THE RED LODGE (continued 3)

"What about those pet black sheep of yours?" inquired Colin. "Haven't you succeeded in rounding them up yet?"

"Oh, we've rounded 'em up all right. We've scraped through our list of regulars with a fine pocket-comb, and if any of them had so much as a finger in the job I'll eat my hat in this restaurant."

"Then you've changed your opinion?" said Colin. "You're beginning to believe——"

Marsden shook his head. "No," he interrupted doggedly, "I'll stake my reputation that the man who opened the lock of that safe was a professional cracksman. He may have been a foreigner, of course, and if that's the case it would account for the fact that none of our people here know anything about him. However, I've cabled to Paris and New York, and several other places, to ask them if any of their own experts are missing, and it's quite possible I may get an answer from them that will put us on the right track. If I do I'll send you along a line." He paused to refill his glass. "By the way," he added, "where shall I be able to find you?"

"I've taken a room at the Kensington Palace Hotel for a day or two," said Colin. "I've really made no plans yet. As I told Medwin, I mean to see this thing through before I attempt to settle down to any fresh work." He pushed away his plate, the contents of which he had hardly tasted, and lighted himself a cigarette. "How about the Professor's old servant?" he asked. "Any news of him yet?"

"That's another of our failures," admitted the detective wryly. "Ainsworth's men have been ransacking the country, but so far they seem to have drawn an absolute blank." He stopped suddenly, and, putting his hand in his pocket, produced a rather crumpled envelope. "Talking of Ainsworth, I've got something here for you. It's the report we promised you the other day about some party you wanted us to look up. I'd have posted it on before only you told me that you weren't in any particular hurry."

He passed over the note, and, hastily expressing his thanks, Colin tore open the flap. In the rush and excitement of recent events his interest in Major Fenton had been temporarily forgotten, but the mere mention of the subject was quite sufficient to arouse all his previous curiosity.

He extracted the sheet of paper which the envelope contained, and, unfolding it with eager fingers, spread it out before him on the table. It was just a single page of neat typewriting, without any address or date.

Major F. is the only son of the late John Mordaunt F., of Cheltenham, Glos. He is forty-three years of age. He was educated at Cheltenham College. Entered the 17th Lancers, but resigned his commission as a captain on account of financial difficulties. Was in India for several years and also in Canada. It is believed that he was chiefly engaged in training and selling polo ponies. Rejoined the Service during the war and rose to his present rank. Since then his only occupation appears to have been betting at race-meetings. He is connected with an undesirable element on the Turf, and his general reputation is not of the best. As far as this country is concerned, however, there is no record of his having been connected with any criminal proceedings. He is an amateur yachtsman, and the registered owner of a small auxiliary engined boat called The Swallow, which is at present lying in Hole Haven.

This paper is to be destroyed as soon as its contents have been noted.

As Colin reached the concluding paragraph the Inspector rose from his chair.

"I hope you've got the information you wanted," he said. "I must be off now, or I shall be late for my appointment. Are you coming along up to the house?"

Colin thrust away the paper in his inside pocket.

"As a matter of fact," he said, "I'd half promised to go down to Shadwell. My pal, the doctor there, is very keen to know the result of the inquest. Still, if there's any way in which I can be of help——"

Marsden beckoned to the waiter.

"No, no," he interrupted. "You stick to your arrangement. We're only going to take a few photographs of the study, just to show the exact position in which the body was lying. They may come in useful later on."

He asked for the bill, which, in spite of Colin's protest, he insisted upon paying, and, leaving the restaurant, they stepped out on to the crowded pavement.

"I'm making for the station," explained Colin. "My car's having some new valves fitted, so I shall go down by train."

"Well, so long for the present," was the Inspector's reply. "I'll let you know at the hotel directly there's any news, and if you should want to get in touch with me yourself you've only got to ring up the Yard. Even if I'm not there they can always send me a message."

With a parting handshake he disappeared among the traffic, and a few minutes later, having purchased a ticket for Shadwell, Colin was descending the steps which led down to the underground railway.

As the train rumbled eastward he again pulled out the paper which Marsden had handed him, and read it through carefully a second time. Brief though it was, it certainly presented Major Fenton in a far from flattering light. Apart from its own uncomplimentary phrases, it suggested that the account of himself which he had given to Nancy was probably quite untrue. Whatever his exact reasons for going abroad might have been, it was clear that they had nothing to do with the demands of military service. That he had only returned to England in the spring was also apparently a piece of deliberate fiction. Unless the police were wrong, he had been a conspicuous figure at race meetings ever since the conclusion of the war; conspicuous, too, in a fashion which seemed to clash rather badly with the chivalrous role he had adopted in his relations toward Nancy.

Had he really been acquainted with her father at all? It was a question which Colin had already asked himself on several occasions, and in view of what he had just read his doubts on the subject became more pronounced than ever. The details of the story were so improbable, and the professed motive so extremely unlikely, that in the absence of any other evidence except the Major's own statement all his beliefs inclined in the opposite direction.

It seemed to him that Nancy ought certainly to be enlightened concerning the somewhat unreliable nature of her "guardian's" claims. The job was not a particularly attractive one, for she had given him no authority to make inquiries, and the character of an unauthorized Paul Pry is about the last that any one would wish to assume. Besides, there was the awkward fact that Fenton had already cautioned Nancy against him, and it might well appear to a third person that in bringing this counter-charge he was merely gratifying his own private resentment.

Still, even at the risk of being misunderstood it was clearly his duty to put her on her guard. He would show her the report, and tell her frankly how it had come into his possession, and if the consequences proved to be unfortunate he must put up with them as best he could.

It was at the precise moment when he had arrived at this decision that the train ran into Whitechapel station. He got out in company with a number of other passengers bound for the less fashionable quarters of East End London, and, crossing the line by a covered bridge, descended into the narrow and dimly lit vault where passengers to Shadwell await their destiny.

As he reached the platform the figure of a man sitting by himself on a solitary bench suddenly attracted his attention, and, stepping promptly forward to the seat, he gave its occupant a sounding slap on the shoulder.

"Cheer up, Joe," he said. "There's sure to be a train some time to-day."

Mr. Joseph Bates—for it was none other than the ex-pugilist—jumped to his feet with a grin of welcome.

"Well, I'm blarsted," he exclaimed. "Caught me proper, that you did, sir. Who'd ever have thought o' meeting you 'ere?"

He held out a large and not over-clean hand, which Colin shook heartily.

"I was just saying to meself only yesterday," continued Joe, "some time when I get a free mornin' I must do a trip up to the 'orspital an' tell the doctor abaht my bit o' good luck."

"What's that?" demanded Colin, taking a seat beside him on the bench. "Have you fallen in love, or is somebody offering you a job at a brewery?"

"You'd never guess," returned Joe with a chuckle, "not if you was to try for a month o' Sundays." He removed a short clay pipe from the corner of his mouth and spat contentedly on to the platform. "I gorn back into the perfession, guv'nor, that's wot I done."

Colin eyed him incredulously. "That's a good one, Joe," he observed. "Who are you going to fight—Jack Dempsey?"

"'Tain't a joke, guv'nor. I'm back in the old business again, gospel truth I am, but not as wot you might call a principal." He paused, as though to give full weight to his coming disclosure. "You've 'eard tell o' Solly Moss and the Palace o' Sport?"

"What, the new boxing ring in Whitechapel?"

"That's it—that's the place I'm gettin' at. Well, the very day after I see'd you and the young lady ahtside the club, who should I run across in the street but old Solly Moss 'isself. 'Im an' me was pals once, before 'e come up in the world, an' 'e's got a good 'eart, Solly 'as—especially for a Sheeny. We 'as a bit of a talk like, an' a couple o' drinks, an' he says to me, 'Joe,' 'e says, 'you come along dahn to my 'all, an' damn me if I don't find you a job.' An' wot's more, 'e's done it, guv'nor. I'm caretaker, chucker-aht, and one o' the two official seconds, with thirty bob a week an' me name on the bleedin' programme."

"I congratulate you," said Colin. "It must be an interesting job, but it sounds to me as if it was a bit underpaid."

"There're pickin's," returned Joe, with a wink. "A good second can do a lot toward pullin' orf a fight, an' it gen'rally means arf a crown when you 'appen to be in the winnin' corner. Besides"—he licked his lips—"me bein' in wot you might call an official position, folks as is interested in the game likes to make 'emselves civil. Why, this 'ere job will be worth quarts an' quarts o' beer to me every week."

As he spoke the train steamed into the station, and with a simultaneous movement both of them rose to their feet.

"Where are you off to?" asked Colin. "I get out at Shadwell."

"That's my mark, too," replied Joe. "I gotter go an' see the bloke wot supplies us with our jellied eels. They ain't bin up to standard lately, an' old Solly, 'e's arsked me to call rahnd and tell 'em wot 'e can do with 'em."

They took their seats along with the rest of the passengers, and a few minutes more brought them to the equally grimy platform which serves to connect Shadwell with the outside world.

As they mounted the long flight of steps up to the street Colin again addressed his companion.

"It's no use your coming to the hospital now, Joe," he said. "I've left there for good."

"Started one of your own, sir?" inquired Joe innocently.

"Not yet," replied Colin. "I am what you might call marking time at the moment, but I expect I shall be settling down again soon, and when I do I'll let you know my address. However, I shall probably see you again before then. I am sure to be down here a good deal with my friend Doctor Ashton, and one afternoon I'll walk over to your place and see if there's anything doing. I'd like to have the gloves on again, just for a bit of practice."

"You come along, guv'nor," returned Joe with enthusiasm. "There's gen'rally one or two useful lads messin' arahnd, and we'll fix you up with some bloke who can take a decent punch."

They surrendered their tickets to the porter on duty, and, having passed through the doorway, Colin stopped for a moment on the pavement outside to light himself a cigarette.

He was in the act of throwing away the match when he happened to glance across the street. As he did so he caught sight of two men who were standing in the doorway of a small public house opposite. To an ordinary observer there was nothing particularly striking about their appearance, except for the fact that one of them was unusually well dressed. If they had been Indians in full war-paint, however, the effect upon Colin could hardly have been more remarkable. He remained stock still, his eyes riveted upon the taller of the pair. Although the latter's face was half turned away, there could be no possible mistake. It was Fenton himself, the very man of all others who chiefly occupied his thoughts.

"Anything wrong, guv'nor?" inquired Joe curiously.

The sound of his companion's voice restored Colin's faculties at once. With a quick movement he caught hold of the other's arm, and, drawing him along the pavement for a few paces, pulled up behind the shelter of a deserted cart.

"Joe," he said, "you see those two fellows over there in the door of the pub?"

Mr. Moss's lieutenant squinted furtively round the backboard.

"Wot abaht 'em?" he demanded.

"Have you any idea who either of them is?"

"Dunno the torf," was the answer. "T'other one's a bloke they call 'Spike' Cooper."

"Is he a friend of yours?"

Joe laughed derisively. "Not much. I ain't pertic'ler, but I likes to draw the line somewhere."

"Oh, he's a bad lot, eh?"

"That's as it may be," replied Joe cautiously. "I ain't sayin' nothing, not one way nor the other, but any'ow, I don't fancy 'is comp'ny."

From the security of his retreat Colin subjected "Spike" Cooper to a critical examination. He was a tough-looking customer with broad, powerful shoulders and a lean, mahogany-coloured face. In spite of his somewhat shabby clothes he was evidently on familiar terms with Fenton, for he lounged back against the wall with his hands in his pockets and a half-smoked cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips.

Colin turned to Joe. "Where did you come across him?" he asked.

The ex-pugilist wrinkled his forehead. "Well, I can't say to rights. I think it was the Blue Boar at Shoreditch. 'E's bin 'anging arahnd these pubs for the last two months, though where 'e come from afore that Gawd knows. Some kind of a Yank, I reckon, judgin' by 'is talk."

Colin took another long and deliberate stare at the oddly assorted couple.

"Joe," he said, "will you do something for me?"

"You ain't no call to ask that," returned Joe a little reproachfully.

"I want to know all I can about that chap. I want you to follow him round and find out who his pals are and where he's living. Do you think you could manage it without giving away the show?"

Joe's eyes brightened. "That's orl right, guv'nor," he replied encouragingly. "Jes' you push orf an' leave the job to me. I'll pick up 'is tracks now, after this 'ere cabinet council's over. There ain't no 'urry abaht them there jellied eels."

"You're a brick, Joe," said Colin gratefully. "If you do happen to find out anything you might call round at Doctor Ashton's. You know his house in the High Street?"

Joe nodded.

"If I'm not there you've only got to leave a message that you want to see me and I'll be over at the Palace as soon as I get it." He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a couple of one pound notes. "Better take these," he added. "You might want to do a little bribery and corruption."

Joe accepted the money and slipped it inside his belt.

"You leave it to me, guv'nor," he whispered, "and don't you start worryin' if you don't 'ear nothin' fur a day or two. 'E's the sorter cove that's got to be 'andled cunnin', but I'll run 'im dahn right enough afore I done with 'im. I'll stick to 'im like 'is bleedin' shadder."

As he spoke the two men opposite moved forward out of the shelter of the door. They stood for a moment on the edge of the pavement, exchanging a few final remarks, and then, with a curt nod to his companion, Fenton stepped into the roadway, and began to cross the street in the direction of the station.

Keeping well behind the cart, Colin waited until he was safely in the booking-office.

"We seem to be in luck, Joe," he observed cheerfully. "The pubs are shut, so if our pal's got a home he's probably on his way there now."

He nodded toward the retreating figure of Mr. "Spike" Cooper, who with his hands still in his pockets was sauntering away casually up the street.

"It ain't unlikely," returned Joe, with an appreciative grin. "Any'ow, we'll 'ave a nice little walk rahnd the 'ouses, an' if we don't do nothing else, we'll get 'old of a decent thirst."

He knocked out his pipe, and, thrusting it into his pocket, drifted off inconspicuously amongst the stream of passers-by.

The whole thing had happened so quickly that up till then Colin's chief feeling had been one of complete surprise. Left to himself, however, the real significance of Fenton's appearance in this out-of-the-way neighbourhood suddenly came home to him with convincing force. Shadwell was about the last part of London that such a man would be likely to patronize unless he had some extremely definite reason for undertaking the journey. Only one reason suggested itself to Colin, namely, the presence of Nancy at Mark's house. That was certainly sufficient to account for the Major's visit, though why he should be standing in the door of an adjacent pub, talking to an obvious ruffian like Mr. "Spike" Cooper, was another problem to which no immediate answer seemed to be forthcoming.

Pondering over this point as he walked toward the surgery, Colin felt exceedingly thankful that he had had the happy inspiration to despatch Joe in pursuit of the stranger. If some underhand business were going on in connection with Nancy, it would be just as well to make certain whether this sinister-looking individual had anything to do with the proceedings. Of course, it was quite possible that the two men had met merely by chance. Being mixed up with the Turf, Fenton no doubt possessed a number of undesirable acquaintances, and he might have stumbled across one of them accidentally just as he was about to enter the station. That, indeed, seemed to be the most likely explanation, but, even so, any information that Joe could pick up would certainly not be wasted. If it served no other purpose, it would probably assist in opening Nancy's eyes to Fenton's true character, and for the moment, at all events, that was the principal object which Colin had in his mind.

On reaching the front gate of the surgery he found its owner standing on the doorstep, in the act of bidding good-bye to a patient. Almost simultaneously the latter took his departure, and with a hail of welcome Mark stepped forward to greet him.

"The very lad I wanted," was his opening remark. "In fact, I was just going to ring up the hotel and see if I could get hold of you."

"I knew you were keen to hear about the inquest," replied Colin, "and, being a gentleman of leisure, I thought I might as well oblige you."

Mark drew him into the house, and relieved him of his hat and stick.

"Come along upstairs," he whispered. "Nancy's doing the books, and there are half-a-dozen blighters in the waiting room, but I must hear what's happened, even if it ruins the business."

He led the way to the study, where they found Nancy seated at a roll-top desk, with a couple of formidable ledgers spread open in front of her. She glanced up at their entrance, and then, laying down her pen, swung round smilingly in her chair.

"You must tear yourself away from work for a minute or two," said Mark. "Colin has come to report progress."

He dropped down on the sofa, and, pulling out his pipe, began hastily stuffing it with tobacco.

"Fire ahead," he continued. "Let's have the whole story. I'm dying to hear what's happened, and it will just give me time for a comfortable smoke."

"I'm going to shake hands with Nancy first," said Colin.

He crossed the room, and, having performed the operation, very deliberately seated himself beside her on top of the padded brass fire-guard.

From this position he proceeded to give them a brief but lucid sketch of what had taken place at the inquest. He described the evidence of the various witnesses, the summing-up of the Coroner, and the final and unsatisfying verdict of the jury, concluding with a short account of how he had met Mr. Medwin and the Inspector after it was over and the views which they had expressed with regard to the situation.

"So, you see, we are more or less at a stop for the moment," he finished. "The police aren't likely to do much until they find the Professor's old servant or get an answer to their cable, and as for Medwin—well, I don't believe he cares the least whether the murderer's discovered or not. The money is what he's interested in, and both Marsden and I have got a notion that he's playing some low-down game of his own."

"What sort of game?" inquired Nancy, who had been listening to the whole narrative with absorbed interest.

"We don't know, but Marsden thinks he may have some idea who the rightful heir is, and that he's lying low until he sees the chance of pulling off a fat commission."

Nancy opened her eyes in astonishment. "Surely he wouldn't be so dishonest!" she exclaimed.

"I hope not," replied Colin; "but, after all, he's a lawyer."

Mark hoisted himself up in his chair. "I protest," he said. "I am not going to have Nancy's ingenuous mind corrupted by any beastly cynicism." He turned to Colin. "And how about you?" he added more seriously. "This infernal business must have played the mischief with all your plans."

"Oh, I'm just marking time," said Colin. "I mean to see this thing through before I attempt to do anything else."

Mark nodded approvingly. "That's right," he remarked. "That's your job, plain enough." He glanced at Nancy. "I'm afraid our idea won't work," he added.

"Is it a secret?" demanded Colin.

"Well, as a matter of fact I was going to ask you whether you could do us a good turn. If you're busy, however——"

"I should have to be devilish busy to let you down," said Colin. "What's the trouble?"

"It's Mary's mother," was the answer. "There's been some unexpected development in the case, and they have got to operate the day after to-morrow. Mary is desperately anxious for me to go up, and I can't possibly get away unless I can find someone to look after the practice. I thought that you might be able to manage it, but——"

"'But' be blowed," interrupted Colin. "I only want to be around in case Marsden needs me, and I shall be quite as handy here as at the Palace Hotel. How long do you expect to be away?"

"I don't suppose I shall be more than a couple of days. It just depends whether the operation is a success."

"Well, consider that settled," said Colin. "It won't interfere with my plans in the least; in fact, I shall be only too glad to have something else to think about."

Mark got up from the sofa, and, crossing the rug, held out his hand.

"Put it there, my son," he said gratefully. "You're a good pal, and the family thanks you."

Colin laughed. "You'd better wait till you come back," he replied. "You'll probably find that I've cured half your patients."

"I don't care a hang about what you do with them," said Mark callously. He turned toward Nancy. "I shall leave you in charge of each other," he added. "You must keep Colin posted in his job, and he must look after you and try to make himself agreeable." He paused, and added chaffingly, "I don't know whether Major Fenton will approve of the arrangement, but I'm afraid we've hardly time to consult him."

There was a brief but pregnant silence.

"Major Fenton?" repeated Colin blankly.

Mark chuckled. "You've met him, haven't you? A kind of adopted uncle of Nancy's. He rolled up here quite unexpectedly about half-past twelve this morning. I suppose he really came to see whether the place was respectable or not, and on the whole I think we managed to set his mind at rest. Anyhow, he made himself extremely pleasant, so of course I asked him to stop to lunch."

Colin flashed a quick glance at Nancy, who was looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"Oh," he said, "that explains things. I thought I caught sight of him in the street just as I was leaving the station."

"He appears to take a great interest in Nancy," pursued Mark, with a mischievous smile, "but somehow or other she doesn't exactly seem to appreciate it."

"I didn't invite him here," protested Nancy, "and I don't think he had any right to come."

Before Mark could reply there was a tap outside, and the harassed features of Martha Jane intruded themselves round the door.

"If you please, doctor," she said, "there's another four patients in the waiting room. That makes nine altogether."

"Oh, damn!" said Mark. "I suppose I must go down and see them. You'll stay to tea, Colin, of course?"

"If I'm not in the way," was the answer. "Perhaps I'd better go out for a stroll and come back."

"You stop here and talk to Nancy," replied Mark. "There's no hurry about the books, and she can save me a lot of trouble by explaining how we run the practice. She really knows rather more about it than I do."

He knocked out his pipe, and, thrusting it into his pocket, hurried off downstairs on the heels of Martha Jane.

Colin closed the door and came back to where Nancy was sitting.

"So Fenton's sense of duty is still in good working order," he observed.

With a little impatient gesture Nancy brushed aside a stray curl.

"I was very annoyed at his coming down here," she said. "If I'd thought for a moment that he was going to do a thing like that I shouldn't have given him my address."

Colin took up his old position on the fire-guard and looked thoughtfully into her indignant blue eyes.

"What did he want, Nancy?" he asked.

"Oh, it was only to invite me to dine and go to a theatre with him on Wednesday. Of course, he could just as well have written to me or rung me up on the telephone."

"And did you accept?"

Nancy shrugged her shoulders. "I couldn't very well help it. He asked me while we were at lunch, and I didn't like to say I was engaged, because Doctor Ashton would have known it was untrue."

"Otherwise you would have refused him?"

Nancy nodded. "It may seem ungrateful, but as a matter of fact I don't want to see Major Fenton again. I never liked him very much, and the last time I was with him he——" She hesitated. "Oh, well, he was different in a way, and, to put it quite plainly, I liked him even less. Besides, I haven't forgotten the horrid things he said about you."

Colin searched in his pocket and pulled out the report which Marsden had given him.

"That makes my job a bit easier," he remarked.

She gazed curiously at the slip of paper.

"What's that?" she demanded.

Colin sat back, still holding it in his hand.

"I've been doing a quite unpardonable sort of thing, Nancy," he said. "Before I tell you, will you promise to forgive me?"

"Certainly," she said, smiling. "I can always forgive anything that's really unpardonable. It makes one feel so nice and generous."

Without waiting for further encouragement Colin plunged at once into a full description of how he had taken advantage of the Inspector's half-joking offer to make some inquiries with regard to Fenton's character and reputation. He told the whole story quite simply, allowing his own motives in the matter to be taken for granted, and ended by reading her the report.

Nancy, who had listened to him gravely, made no comment until he had finished.

Then with a quaint and rather rueful little laugh she looked up into his face.

"It's a disappointing world, isn't it?" she said. "I did honestly believe that there was something kind and unselfish about his original intentions." She paused. "And you say you saw him in the street? Why, he must have left here over an hour ago."

"I saw him all right," repeated Colin.

He went on to describe his meeting with Joe and the interesting events which had ensued on their arrival at Shadwell station.

"I may be prejudiced," he concluded, "but I'm beginning to think that he's an even bigger scoundrel than the police give him credit for. Anyhow, it's perfectly plain that he's been lying to you from start to finish."

"But why should he?" objected Nancy.

It was Colin's turn to hesitate. "Well, after all, you're rather pretty, you know," he said lamely.

Nancy laughed again. "I've no doubt you're right," she said, "but I don't see that it solves the difficulty. He couldn't have known what I was like when he came and hunted me out."

"No, that's true," admitted Colin. He got off his seat and paced slowly up and down the room. "There's something behind all this, Nancy," he added; "some infernal mystery that we don't understand."

"There is," agreed Nancy; "but I mean to understand it, and very soon, too."

Colin stopped. "You're not thinking of keeping that appointment?"

She nodded. "Of course I'm going to keep it. If I don't, how can I find out what he wants?" She rose from her chair and came forward to where Colin was standing. "I—I'm awfully grateful for what you've done," she said shyly, "and I can't tell you what a comfort it is to know that I've got someone who's ready to help me." She paused. "All the same," she added, "I'm not in the least frightened of Major Fenton. I've had a lot of practice in looking after myself."

CHAPTER SEVEN

With an inward sigh of relief Colin opened the door of the surgery, and beckoned to the solitary old woman who was still sitting grimly in the corner of the waiting room. She was the thirty-fourth patient he had interviewed that morning, and the prospect of a well-earned lunch with Nancy was beginning to dangle pleasantly in front of his exhausted spirits.

The old woman entered the surgery, and, after placing a bulky string bag upon his consulting table, deposited herself in an armchair alongside.

Colin took his own seat and smiled at her encouragingly.

"Well, mother," he said, "what's the matter?"

The patient folded her hands. "I've bin pizened," she said. "That's wot's the matter with me, young man. I've bin pizened."

Colin sat back and nodded gravely. "When did this happen?" he inquired.

"Ha!" said the lady, rather bitterly. "That's the very pint I'm comin' to. Are you a pertickler friend o' Doctor Hashton's?"

"I am," said Colin. "That's why I'm taking his practice."

"In that case," continued the visitor, "I don't mind telling you, young man, that it was 'im as done it."

"What, poisoned you?" exclaimed Colin. "Surely not."

The lady reached for her bag, and, after fumbling among its contents, produced a half empty bottle of medicine. She handed this to Colin, who examined the label.

"Are you Mrs. Jones?" he inquired.

"That's right, young man," was the answer. "Mrs. Jones o' Baxter's Rents, and there ain't no one in Shadwell wot can say to the contrary."

"And why do you think that Doctor Ashton has poisoned you?"

Mrs. Jones leaned forward mysteriously and tapped the bottle.

"You can see for yourself, young man. 'E's given me the wrong medicine. Mind you, I don't say that 'e done it a purpose. I expect 'e was a bit 'urried and made a mistake. All the same, there ain't no gettin' away from it. 'E's given me the wrong medicine, an' I'm pizened."

Colin extracted the cork and took a sniff at the contents.

"It seems all right to me," he observed.

"There's nothing wrong with the smell," admitted Mrs. Jones. "It's the colour wot I'm speakin' about."

"What's the matter with the colour?" demanded Colin. "Some of the best medicines are red."

"Not mine," returned Mrs. Jones doggedly. "My medicine's yeller, always 'as bin. The moment I set me eyes on that bottle I says to meself, ''E's made a mistake.'"

"Then why on earth did you take it?"

Mrs. Jones looked a trifle surprised. "Well, young man, I'd paid ninepence for it, an', not knowin' then as it was pizen, I didn't see no reason for wastin' the money."

"And you say it made you ill?"

"It's only through the mercy o' Gawd that I'm sittin' 'ere now," said Mrs. Jones impressively. "D'rec'ly the third dose passed me lips I come over queer."

Colin poured out a little of the medicine into a glass and tasted it judiciously.

"I don't think you've any reason to be anxious, Mrs. Jones," he said. "Doctor Ashton was only trying you with a new prescription. It's a very good one indeed, but I suppose it doesn't quite suit your constitution."

Mrs. Jones looked round and lowered her voice. "If that's the case," she demanded, "why 'as 'e run away?"

"He hasn't run away," said Colin. "He's coming back to-morrow or the next day. He's only gone up north to look after his wife's mother."

There was a pause.

"Well," said Mrs. Jones doubtfully, "I 'as my own opinions on that point, but seein' as 'ow you're a friend of 'is I don't blame you for standin' up for 'im. Besides, between you an' me, young man, I wouldn't get Doctor Hashton into trouble, not on no account. We all make mistakes at times, even the best of us. You give me a bottle o' the yeller medicine, the same as I always 'as, an' I sha'n't say no more about it."

"Right you are," said Colin. He rose from his chair, and, crossing to the cupboard where Mark kept two or three innocuous and highly coloured mixtures ready made up, filled a bottle with the desired specific.

Mrs. Jones inspected it with approval.

"I'm much obliged to you, young man," she observed. "Hall's well that hends well, as the sayin' is. You can tell the doctor from me that 'e won't 'ear no more o' this, so 'e can come back 'ome just as soon as ever 'e likes."

She tucked away the bottle in her bag and made her exit through the side door, which Colin had stepped forward to open for her. As she passed out Martha Jane appeared in the passage.

"Are you ready for lunch, sir?" she inquired.

"I'm more than ready," said Colin. "I'm positively aching for it."

Martha Jane nodded sympathetically. "It must be 'ard work for a young gentleman like you, sir, 'avin' to sit there and listen to all them diseases. You go along into the dinin' room and I'll run up and tell Miss Nancy. I sha'n't keep you waitin' more than a couple o' minutes."

Colin returned to his desk, and, having completed his report, with a brief entry on the subject of Mrs. Jones, made his way out into the hall, where he encountered Nancy in the act of descending the staircase.

"I'll be with you in a second," he said. "I'm just going to remove the germs."

He hurried across to the cloak room, and, after changing his coat and indulging in a welcome bout with a basin of hot water, emerged again in a hungry but contented humour.

Nancy was already seated at the table, looking disturbingly pretty in her severe and businesslike costume. Although, on his arrival at the surgery, they had spent a crowded quarter of an hour together, opening the post and discussing the day's work, this was the first opportunity they had had for anything like a private conversation.

"Well," she inquired cheerfully, "how have you been getting on this morning?"

Colin sank into the vacant chair and stretched out his hand toward the whisky.

"I'm still alive," he said, "but that's about all. Every day, in every respect, my admiration for Mark grows deeper and deeper."

Nancy pushed across the soda. "I often wonder he hasn't broken down," she said. "It's only sheer good nature and kindness that keep him going. He comes in to lunch every day and says the most blood-curdling things about the patients, but in his heart he just loves them all."

"I know he does," returned Colin, "and I've been trying to copy his example. It's thirsty work, though, when you come to people like Mrs. Jones." He took a long drink and set down the tumbler. "By the way, is there any news from him?"

"Not yet," said Nancy. "The operation was to be at ten o'clock, and he promised to wire directly he knew the result. We shall probably get a telegram this afternoon."

Colin attacked the roast chicken, which Martha Jane had cooked to perfection, and passed over a generous helping.

"And what about last night?" he inquired. "I had no time to ask you anything this morning, but I'm longing to hear how Fenton behaved himself."

"Well, to begin with," said Nancy, "he asked me to marry him."

Colin paused in the act of dissecting a wing.

"Did he, by Jove! I hope you told him to go to blazes?"

"Something rather similar," said Nancy, "only I tried to put it as nicely as possible."

"And how did he take it?"

Nancy paused. "It may sound conceited," she replied, "but I should say he was more angry and disappointed than any one I ever saw in my life."

"I can quite believe it," said Colin. "You're just the sort of girl who'd make a man feel like that."

She shook her head. "I'm not trying to be modest, Colin. I know I'm pretty—even other women have told me so—but I assure you my looks have got nothing to do with the matter. Do you suppose that a girl doesn't know when a man is really in love with her? Major Fenton doesn't care that for me." She snapped her fingers.

"I shouldn't wonder if you're right," agreed Colin. "A chap with a face like that could hardly have much capacity for romance. I should say that champagne was more in his line."

"All the same," said Nancy, "he's quite serious about wanting to marry me, and, what's more, he's made up his mind that he's going to do it."

"How do you mean?" inquired Colin. "Did he turn nasty when you told him it was a wash-out?"

"Very nasty," said Nancy calmly. "He accused me of all sorts of things, my chief crime being that I've allowed myself to be influenced by you."

"Well, I don't want to brag," admitted Colin modestly, "but I've certainly done my best. Does he know that I'm taking Mark's practice?"

She nodded. "Yes, I'd told him at the beginning of dinner. I suppose that was what put the idea into his head." She stopped. "Colin," she said, "don't think me stupid and melodramatic, but do you know, I am really rather frightened. There was something in the way he spoke about you, something that made me feel as if—oh, I know it sounds ridiculous—but as if you were in actual danger."

Colin sat back and smiled contentedly. "This is too good to be true," he observed. "I've been longing to punch his head ever since he told you that lie about my leaving the hospital."

"But you don't understand," persisted Nancy. "He wouldn't try anything himself, of course; he's much more likely to pay someone else to do it. You go about alone all over the place, and in a rough neighbourhood like Shadwell——"

"You needn't be anxious," interrupted Colin. "I shall keep my eyes open, I promise you. If Fenton's got hold of the idea that I'm in his way, I can quite believe he'll stick at nothing." He paused. "What beats me altogether," he added, "is why he wants to make you his wife. You haven't the least doubt that he's really in earnest?"

"Not the least. He even went so far as talking about a special license, and suggesting that we should be married this week."

"That makes it fishier still," said Colin, frowning. He stared thoughtfully at his plate for a moment or two, and then suddenly pushed back his chair. "I know what I shall do," he continued. "I shall tell Marsden the whole story and ask him for his advice. I'm perfectly certain there's some damned crooked business at the back of it."

"But you can't possibly bother the police," objected Nancy. "After all, Major Fenton has only asked me to marry him, and there's nothing very criminal in that."

"Depends on what you call criminal," said Colin. "I should say he deserved ten years for his confounded cheek."

As he spoke the door opened and Martha Jane inserted her head.

"Would you like any sweet?" she inquired. "There's a nice plum tart in the kitchen if either of you fancy a bit."

Colin glanced at his watch.

"It sounds alluring," he said, "but I don't think I can spare the time. I must start out on my round at half-past, and I shall have to run through the cases first and see what I've got to take with me."

He rose from his chair, Nancy following his example.

Martha Jane looked at them both with disapproval.

"You're as bad as the doctor, every bit," she observed. 'Ow do you expect to keep well if you don't feed proper? What with this here snatching and picking it's a wonder to me that you ain't all in your graves."

"You might give us an extra good tea to make up for it," suggested Colin.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," said Nancy. "I'm afraid I shall be out when you get back. I've promised to go round and see old Mrs. Merivale, one of Mark's patients."

"Oh!"

Colin's face fell. "That's a blow," he said sadly. "I can never enjoy my tea properly unless someone pours it out for me."

"I daresay Martha Jane will do it if you ask her nicely," said Nancy. "In any case, I'll try and get back in time for the second cup."

With an encouraging smile she passed out into the hall, and, having paused to light himself a cigarette, Colin returned to the surgery.

Half an hour later, with Mark's black bag in one hand and a stout stick in the other, he set forth into the chill and uninviting atmosphere of the December afternoon. He was not disturbed by Nancy's vague alarm with regard to his personal safety, but his practice took him into a pretty rough neighbourhood, and a good tough ash seemed to him a distinctly suitable companion.

As it turned out, however, the precaution was an unnecessary one. During his long ramble through the lowest parts of Shadwell he met with nothing but good-natured civility. Wherever he went, down sordid alleys and up rickety staircases, a friendly welcome invariably awaited him. His experience at the hospital had given him the knack of getting on readily with poor people, and, since he had done the same round on the previous day, he was already on familiar terms with most of his patients.

By the time he returned to the surgery it was close on five o'clock. Darkness was rapidly setting in, and the feeling that his out-of-door duty was over for the day seemed to lend an additional attraction to the warmth and comfort of the brightly lit hall.

As he closed the front door Martha Jane emerged from the kitchen.

"A man came to see you just after you'd gone out, sir," she informed him. "Party of the name of Bates. Said he'd call again."

Colin, who had heard nothing of Joe since they had parted outside the station, received the news with no little interest.

"Did he mention any particular time?" he asked.

"No, sir. 'E just said 'e'd look round again later."

"Well, let me know at once if he does," he replied. "I'll see him immediately, no matter how many people are waiting."

Martha Jane nodded. "There's a letter and a telegram come for you too, sir. They're over there on the hall table." She paused. "Per'aps as Miss Nancy's out you'd like your tea in the surgery?"

"Yes, that will be best," said Colin. "You can bring it along in as soon as it's ready."

He divested himself of his coat, and, crossing to the table, picked up the telegram. As he expected, it bore the Lincoln postmark, and with eager fingers he slit open the flap and pulled out the contents.

"Operation a complete success. Shall be home to-morrow about one.—MARK."

He turned to Martha Jane.

"This is from Doctor Ashton," he said. "Everything has gone off splendidly, and he hopes to be back to-morrow."

"'E would," was the answer. "Wild 'orses wouldn't keep 'im from work, not so long as 'e's got a breath in his body."

Colin laughed, and, taking up the letter, walked forward into the surgery. A bright fire was burning away cheerfully in the grate, and, having flicked on the electric light, he seated himself at his desk and proceeded to open the envelope.

A single glance at the letter inside showed him that it was from Inspector Marsden.

"SCOTLAND YARD, "Thursday, December 12th.

"DEAR DOCTOR GRAY,—You will be interested to hear that we have at last managed to pick up the tracks of William Kennedy, Professor Carter's servant. It seems that he has been very ill, and for the last two months has been living in an out-of-the-way village in Hertfordshire under the care of an old female cousin. The latter, who is apparently unable to read, had heard nothing about the murder, and it was only last night that Kennedy was informed of the facts. I am making arrangements to motor down and interview him to-morrow, don't suppose I shall be back at the Yard until the evening, but if you would care to look in any time after six I shall be pleased to see you and to let you know the result of my journey.

"I am, "Yours sincerely, "JAMES MARSDEN."

With considerable satisfaction Colin folded the letter and put it away in his pocket. It was a relief to know that things were moving at last, for, even if Kennedy were unable to throw any direct light on the murder, the information he could supply with regard to the Professor's private life might well be the starting-point for further discoveries.

He was pondering over the possibilities of the situation when Martha Jane arrived with his tea. She had evidently accepted her appointment as Nancy's understudy in a serious spirit, for she not only filled his cup, but stood by with watchful solicitude until she was certain that he was provided with everything that he required.

Just as she was turning to leave the room there came a ring at the bell.

"I wonder if that's our friend Joe Bates," said Colin. "If it is, bring him in at once."

There was an interval of nearly a minute, and then, looking rather flushed and ruffled, Martha Jane reappeared, closing the door behind her.

"It ain't 'im," she announced; "it's a patient. 'E's waiting outside." She nodded toward the hall.

"Oh, hang it all!" exclaimed Colin. "This is my hour off. I'm not going to see any more patients until six. Why on earth didn't you tell him?"

"Tell 'im!" repeated Martha Jane indignantly. "I told 'im right enough."

"And do you mean to say he won't go away?"

"'E just pushed me on one side and sat himself down," was the answer. "'E says 'e means to wait 'ere until you come out."

Colin rose to his feet, and, swiftly crossing the room, threw open the door.

A man who was seated on one of the hall chairs jumped up at his appearance. He was a rough-looking customer of the longshoreman type, with a deep scar on one side of his face and a dirty handkerchief knotted round his neck.

Colin walked up to him.

"What do you mean by forcing your way into the house?" he demanded. "If you want to see me you can go round to the surgery and wait until it's open."

The intruder stood his ground, fumbling awkwardly with his cap.

"No offence, doctor," he muttered. "If I done wrong I asks yer pardon."

"Well, you heard what I said," returned Colin. "There's the door behind you."

The man still made no attempt to move. "Don't be 'ard, doctor," he said hoarsely. "I want yer to come along and see a pal o' mine, a pore bloke wot's 'ad a haccident dahn at Truscott's wharf."

Colin shook his head. "I can't manage it now," he said. "I've got to be here at six to see my patients."

"You can be back before then, doctor," persisted the other eagerly. "It's only a step from 'ere—s'elp me Gawd, it is."

"I know the place," said Colin. "It will take a good twenty minutes to get there."

"'E ain't on the wharf now," explained the other. "We've carried 'im along to 'is own 'ouse."

"Where's that?" demanded Colin.

The man hesitated. "It's dahn at the bottom o' Flood Lane. One o' them old 'ouses backin' on the river."

Colin recognized the spot from his description—a ruinous and half-deserted slum, most of which had already been demolished. Before he could speak, however, the visitor resumed his petition.

"For Gawd's sake come along an' 'ave a look at 'im, guv'nor. We can't find no other doctor, an' 'e's sufferin' somethin' crool."

Colin glanced at his watch. "Oh, very well," he said curtly. "I sha'n't have time to attend to the man properly, but if I find it's a matter for surgical treatment I'll give you a note to the hospital. Just wait here and I'll be with you in a minute."

He stepped back into the consulting room, and, crossing to the opposite door, summoned Martha Jane.

"When Miss Nancy comes in," he said, "you might tell her that I've been called out on an urgent case. I'm only going as far as the bottom of Flood Lane, so I shall be back by six."

He thrust one or two articles which might be needed into his bag, and, hurrying out again into the hall, unhooked his hat and coat.

"What sort of injury is it?" he asked, as the front door closed behind them. "A broken leg or something of that kind?"

His companion, who was slightly ahead of him, pushed open the small iron gate and turned to the left in the direction of the river.

"No," he answered slowly, "'e ain't broke nothing—leastways, not as I knows of. The pain's inside of 'im, so 'e says. Twisted 'is guts, I reckon, from the way 'e's carryin' on."

He relapsed into silence, and, checking his pace a few yards farther on, led the way down a dark and narrow alley.

They emerged on to a desolate strip of waste land, where stray piles of brick and other refuse were dotted about forlornly under the light of a solitary street lamp. Exactly opposite them were the partly demolished remains of a large warehouse, with two crazy and tumble-down houses still standing alongside. Behind these, half a mile wide, ran the dark and sluggish current of the Thames.

Colin's guide pointed across toward the dilapidated dwellings.

"That's the 'ouse," he observed, "the end one o' them two. You want to step careful, doctor; there's a number o' bad places abaht 'ere."

He set forward again, picking his way deliberately between the heaps of débris and the numerous pools of dirty water which infested the whole district. Colin followed close behind him, and after several minutes of this unpleasant progress they came out on to a muddy and deserted roadway which ran parallel with the river.

Colin glanced back over the route they had come. "A nice open situation," he remarked, "but I should think that the people who lived here were rather apt to break their necks."

"It's an orkard spot to get to in the dark," admitted his companion. "You'll be all right though, doctor. I'll see yer back meself as far as Flood Lane."

He crossed the road and advanced toward the houses, one of which appeared to be uninhabited. A dim light was burning on the ground floor of the second, and, mounting the broken step, he rapped twice on the door with his knuckles.

After some delay it was opened by a gaunt, haggard-looking woman, who held up the candle she was carrying and peered suspiciously into the darkness. She evidently recognized the visitor, for without inquiring his business she stepped back silently against the wall.

"That's 'is wife," observed the man, turning to Colin. "She's a bit queer in the 'ead, so you won't get nothing out of 'er."

He moved aside to make room for Colin's entrance, and then, closing the door behind them, addressed himself to the woman.

With a furtive nod she started off along the passage, at the end of which there was another room facing the front door.

Colin, who had turned to follow her, took a pace forward. It was only one pace, for as his foot touched the ground something soft and heavy came down with a blinding thud on the back of his head. Half stunned by the blow, he pitched forward full length on to the rough and uncarpeted boards, and at the same instant two men sprang forward out of the room, and flung themselves heavily on top of him.

What happened during the next few minutes seemed to belong to the world of nightmare. He had a vague impression of fighting desperately with fists and teeth and feet; then a savage hand gripped him by the throat, and everything was wiped out in a sudden and suffocating blackness.

* * * * * * * * *

"I tell yer I knows 'im. It's the swine that was 'elpin' the cops when they pulled 'Ginger Dick.'"

The hoarse voice, which sounded very far away, penetrated slowly into Colin's mind, and, opening his eyes, he stared up at the speaker.

He was still in the passage, stretched out flat on his back, with his ankles tied together and his arms bound tightly to his sides. Three men were standing round him, and, in spite of the dim light and the almost stupefying pain in his head, he had no difficulty in recognizing them. The bloodstained face that was scowling at him had been engraved on his memory ever since the day when he first met Nancy. It belonged to the ruffian who had led the attack on Marsden and had kicked him in the ribs when he was lying helpless on the ground. The other two were the plausible visitor to the surgery and Mr. "Spike" Cooper.

It was the latter who replied to the first man's outburst.

"What the hell's that got to do with it, anyway?" he drawled. "I'm here on business, and it don't matter a cuss to me whether he's your long-lost brother."

"It matters to me though," growled the other. "I 'ad somethin' up against 'im before, an' now 'e's bashed 'alf me faice in with 'is blarsted boot. Taike that, yer swine!"

He lifted his foot, but before he could accomplish his genial purpose a violent shove from "Spike" Cooper sent him staggering against the wall.

"None o' that, you fool! Didn't you hear what the boss said? If there's any marks on his body we don't get the money." He turned to the man with the scar, who had watched the fracas with cynical indifference. "No good messing about, Jake. Catch hold of his feet and we'll cart him down straight away."

Suiting the action to the word, the two of them raised him quickly from the floor and carried him forward through the open doorway. With a muttered oath the third accomplice pulled himself together and lurched in after them.

All effective resistance being out of the question Colin made no attempt to struggle or cry out. He felt certain that death was very close at hand, and his whole being was racked with a sick fury as he thought of the easy way in which he had allowed himself to be trapped.

Through his half-closed eyes he saw that the room which they had entered was in a state of indescribable filth. The floor was littered with empty bottles and old newspapers, the damp plaster was peeling off the bare walls, and the small window, which apparently looked out on to the river, was thickly coated with grime.

In the left-hand corner the raised flap of a trapdoor was just visible in the gloom. His two bearers dropped him unceremoniously on the boards alongside, and with a curt air of authority "Spike" Cooper jerked his thumb toward the hole.

"You get down first, Jake," he said, "and we'll lower him through."

Jake accepted the order without comment, and, swinging himself into the opening, began slowly disappearing from view down the rungs of a rusty iron ladder.

A moment later there came a muffled voice from below.

"Right you are, mate."

Dragging Colin's feet toward the edge, the other two men jerked him roughly from the ground. The next instant his legs were dangling in space, and with the iron rungs bumping against his back he slid rapidly down into the darkness below.

Just before he reached the bottom he felt himself clutched round the waist by a pair of strong arms. Then he was lifted clear of the ladder, and dumped heavily on to a damp stone floor.

After a brief interval "Spike" Cooper also descended, and, producing an electric torch, switched on the light. Colin saw that they were in a large cellar, the walls of which were dripping with wet slime. Except for the trapdoor there appeared to be only one other opening—a heavily barred grating some eight feet from the floor.

Bending down over his prisoner, "Spike" Cooper flashed the light full in his face.

"That was a dandy fight of yours, mister," he drawled slowly, "and I'm real sorry we got to put you through it."

Colin looked up at him unflinchingly. "You seem to take a long time about committing a murder," he said. "Why don't you finish the job and clear out?"

The other shook his head. "That's just the trouble," he replied, with a touch of regret in his voice. "In order to suit the party that's arranging this little affair you got to be found drowned—picked out of the Thames. See, mister?"

Colin glanced round, and in a sudden flash the real meaning of the dripping walls became hideously apparent. With a strong effort he managed to control his voice.

"So that's your plan, is it?" he said. "I'm to be left here until the cellar's flooded?"

"Spike" Cooper nodded. "It's a dog's trick," he admitted reluctantly, "but I guess you'll find it as easy a death as any other. Soon as the water's up level with that grating it pours in here like a Gawd-damned Niagara." He paused. "What I'm buckin' up against," he continued, "is your having to lie here a couple of hours waiting for the tide. Seems to be kinder cruel, that."

In spite of the grim prospect in front of him, Colin laughed.

"Thank you very much," he replied. "I hope that when you're hanged death will be instantaneous."

They were interrupted by an impatient movement from the other man.

"Come along, Spike," he growled. "Wot the hell's the use o' standin' 'ere jawin'?"

"I guess you're about right," was Mr. Cooper's philosophical answer.

He bent forward once more, and, having satisfied himself that the cords were properly fastened, turned to follow his companion, who was already halfway up the ladder.

Colin watched them disappear through the opening above, then the trapdoor closed down, leaving him in complete darkness.

A moment later he heard a grinding clang as a rusty bolt shot home into its socket.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The study clock chimed out the hour of seven, and, laying aside the paper she had been looking at, Nancy got up from her chair and walked to the window. She drew back the blind, and stood there for a minute gazing down at, the lighted pavements, where the usual throng of poorly dressed women were drifting to and fro, intent upon their evening shopping. Then with a puzzled and rather anxious expression in her face she turned toward the door, and, descending the staircase, made her way along the passage as far as the kitchen.

She found Martha Jane standing at the sink, peeling potatoes.

"I can't think what can have happened to Doctor Gray, Martha," she said. "I'm really beginning to get worried about him."

"Don't you upset yerself, miss," was the reassuring answer. "'E'll be along safe enough in a minute or two."

"I hope so," said Nancy. "All the same, it seems rather extraordinary. You tell me he said he'd be home by six, and here it is just gone seven."

"You can't pay no 'eed to what doctors say," began Martha Jane. "Not that they ain't as truthful as other gentlemen, but——"

She was interrupted by a ring at the back-door bell, and, wiping her hands on her apron, departed to answer the summons. Nancy heard the low rumble of a man's voice, followed almost immediately by the sound of returning footsteps.

"It's the same party that called before, Miss Nancy. A man of the name of Bates. The doctor said he wanted to see 'im special, so I s'pose I'd better ask 'im to wait."

"What, Joe Bates the prize-fighter?" exclaimed Nancy. "Oh, please bring him in at once. He's the very person I should like to have a talk to."

Martha Jane disappeared again into the scullery, and a moment later a burly figure in a cap and muffler followed her diffidently into the light.

Nancy welcomed him with an encouraging smile.

"We have met before, Mr. Bates," she said. "I don't suppose you remember, but it was one night in Whitcomb Street, when I was in the car with Doctor Ashton."

Joe grinned a trifle nervously. "That's right, miss," he observed. "I ain't forgot yer—not me." He pulled off his cap and scratched the back of his closely cropped head. "I got a bit o' noos for the doctor," he continued. "D'you happen to know when 'e's likely to be in, miss?"

"That's the very point we were talking about," replied Nancy. "He went out at half-past five and he left a message that he would be back by six at the latest."

Joe stared at her. "Well, that's a bit queer," he remarked. "'E ain't the sort to say a thing and then not do it."

"It's queerer than it looks," was Nancy's answer. "Six o'clock is the time at which he sees his outdoor patients. He wouldn't forget that, however busy he was."

"Did 'e tell yer where 'e was goin' to?"

"He told me," broke in Martha Jane. "Some 'ouse down at the bottom of Flood Lane."

A swift change manifested itself in Joe's face. "Flood Lane!" he almost shouted. "You're sure 'e said Flood Lane?"

"Of course I am. I ain't deaf, Mr. Bates."

Joe took no notice of the snub. "Wot made 'im go there?" he demanded.

"'E was fetched," replied Martha Jane with some asperity. "Fetched by a party who hadn't no better manners——"

"'Ere," interrupted Joe, "wot was the bloke like? You answer me quick."

Martha Jane flushed indignantly, but before her lips could frame a protest she was forestalled by Nancy.

"It's all right, Martha. Mr. Bates is afraid that something may have happened to Doctor Gray, and he wants to help us. That's so, isn't it?" She turned quickly to Joe, who nodded his head.

"Well," replied Martha Jane, in a slightly mollified voice, "'e was just a rough common-looking man the same as you can see 'anging about the street corners I'd know 'im anywhere, though, if only by the scar on 'is face."

There was a half-stifled oath from Joe. "Jake 'Udson!" he cried. "Jake 'Udson it was for a million!" He clenched his fists and glared savagely at the two women. "Nah ye can see why he ain't come back."

Nancy's heart was beating swiftly, but to all outward appearance she remained perfectly cool.

"Don't waste time," she said. "Tell me what you mean at once. I know that you're a friend of Doctor Gray's, and I know that he asked you to follow a man outside the station."

Joe moistened his lips. "That's it, miss. A bloke of the name o' 'Spike' Cooper. 'E's 'and an' glove with this 'ere Jake 'Udson, an' there ain't two dirtier blackguards, not in the 'ole o' London."

Nancy's face had gone very white. "Do you know this place—Flood Lane?" she demanded.

"It's where 'Spike' Cooper's lodgin'," was the answer. "Leastways, not Flood Lane itself, but dahn in one o' them old 'ouses backin' on the river. I seen 'im go in there twice with me own eyes." He pulled on his cap and half turned toward the door. "I'll get inside some'ow, miss. I'll learn wot they done to the doctor if I got to pull the blarsted place down."

Nancy stepped forward. "Wait a minute," she said quickly. "I'm coming with you."

Joe turned and stared at her incredulously. "You comin' with me?" he repeated. "Why, wot'd be the good o' that, miss?"

"I can use a revolver," said Nancy curtly, "and there's one upstairs in the doctor's room. You stop here while I fetch it."

There was something so imperative in her manner that Joe attempted no further argument. Removing his cap again, he seated himself obediently on a chair, and, leaving him and Martha Jane to keep each other company, Nancy hurried from the kitchen.

Going straight to the cloak room, she slipped on a mackintosh over her indoor costume and, after rapidly donning a hat, ran up the staircase to the study. From the top drawer of the writing table she took out a small Service revolver which Mark had once exhibited to her with some pride as the actual implement with which he had formerly waged war against the Flanders rats. There was a box of cartridges alongside, and after filling all six chambers she thrust the weapon into her pocket, and swiftly made her way downstairs again to the kitchen.

Joe, who was still sitting where she had left him, rose up at her entrance. It was Martha Jane, however, who was the first to speak.

"You can't go off like this, Miss Nancy," she exclaimed. "Let me fetch a policeman to come with you."

Nancy shook her head. "There's no time for that," she replied. "Besides, what can we possibly say to a policeman? If we tried to explain he'd only think we were mad."

"You're right, miss," broke in Joe. "This 'ere's a job wot's got to be done quick, an' the sooner we get to it the better."

"Come along then," returned Nancy. "I'm ready."

She led the way out through the scullery door and, pulling open the iron gate, turned to Joe, who had followed closely on her heels.

"You give the orders," she said, "and I'll do whatever you tell me."

The light of the street lamp was shining full upon her face, and Joe paused for a moment to inspect her admiringly.

"You got some sense, you 'ave," he observed, "and guts too."

"I hope so," said Nancy. "Anyhow, I've got the revolver, and that seems to me to be almost as useful."

With a chuckle Joe swung on to the pavement, and, turning to the left, headed eastward in the direction of Flood Lane.

"It's this way, miss," he continued, after a short pause. "Seein' as 'ow we're workin' in the dark in a manner o' speakin,' it ain't no use makin' plans, not till we reach the 'ouse. The first thing we gotter do is to get inside. It don't sound like an easy job, but then, yer never knows."

"How many of them do you think there are?" asked Nancy.

"I bin watchin' the place for two days, an' I ain't seen no one except 'Spike' Cooper an' this 'ere Jake 'Udson. I reckon I can 'andle them easy enough so long as they don't start usin' their knives. If they does—well, that's where that gun o' yourn may come in 'andy."

"Shall I give it to you?" suggested Nancy.

Joe shook his head. "No," he replied. "I likes to 'ave me 'ands free. You stick to it, miss, but don't you begin pluggin' 'oles in 'em, not unless I tips you the orfice. We don't want no inquests, not if we can get 'old of the doctor withaht."

They turned into Flood Lane and, passing rapidly down the narrow and evil-smelling thoroughfare, emerged on the broad stretch of waste land that bordered the river bank.

"That's where we gotter go to," said Joe, pointing across to the black outline of the warehouse. "There's a way over right enough, but I guess we'd better stick to the road. If any one 'appens to be looking out they're less likely to see us."

He struck off to the right, and, keeping well under the shadow of the opposite wall, guided Nancy cautiously forward until they reached the muddy road which ran parallel with the river. Crossing this, he gained the broken pavement on the farther side, and continued his advance until they were within a few yards of the warehouse.

"It's the second 'ouse you come to from 'ere," he whispered. "I bin thinkin' it over, an' if you ain't afraid, miss, it seems to me the best plan's for you to go on a'ead, an' knock at the door. If they sees you alone they may open it jest to find out wot yer after."

"What shall I say?" inquired Nancy.

"Don't you say nothin'. I'll be 'anging arahnd close be'ind, and before they shuts it again I'll 'ave me foot inside. We'll do the talkin' then."

Nancy nodded, to show that she understood, and, walking on bravely through the gloom, pulled up in front of the suspected dwelling. A glimmer of light in the front room revealed the presence of a dilapidated knocker. She drew in a long breath, which seemed to steady her throbbing heart, and then, stepping forward, gave a couple of sharp raps.

Almost at once she became conscious that someone was inspecting her from inside the window. The scrutiny must have lasted for several seconds, then the face was suddenly withdrawn, and a moment later she could hear the approach of shuffling footsteps.

After another pause the door began to open. It went back slowly until there was a space of about six inches, and through the gap a pair of suspicious eyes peered out at the visitor.

"Well," demanded a croaking voice, "wot d'yer want 'ere?"

Even if Nancy had been prepared with a reply she would have had no time to deliver it. Silently as a tiger Joe leaped forward out of the darkness, and, bringing every ounce of his weight to bear at the right moment, hurled himself against the panel. There was a shrill cry and the sound of a heavy fall as the door crashed inward, then Nancy found herself clutching the railings and staring at the vague outline of two figures who seemed to be scuffling furiously on the floor of the passage.

She was recalled to action by the voice of Joe.

"I got 'er," he gasped triumphantly. "Come along in, miss, an' shut the door."

Snatching out her revolver, Nancy stepped across the threshold, and with commendable coolness proceeded to carry out his instructions. The task only occupied her a moment, but by the time she had finished, Joe was on his feet again, swearing softly to himself and sucking vigorously at his left thumb. "Bit me to the bone, the 'ell-cat," he observed. "And I 'andled 'er gently, too, jest 'cos she 'appened to be a woman." He paused, and, bending forward, listened intently. "Darned if it don't seem as if she was alone in the 'ouse," he added.

Nancy advanced to where he was standing, and in the flickering candle-light which came out through the open door of the room looked down at the prostrate figure on the ground. It was that of a gaunt, middle-aged woman, clad in a dirty dressing gown, with dishevelled hair streaming over her face and neck. A rolled-up handkerchief had been thrust into her mouth, and her wrists were tied together by the scarf which had formerly decorated Joe's neck. Out of her bloodshot eyes she glared up malevolently at the pair of them.

Nancy drew back with a shudder. "I hope she isn't much hurt," she faltered.

"'Urt?" repeated Joe indignantly. "It's me wot's 'urt, not 'er. Got 'er teeth in while I was tyin' 'er up an' 'alf gnawed me blinkin' thumb off!" He rummaged in his pocket, and, after a moment's search, produced a stray length of cord.

"What are you going to do?" asked Nancy.

"Tack her feet together and lock 'er in the room," was the answer. "I'm goin' over this 'ouse from top to bottom, an'——"

"Look! Look!" With a horrified expression in her face Nancy was pointing down toward the floor. Joe's eyes followed the direction of her finger, and a sudden oath escaped his lips.

"Blood!" he cried. "An' wet blood, too!"

He stepped into the room, and, snatching up the candlestick from the table, hurried back with it into the passage.

"Do you see?" whispered Nancy. "There's a trail of it—all along up to the door." She put her hand to her breast and fought back the numbing fear that seemed to be clutching at her heart.

With blazing eyes Joe turned on the prostrate woman.

"You she-devil!" he roared, shaking his fist. "If any 'arm's come to the doctor through you an' your filthy mates, I'll rip the skin off all three of yer."

Before the word had left his lips Nancy was already at the farther door.

"Quick, Joe!" she cried piteously. "Quick! Bring the candle."

In two strides the prize-fighter was beside her.

"You stand back," he commanded hoarsely, and, thrusting the candlestick into her hands, gripped hold of the knob.

As the door swung open Nancy raised the light. Its faint gleam flickered round the sordid room, disclosing the damp and peeling wallpaper and litter of empty whisky bottles which lay about the floor.

Joe's glance travelled swiftly from one corner to another. "There's no one 'ere," he muttered. "We'd best try the floor above."

Nancy caught him by the sleeve. "Listen," she cried tensely. "What's that?"

From below came an unmistakable sound—the steady but muffled splash of running water.

For a second they both stood there motionless, then, with a sudden exclamation, Nancy pushed her way past and stumbled blindly forward toward the trap-door.

"Joe," she gasped, "he's down there! I know it. I feel it." She sank on her knees, and setting the candle on the floor beside her, began tugging desperately at the iron bolt.

Recovering from his momentary amazement, Joe hurried to her assistance.

"'Ere," he growled, "let me get at it."

He seized hold of the rusty stanchion, and with a vicious jerk wrenched it backward. Another heave and the heavy flap rose slowly into the air, revealing a black, yawning gap and the top rungs of an iron ladder.

Stretched out at full length on her face, Nancy thrust the candle over the edge. The light gleamed upon a rush and eddy of chocolate-coloured water, and then suddenly a frantic cry broke from her lips.

"Colin! Colin!"

With a violent imprecation Joe pushed her on one side.

"'Old on," he roared down the trap. "I'm comin'."

He swung himself through, and dropping with a loud splash into the swirling waters, scrambled desperately toward the opposite corner, where a man's head and shoulders were just visible in the gloom. Another minute and he would have been too late, for even as he reached the spot a fresh torrent surged in through the opening, and with a choking sob Colin swayed forward and collapsed.

Keeping his own feet with difficulty, Joe clutched hold of the drowning man and dragged him to the surface. In doing so he made the discovery that Colin's arms were lashed to his sides, and the full nature of the task that confronted him flashed grimly across his mind.

As a veteran boxer, however, the power to think quickly and coolly in moments of danger had practically become an instinct. He realized instantly that there was only one chance of escape for both of them, and that was to cut through the cords before the incoming water rose above their heads.

Swinging his half-conscious companion round, he propped him against the wall. Then, freeing one hand, he dragged out the clasp-knife which he always carried in his pocket, and wrenched open the blade with his teeth.

As he did so, Colin by great effort managed to force a few words from between his chattering teeth.

"There's another on—round my feet. Cut that too if you can."

"Right you are!" shouted Joe encouragingly. "Keep it up, doctor, and I'll 'ave you loose in a couple o' shakes."

With feverish haste he accomplished the first part of his task, and then, taking a deep breath, plunged his way down through the water until his fingers encountered the second cord. One vicious slash severed the wet strand, and, uncoiling it as rapidly as he could, he struggled back to the surface, puffing and gasping for air.

Quick as he had been, there was scarcely a second to spare. The water was already up to his chin, and Colin, although his legs and arms were now free, was far too numbed and exhausted to make more than the feeblest efforts on his own behalf.

Summoning every ounce of his strength, Joe lifted the latter bodily in his arms. Then with swaying steps he stumbled forward in the direction of the trapdoor, where the little yellow flame of the candle which Nancy was holding flickered and gleamed above their heads.

"Get 'old of the ladder, guv'nor," he panted. "Get 'old of it some'ow and I'll shove yer up."

Colin heard, and with blue and stiffened fingers caught desperately at the rungs.

At the same moment he glanced up toward the trap, and there, sharply illuminated in the candle-light, he saw Nancy's face bending down toward him.

With something between a sob and a laugh she stretched out her hand.

"Stop as you are now," came Joe's voice. "I'm goin' to stoop down so as you can get on top of me. All you've gotter do is to keep yerself stiff."

There was a splash, and a second later Colin's ankles were encircled in a powerful grip. Then his feet were resting on Joe's shoulders, and inch by inch he felt himself hoisted upward, until Nancy's fingers closed tightly round his wrists.

Another heave from below and the upper half of his body was through the trap. He thrust out a hand to steady himself, and as he did so a sudden wave of giddiness overcame him, and he sank sideways into Nancy's arms.

CHAPTER NINE

"Colin, Colin dear! It's all over. You're safe up here with us."

He opened his eyes, to find his head resting upon Nancy's shoulder, and the dripping figure of Joe just emerging through the trap. For a moment he made no attempt to move, then, as the truth of the statement became increasingly clear to him, a contented sigh escaped his lips.

Nancy drew him still closer, her soft cheek pressing against his. "Are you much hurt?" she whispered.

Though feeling curiously disinclined for conversation, Colin managed to find his voice.

"I don't think so," he said weakly. "What I really want is a good stiff drink."

Joe, who had stepped out on the floor, and picked up the candle, glanced hastily round the room, then with a sudden exclamation he darted across toward a shelf by the bed.

"'Ere we are!" he cried triumphantly. "'Ere's the very thing!"

He wrenched out the cork from a half-empty bottle of rum, and hurrying back to where Colin was lying, dropped down on one knee alongside of him.

"'Ave a go at this, doctor," he urged. "Nothing like rum to warm yer up when you're wet through."

He tilted forward the bottle, and, putting his lips to the neck, Colin gulped in a generous mouthful. The raw spirit sent a comforting glow all through his chilled and exhausted body, and with a fresh effort he struggled up into a sitting position.

"Thank you both," he gasped, with the ghost of a smile. "Sorry not to have said it before, but I'm only just beginning to get my bearings." He stared a little dizzily from one to the other of them. "Where are 'Spike' Cooper and his friends, and how in the name of all that's wonderful did you manage to find your way here?"

"It was Joe," said Nancy. "He had been watching this house for the last two days, and he had seen them go in and out. When you didn't come back he felt sure you must have been trapped."

"So we just come along to see wot was 'appening," continued Joe, removing his mouth from the bottle. "And bleedin' lucky we did, too, judgin' by the way things was shapin'."

Colin passed his hand over his forehead. "But how did you get in?" he asked. "What have you done with the others?"

"There wasn't no others," explained Joe. "Only a bitin', scratchin' she-devil." He got up suddenly, and, tiptoeing lightly to the door, peered out into the passage. "Yus," he added, "she's still there, blarst 'er."

"It's the old woman who opened the door," explained Nancy. "Joe tied her up and gagged her so that she shouldn't be able to interfere. There doesn't seem to be any one else in the house."

"Then the quicker we get out of this the better," exclaimed Colin. "They've probably only gone round to the nearest pub, and now the cellar's flooded they may be back any minute."

"It's all right," said Nancy. "I've got Mark's pistol with me."

"You would have," returned Colin admiringly. "All the same, it would be madness not to make a bolt for it while we've got the chance. We shall have plenty of time to talk when we're safe outside." He extended an arm to each of them, and with their joint assistance scrambled painfully to his feet. "You'll have to help me along at first," he added; "my legs are so cramped I can hardly move a step."

"I was afraid they'd killed you," said Nancy, with a queer little gulp. "There was blood all along the passage."

"Oh, that wasn't mine," returned Colin reassuringly. "That belonged to one of the other gentlemen whom I happened to kick in the face."

"We may as well taike this with us," observed Joe, stuffing the remainder of the rum into his pocket. "Nah, doctor, you 'ang on tight to me, an' don't you worry yerself abaht nothin'. We ain't bein' stopped this journey, not if we runs into the 'ole stinkin' pack of 'em."

He slipped an arm like a steel cable round Colin's waist, and, preceded by Nancy carrying the candle, they staggered out into the corridor.

"Don't you mind treadin' on 'er," continued Joe, as they approached the squirming figure on the floor. "She's one o' them wild cats that it don't pay to be perlite with."

Colin himself was in no mood for superfluous courtesy, but a timely swerve enabled him to avoid the opposite extreme, and the next minute they had hobbled down the steps, and were standing on the pavement.

Blowing out the candle, and placing it on the ground, Nancy closed the door behind them.

Joe held out his free hand toward her. "Better let me 'ave the gun, miss," he remarked. "We might meet 'em before we gets to Flood Lane, and, seein' as they means mischief, the only thing to do is to shoot quick."

Nancy handed it over without a word, and, crossing to the railings, took up her position on the farther side of Colin. The latter put his other arm round her shoulder, and in this somewhat huddled formation the three of them started off at a slow pace along the front of the warehouse.

It was a painful journey as far as Colin was concerned, for with every step he took the blood began to circulate more freely through his numbed limbs, causing him such intense agony that at times he could hardly suppress a groan.

In order to take his mind off his sufferings he began to tell them his story, jerking it out in broken and disconnected phrases as they limped their way slowly forward through the darkness. He described how he had been stunned in the passage by a blow from a sandbag, and how, on coming round, he had recognized "Spike" Cooper and the man who had led the attack on Marsden in the King's Road. He went on to give them an account of the way in which he had been thrust down into the cellar and left there to drown, and of how, after what seemed like hours of vain struggling, he had at last succeeded in getting on his feet, just before the water began to pour in through the opening.

"I don't know why I took the trouble," he finished, "except that one doesn't like to go under without a last kick. I never dreamed that there was the faintest chance of my being rescued. When I heard you opening the trap I made certain that it was only Cooper and the others come back to watch me drown."

As he spoke they reached the entrance to Flood Lane, and with a grunt of relief Joe slipped the revolver into his pocket.

"Better not be seen carryin' a gun 'ere," he observed. "There might be a cop at the corner, and I reckon we want to get you back 'ome as soon as possible."

"You needn't worry about me," said Colin encouragingly. "This little stroll has just saved my life."

He was, as a matter of fact, already beginning to walk more easily, and by the time they came out at the top of the lane into the main road he found himself able to dispense with Nancy's assistance.

Even so, with two of the party drenched to the skin, they certainly presented an unusual spectacle. It takes something extremely out-of-the-way, however, to excite much comment in Shadwell High Street, and, except for one or two curious glances which were cast at them as they passed under the street lamps, they managed to reach the surgery without attracting any particular attention.

"I expect I can find you a change, Joe," said Colin, as Nancy pulled out her key. "Doctor Ashton has lots of old clothes kicking about, and I'm sure he won't mind my pinching a suit for you."

Joe shook his head. "It's very good of you, guv'nor, but I won't come in, not if ye don't mind. I gotter be at the Palace by eight o'clock, an' I can get me duds dried there while the boxin's on. They won't be none the worse for a bit o' washin'."

"Oh, but you must, Joe," exclaimed Nancy, in some distress. "You can't go about in those wet things. You'll catch your death of cold."

Joe chuckled hoarsely, and patted the bottle in his side pocket. "Not me, miss," he replied. "I ain't the sort as ketches cold, not when I got 'alf a bottle o' rum on me." He turned to Colin. "You ain't sittin' dahn under this, doctor?" he added. "You let me know when ye feels up to it, and I'll be round 'ere in a brace o' shakes. We'll smash the guts outer them two for this night's work, or my name ain't Joe Bates."

"I'll fix up something of the sort if I can," said Colin hopefully. "I've got a notion, however, that it's rather a bigger business than it looks, so you mustn't be disappointed if we have to bring the police in."

"Jest as you thinks best, guv'nor," was the regretful answer. "I know yer wouldn't spoil a bit o' sport, not if you 'adn't got some good reason for doin' it."

He raised his hand in a parting salute, and, before either of them could say another word, turned swiftly round and slipped out through the iron gate.

"I hope he'll be all right," said Nancy. "He's terribly wet, poor man, and that wretched woman bit his thumb right down to the bone."

"That won't worry Joe," replied Colin reassuringly. "It takes a motor bus to knock him out."

He shivered slightly as he spoke, and with a hurried movement Nancy turned the key and pushed open the door.

"Now, Colin," she said, "you're under my orders. The first thing you've got to do is to come straight up and have a hot bath. Then you must get into bed at once, and I'll bring you something to eat."

"Make it bread and milk," said Colin pleadingly. "I've got such a confounded headache I couldn't face anything more exciting than that."

Taking his arm, Nancy helped him up the staircase to his bedroom, where she lighted the fire and left him to undress. Then, after turning on the bath, and putting everything in readiness, she hastened downstairs to the kitchen.

Martha Jane, bursting with curiosity, greeted her in the doorway.

"I seed you takin' 'im upstairs, miss. However did 'e come to fall in the river?"

"He didn't," said Nancy. "He has been nearly murdered down in one of those old houses by the warehouse. They tied him up in a cellar where the water came in, and left him to drown."

Martha Jane threw up her hands. "Well, I never!" she exclaimed. "And 'im such a pleasant-spoken gentleman, too." She paused to recover her breath. "Who do you reckon done it, miss? Some o' them Bolsheviks?"

"Joe knows who they are," replied Nancy, "and I've no doubt the police will be able to get hold of them. Meanwhile, what we've got to do is to make Doctor Gray some nice hot bread and milk. He's having a bath now, and I'll take it up to him as soon as he's in bed." She glanced at the kitchen clock and a sudden resolve came into her mind. "I think I'd better stay here myself, Martha," she added. "I can easily sleep in Mrs. Ashton's room, and then I shall be able to answer the telephone if there are any night calls."

"I shall be thankful to 'ave yer, miss," was the relieved answer. "You never know what may 'appen, and if the doctor was to die in 'is bed I should be that scared I shouldn't know which way to turn."

"Oh, there's no fear of that," replied Nancy, smiling. "You go along and cut up some bread while I put the milk on."

A quarter of an hour later, carrying a daintily laid tray, she mounted the staircase and tapped at Colin's door.

"Come in," he called out, and, entering the room, she found him sitting up in bed and smoking a cigarette.

"Oh, I'm pretty well all right now, except for my head," he replied cheerfully in answer to her inquiry. "Lucky for me it's a good thick one, or I believe that chap would have fractured my skull."

"I'm not going to let you talk," said Nancy severely. "You've got to eat this and go right off to sleep. I've arranged to stay here to-night so that you won't have to bother about the 'phone."

"I promise I'll be good," said Colin obediently, "but there are two things I want to speak to you about, and they'll neither of them take long."

Nancy glanced at her watch. "I will stop five minutes," she said, "just while you finish your bread and milk."

She sat down on the edge of the bed and helped herself to a cigarette from the case which he held out to her.

"In the first place, I've got to apologize for being an idiot," he began. "If I'd had the sense to listen to your warning I shouldn't have given you and Joe all this confounded trouble." He dipped his spoon into the basin and looked at her thoughtfully. "Well," he added, after a pause, "what do you think of our friend Major Fenton now?"

"I think he ought to be shut up in an asylum," said Nancy. "Any one who tries to commit a murder for such a ridiculous reason as me must be as mad as a hatter."

Colin shook his head. "Fenton isn't mad," he said quietly. "He's just an ordinary blackguard, and rather a clumsy one at that."

Nancy stared at him in bewilderment. "Then why——" she demanded.

"I don't know if you've ever read Boswell," continued Colin, "but Doctor Johnson says that it sharpens a man's wits wonderfully if he's just on the point of being hanged. You can take my word for it that the same thing's true about being drowned. I did a lot of thinking while I was down in that cellar, and I've come to the conclusion that we're up against something much bigger and more complicated than we've got any idea of."

Nancy sat motionless, her blue eyes fixed steadily on his.

"I don't quite understand," she said slowly, "but I somehow feel that you're right."