making for Bandmaster.

A buzz of excitement rose; inquiries were made; a feeling of suspense was in the air.

A man climbed up to the number board. Eve saw him.

"A rider changed at the last minute," she said.

Then she noticed Will Kerridge's name taken out and her heart almost stopped beating. She trembled, became pale with excitement.

"Good Lord, what's up?" exclaimed Mr. Hallam. "Shall I go and find out?"

"No occasion," said Harry excitedly. "Look!"

A khaki-clad figure, a soldier in officer's uniform, much worn and travel-stained, with no cap, came tearing out of the weighing room and across the paddock to where Bandmaster stood.

"By all that's wonderful, it's Alan!" exclaimed Duncan Fraser.

"Yes, yes!" said Eve, and felt on the verge of fainting. She could hardly believe her eyes. It was Alan sure enough, marvelous. How had he got there? She quivered with the tumult of her feelings. The surprise was too much for her, the exquisite joy of seeing him again overcame her.

Alan shook hands hurriedly with Will Kerridge.

"Sorry to take the mount from you, Will," he said with a smile.

"You're welcome, Captain; I'm right glad you came in time," was the reply.

Alan mounted and rode Bandmaster on to the course.

"Who is the rider in khaki?" asked a well-known man.

"Blest if I know. He's riding Bandmaster too." He turned to look at the board.

"Well, of all the wonderful things!" he exclaimed. "It's Captain Chesney, the owner; he must have just arrived from the front in time."



CHAPTER XXVII

THE STEEPLECHASE

Alan was recognized by scores of people, deafening cheers greeted his appearance on Bandmaster. He walked the horse past the stand and saw Eve and her friends. Stopping for a moment he waved his hand. There was a flutter of handkerchiefs in response. Eve was a proud woman. Her hero, everybody's hero, was there sitting his horse well, eager for the fray, ready to show how he could ride.

The horses were at the post as he cantered down. The starter wondered why the favorite was late. He could not let them go without him.

The riders looked at the khaki-clad horseman and some of them recognizing him cheered wildly.

"It's Captain Chesney," said Dan Rowton, rider of Handy Man.

When he came up there was a general cheer and many of them expressed pleasure that he was riding. There was no time to talk. Alan smiled his thanks and took his place in the center. In a minute or two they were off, Frosty going away with the lead.

Alan's feelings can be imagined. He was excited, small wonder at it. He thought how wonderful that he was there in Trent Park, riding in the steeplechase.

The tension of the motor ride against time strung him to the highest possible pitch and he had not quite recovered from his wounds.

How glorious it was to be on Bandmaster! How much had happened since the horse won the Hunt Cup! Many startling events had crowded one another in rapid succession.

Bandmaster moved well. Alan was already on good terms with his mount. The first fence was reached, not a formidable obstacle. All the horses got over but three or four jumped wildly. Bandmaster flew it like a bird.

There were three spills before the stand was reached. As they swept past there was much cheering. Bandmaster's rider was singled out for a tremendous reception as the horse cleared the stiff fence in grand style.

The rider in khaki looked conspicuous among the bright-colored racing jackets—hatless, his uniform well worn.

They swung round the bend, then entered some ploughed land which found out the weak spots. Two fields were crossed and the first water jump reached. There was a wide ditch in front of the high fence; the water gleamed in the bright light.

Frosty refused and whipped round, causing three more to swerve out. True Blue stopped short, then sprang into the water, where he remained, much to the annoyance of many riders, but they managed to steer clear. Alan let Bandmaster go. The horse made a grand leap, landing safely. He was delighted at the performance and his hopes of winning were high. The pace was strong, testing the power of the horses and already a dozen were hopelessly out of it.

From the stand there was a good view of the race and when Eve saw Bandmaster clear the water jump in gallant style she cheered.

"Beautifully done," said the Baron. "Captain Chesney has a real good horse under him."

He noticed Eve's heightened color and how excited she was. Her eyes flashed and sparkled; there was more than ordinary interest in them. He wondered if Captain Chesney were first favorite.

"He is a splendid rider," said Eve.

"None better," said Captain Morby.

"He's handicapped heavily," said Mr. Hallam. "It will be extraordinary if he can last out such a severe race after all he has gone through."

"Wonderful pluck," said Duncan Fraser. "Always had."

"I want to hear how he arrived in time. It will be interesting. He must have had a race for it," said Ella.

"And won on the post. I hope he'll win this race," said Duncan.

The horses were almost out of sight as they passed some trees but the colors could be seen dodging between them. When they were in full view again Handy Man led, with Milkmaid, Picket, Fright, and Sparrow close behind. Bandmaster came next, alone, followed by the rest. Seven had fallen and there was a long tail.

Handy Man was a grand jumper and Dan Rowton a good rider. The pair seemed to get on well. So far the horse had not made a mistake.

The last mile and a half was a severe test, the jumps being all stiff, and the pace began to tell.

A thorn hedge faced the field at this point. Handy Man flew it safely, so did Milkmaid, Fright, and Sparrow, but Picket came down with a crash, rolled over, flung his rider out of danger, and was struggling to rise as Alan on Bandmaster came along. It was an awkward, dangerous situation; a less experienced horseman might have lost his head. Alan, however, was accustomed to act quickly in emergencies. He pulled his mount to the left and just cleared the struggling horse. Picket, however, was so near Bandmaster that he put him out of his stride; this caused loss of ground and he fell back.

Eve noticed the danger and gave a slight cry of alarm, followed by a sigh of relief as she saw Bandmaster safe.

"A narrow squeak," said Harry. "Nobody but a good rider would have escaped."

The pace was tremendous, considering a mile had to be covered, and not more than ten of the twenty-seven starters were within striking distance.

It was a formidable mile to the winning post, a stiff fence, then the water jump, bigger than the first, and two hurdles brushed in the straight, the last being close to the winning post.

Alan felt faint but kept hard at it. He was not so strong as he thought. His wounds and all he had gone through sapped his strength. He possessed indomitable courage, a stubborn will which stood him in good stead.

Bandmaster tipped the first fence but it did no harm and he raced after Handy Man, Milkmaid, and Sparrow at his best pace.

The water jump loomed in front a formidable obstacle. Handy Man scrambled over, narrowly escaping a fall. Alan thought the Baron's horse was about done. Sparrow fell. Milkmaid cleared it well. Alan had a clear course and steadied his mount. Once over the water he had a great chance, for on the flat Bandmaster had tremendous pace. His eyes were misty, he could not see clearly, his head swam, something trickled down his leg; the wound in his thigh had opened and was bleeding. He felt Bandmaster rise under him, knew he was in the air over the water, topped the fence, and came down safely; but it was almost a miracle he did not fall off, he swayed in the saddle, it was only by a tremendous effort he retained his seat. Bandmaster was a wonder. Alan was not able to give him any assistance at the jump.

The easy going on the flat gave him a chance but his eyes were dim and his head ached. The reins were loose in his hands.

From the stand it was easy to see there was something wrong with the rider in khaki, and Eve became very anxious. Rapidly she thought of all Alan had gone through and wondered if it were telling on him. If so would he be able to ride his horse out, handle him skillfully over two rather treacherous hurdles, they were the easiest jumps in the course to look at.

Everybody was excited. Alan's condition was palpable, he seemed suddenly to have lost his strength and with it the control of his mount.

Fred Skane looked on aghast. He knew the danger better than any one. If Alan was spent, Bandmaster might blunder and there would be a nasty spill. He hoped for the best as he watched with his feelings strung to the highest pitch.

Handy Man, Milkmaid, and Bandmaster were running in the order named as the first of the two hurdles was reached. The Baron's horse was tiring fast, and Milkmaid had about enough of it. Bandmaster traveled well but did not gain much ground.

All three scrambled over, their style being slovenly, quite different from the early part of the race.

Alan swayed in the saddle, then bent forward. It seemed every minute as though he must fall off. It was a terrible strain on him after all he had gone through.

Eve was trembling with the intensity of her feelings, expecting every moment to see him collapse—what mattered losing the race if he escaped unhurt?

Backers of the favorite were anxious. They sympathized with Alan, at the same time thought it would have been better had young Kerridge been allowed to ride.

As they raced up to the last hurdle every eye was fixed on the horses. Handy Man stumbled on to his knees as he landed, but Dan Rowton cleverly kept his seat, made a fine recovery, set his mount going again, and was deservedly applauded. Milkmaid landed clumsily, staggering along for the winning post—-beaten but in front.

Bandmaster, with the reins loose in Alan's hands, pricked up his ears and took off too soon. There was a moment of intense suspense; then, as the horse crashed into it, Alan seemed to be roused to make a supreme effort. He clutched the reins, held Bandmaster together, and stopped a bad fall; the hurdle was knocked down but the horse retained his feet. All three were tired but Bandmaster had most go in him for a run on the flat. By degrees he overhauled Milkmaid, who had fallen back, and passing her went in pursuit of Handy Man.

The race became desperately exciting. Alan appeared to have had a relapse after his momentary rousing, and gave Bandmaster no help. It was painful for Eve to watch him. As she looked she saw a red splash on the khaki breeches and exclaimed:

"He's hurt! There's blood on him!" then sank backward. The Baron steadied her in time. It was hardly a faint; she felt dizzy, and quickly recovering thanked him.

Bandmaster ran his own race. He seemed to know what was required, it was exciting to watch him.

Nearer and nearer he drew to Handy Man and Rowton had to ride hard. The odds were in favor of the Baron's horse but Bandmaster, despite all disadvantages, stuck to his guns and at last reached his girth.

The cheering was loud, it gave encouragement to Alan, he sat up in the saddle and urged his mount to make a final effort.

It was just in time; another moment and Handy Man, driven hard by Dan, would have won.

Bandmaster drew level. The pair were head and head for a couple of strides. The crowd watched breathlessly, too excited to cheer for the moment.

The winning post was only a few yards ahead. Alan saw it dimly and held on to his work with grim determination.

Bandmaster's head was in front, then his neck, in another stride he was half a length to the good. As he passed the post in front of Handy Man cheering broke out wildly.



CHAPTER XXVIII

JANE'S DISCLOSURES

It was a sensational finish. As Alan rode in he hardly knew where he was or what had happened. He managed to get out of the saddle, unbuckle the girths and carry it into the weighing room. He sank into the scale; when "all right" was declared he staggered to his feet, outside they were waiting for him.

The crowd stood back, making way for Eve Berkeley and her friends. She went quickly to Alan, took his arm firmly, Duncan Fraser the other side helped him to limp along. The cheering was deafening, but Alan did not notice it. When Eve spoke he made no reply.

It was evident he was not in a condition to remain on the course. Eve insisted upon taking him to The Forest in her motor; she said there would be more comfort than at Trent Park because he was not expected home.

Alan was helped into the motor in a dazed condition. Eve and Duncan Fraser went with him, She had her arm in his, pressing it sympathetically, but he did not seem to be aware of it, or know where he was. Before they arrived at The Forest he was asleep, they had some difficulty in rousing him.

In the dining-room he went straight to the sofa, threw himself down heavily, and was asleep in a moment.

"He's tired out," said Eve, placing her hand on his head. "He will be better for a rest. We must take care the others do not wake him when they return."

They covered him with rugs. Duncan Fraser remained in the room while Eve went to telephone for the doctor, who on his arrival said sleep was the best possible thing for him and he must on no account be disturbed.

Alan slept until the next morning, Harry Morby remaining in the room all night. When he awoke he remained quite still for some time, wondering where he was and what had happened. Had he been ill? If so how long? No recollection of the race came to him; he fancied he was at headquarters, but the surroundings were strange—much more luxurious.

Captain Morby was asleep in the armchair; he had been awake most of the night. Alan saw him as he lay on the sofa and recognized him. What was Harry Morby doing here? He was not on the staff. Perhaps he had been promoted. Gradually his faculties became cleared. The sleep had done good, his brain worked, the dull sensation vanished. He sat up. As he did so, Harry Morby awoke.

"Better, old chap?" he asked with a smile. Then he noticed Alan looking round and went on:

"Don't know where you are, eh? I'll enlighten you. You're at The Forest, the home of that most beautiful lady, Evelyn Berkeley. You're a fortunate man to have won her sympathy so completely. By Jove, old man, you rode a great race yesterday! But you were clean done up at the finish and no wonder."

"What the deuce are you doing here?" asked Alan.

"I'm home for a few days, made up my mind to see Bandmaster win the steeplechase."

"And did he?" asked Alan.

"Did he! I should rather think so. Don't you remember?" said Harry.

"I have some recollection of a race. Did I ride him?"

"Of course you did, but it took you all your time to stick on at the finish."

"I remember," said Alan. "I was pretty right till I got to the last water jump. I don't recollect much after that."

"No, I don't suppose you do. You were certainly dazed when you dismounted."

"And he really won?"

"He did."

"Bandmaster is a great horse, a wonderful horse," said Alan enthusiastically. "I didn't help him a bit; he won the race on his own. Tell me all about it."

Captain Morby, nothing loath, gave a good description of the race. Alan listened attentively, as though it were the first he had heard of it.

"It was a race to get there in time," said Alan, and described hurriedly how he came from France and motored to the course. He stood up, looked at himself in the glass, and said:

"I'm a nice object. I want cleaning up. I'm smothered in dirt and dust. What time is it?"

"Half-past six."

"Then we'll scrub before they're up. How did I get here?"

Harry told him and added:

"Miss Berkeley left me on guard for the night. I believe she wanted to remain but thought it better not."

"Come along," said Alan. "I'm for a tub; I feel a heap better now, it's good to be home again after all I've gone through."

"You'll have to tell us about your adventures," said Harry.

"It's a long story; by Jove, old fellow, I wonder I'm alive!" said Alan.

Eve Berkeley was down in good time, anxious to learn how Alan was. She found the door open, looked in, there was nobody in the room. She rang the bell.

"Have you seen Captain Chesney?" she asked.

Johnson smiled.

"He's in the bathroom," he said.

"You have seen him?"

"I met him on the stairs."

"What did he say?"

"'How are you, Johnson? I'm going down for a tub. It will take some time to get clean, but I'll try and be down for breakfast. I'm hungry.'"

"That was all?"

"Yes."

"Did he look ill?"

"No, a bit tired. He's a wonderful man."

"He is, Johnson; you are quite right, a very wonderful man," said Eve with a bright smile.

When Alan came down he found her in the morning-room. He held out his arms.

"Come to me, Eve, come! I want you badly—I love you so. I thought once I should never see you again and it nearly killed me. I dreaded the idea of never seeing you more than the danger or the bullets."

She came; he took her to him and kissed her passionately. Johnson discreetly closed the door, he was an admirable servant. They were alone for an hour, a blessed time, more united than they had been, their hearts beating in unison; they were one.

Hurriedly he gave her a brief outline of his adventures. She listened breathlessly. He was indeed a hero, a brave man, and he was hers; her happiness was almost too much, she simply sighed and nestled to him. He punctuated his tale with kisses. He ended by saying in determined tones:

"We must be married before I return. I can't risk it again, after all I have gone through. I dare not. You will consent, Eve; you will?"

She said yes and he was soothed and satisfied.

"Perhaps it will be as well to tell them all at breakfast," she said.

"All who?"

She laughed and gave him the names of her guests.

"What an ordeal!" he said. "Who will tell them?"

"You must, Alan, and spare my blushes."

Not much surprise was manifested when Alan made the announcement. There was a chorus of congratulations; everybody thought it an excellent match. Captain Morby said to himself:

"I knew they'd do it, but they have been a long time about it."

Alan had to relate his adventures in Brussels and Bruges. He thrilled his listeners as he described his hair-breadth escapes on his return to headquarters.

He was not due back for a few weeks; during that time he and Eve were quietly married at Little Trent Church, only a few persons being present. They went for a brief honeymoon to the South and on their return to Trent Park met with a great reception.

Mr. Hallam arranged with Eve to remain at The Forest until his return to Australia. He seemed in no hurry to leave England.

It was during Alan's stay at Trent Park that Jane Meason surprised her father by returning home alone.

"I have left him," she said. "He has behaved shamefully; he is a spy. I have found him out. I will never live with him again."

"What's he done?" said Tom gloomily.

"Many things. Abel Head was quite right: he is in the pay of the Germans; I can prove it," said Jane.

She was reticent and Tom did not get much information from her. He found out, however, that Carl had threatened her if she disclosed anything about his work or what he was doing.

"What did he say?" asked Tom.

"He told me if I got him into trouble he would do for me," said Jane.

"We'll see about that," answered Tom angrily. "Threatened your life, did he? Well, he'll have me to deal with first."

Jane did not show any alarm at her husband's threats; for one thing she did not believe in them. He might risk coming to find her at Little Trent Park, at least she thought so.

Tom told Alan what his daughter said.

"I'll see her," he said, "and find out all about him. We'll put a spoke in his wheel before long; if he's caught red-handed he'll be shot and she will be well rid of him."

"The Government ought to reward her," said Tom.

Alan smiled; Tom was after the money again.

"I have no doubt she will be recompensed for what she has gone through," he said.

Eve sent for Jane to come to Trent Park and persuaded her to tell Alan what she knew. This she was willing to do; Alan was different from her father, he was a soldier and had a right to know.

Jane stated that Carl Meason had signaled to the raiders from his motor car. She had no doubt about it; he did so when they left Margate. She was sure of it now although at the time he gave a plausible explanation as to why he showed two such large bright lights. She knew the Zeppelins were guided by the signals he flashed; when she found out she was frightened but later on after a quarrel she taxed him with it. Carl was in a terrible rage, she thought he would have struck her. His threats daunted her for a time and she kept quiet, but when she read about the murderous bombs and destruction of innocent lives she determined to disclose all she knew at the proper time.

Alan and Eve listened to her story. They had no doubt as to its truth. Carl Meason must be caught. Had she any idea where he was? She had not but expected he would seek her out at the cottage. She had left him a note in which she said she was going home and would never live with him again. She handed Alan a document she had taken from his case before she left. It clearly implicated him; there was no doubt he had been in the pay of the enemy for months, that he had mapped out raids for them, organized a system of spying in England.

"This is sufficient to condemn him," said Alan. "You really think he will dare to seek you here?"

Jane said she felt sure of it.

"Then we'll watch for him. He shall not escape," said Alan, but he was doubtful if Carl Meason would run his head into a hornets' nest.



CHAPTER XXIX

A SPLASH IN THE DARK

Carl Meason was angry because Jane left him, but he did not think she would betray him. He was well paid for his villainy: large remittances reached him by a round-about route. He was flush of money. He was lost without Jane. She appealed to him. He did not love her but he wanted her; she was his and he meant to get her back.

There would not be much risk in going to Trent Park, he thought. He had warned her he would be dangerous if she gave him away, that she would come to harm; she seemed frightened by his threats. It was not likely she would brave them.

He understood why she left him, or thought so; it was because she knew he undertook risks and might suffer as his accomplice if they were caught.

"She'll have to come away with me," he said. "I'll square her father; it's only a matter of cash."

It was some time after she left him he decided to take her away. He wrote; she had not answered his letters. He cursed her for an obstinate jade, vowing he would pay her out.

Jane showed her father his letters and he duly reported to Alan, who ordered a watch to be kept round the Park and near the cottage. Abel Head, Tom Thrush and several of the men at Trent Park were special constables. They thought it would be a feather in their cap if they caught a spy.

Carl Meason was cunning. He wished to find out how the land lay before venturing there. He sent one of his confidential agents to make inquiries. He returned in a couple of days, saying there were men about, watching the place, evidently on the lookout for somebody.

From this Carl gathered Jane had given information against him and flew into a terrible rage. Come of it what might he decided to punish her even if he ran risks.

He made elaborate preparations for his journey, hired a small but powerful car, disguised himself thoroughly. He was an adept at making up. In New York he had more than once saved his life owing to his skill. He knew the country well. He journeyed down in the daytime, passing through Little Trent slowly, saw Abel Head at the door of the Sherwood Inn, smiled as he noticed he was unrecognized. He went at the same pace along the road leading past the wall where the door opened near Tom Thrush's cottage.

Jane heard the motor, opened the door, and looked out. So well was he disguised that she failed to recognize him or the car.

Motorists often went through the road in Trent Park and no notice was taken of Meason and his car.

It so happened that Alan and his wife were in London and as there had been no signs of Meason the watchers relaxed their vigilance. Tom Thrush was of opinion Meason had cleared out because he was in danger of being discovered; and Abel Head was of the same mind.

Jane felt safer. Perhaps he divined she had told of his doings and in consequence he thought it safer to hide for a time. She was, however, careful not to go far away from home, nor did she walk outside the Park. There was no telling what a desperate man would do.

Fortune favored Carl Meason. The night was dark, misty; a dense white stream covered the park, strangely thick and wetting. Leaving his motor under the wall some distance from the door where it was hidden by creepers overhanging, he concealed himself in one of the thick embrasures and watched. He was well protected by his motor coat, light but warm and water-proof.

He looked at his wrist watch. The illuminated figures showed it was eight o'clock. He wondered at the pitchy blackness of the night, unusual for the time of the year.

Listening intently he heard the door latch click; then it swung back with a bang. It was opened again and Jane called out: