THE RED LODGE (continued 4)

"I won't try to explain now," replied Colin. "My head's aching too badly for one thing, and in any case I am going to turn the whole business over to Marsden to-morrow, and I would rather wait until I hear what he's got to say about it." He paused. "Besides," he added, "I have only another three minutes, and there's something much more important I want to discuss."

"What's that?" inquired Nancy.

"Come a little closer," said Colin. "It's confidential."

Nancy moved forward obediently, and with a sudden movement Colin pushed aside the tray and took hold of her two hands.

"It's just this," he whispered. "I love you so much that I don't know whether I'm sitting in bed or whether I've died and gone to heaven."

Nancy looked up into his face, a faint smile quivering round the corners of her lips.

"I think you must be in bed, Colin. They don't wear pyjamas in heaven."

He leaned toward her. "Say you care for me, Nancy, even if it isn't true."

She shook her head. "I told you I was no good at pretending. I have loved you shamelessly ever since that first day in the King's Road."

With a deep, contented laugh Colin drew up her hands until they rested on his shoulders. "So have I," he confessed, "but I only realized it while I was waiting to be drowned. I think I must be the biggest fool in England, but I'm certainly the happiest."

He kissed her lips with a passionate tenderness, and then, slipping his arms round her, held her close to him, his face resting against hers.

For a moment or two they remained quite still, then very gently Nancy raised her head.

"I don't know much about concussion, Colin," she said, "but I'm quite sure that this isn't the right treatment for it."

"I haven't got concussion," returned Colin. "What I'm suffering from is an acute form of heart trouble."

Nancy stroked his cheek with her small, cool fingers.

"My poor darling," she whispered. "I will do everything I can for you to-morrow—I promise you that—but I must run away now and let you go to sleep. I don't want you to be seriously ill, Colin, especially when you've just found out that you love me."

"Perhaps you're right," admitted Colin reluctantly. "The worst of it is we shall have precious little time to ourselves until Mark comes home, and after that I shall have to dash up to Scotland Yard."

Nancy tucked in the bedclothes, and then, bending over, dropped a soft little kiss on his forehead.

"Never mind," she said happily. "There'll be lots of days after to-morrow."

She walked to the doorway, and for a moment stood there, looking back at him with a world of love and tenderness in her eyes. Then very softly she stepped out into the passage and closed the door behind her.

* * * * * * * * *

When Colin woke next morning it was with a vague feeling that something extraordinarily pleasant had happened to him. For several seconds he lay still, wondering what it could be; then, as the truth suddenly occurred to him, he started up from the pillow and opened his eyes. Two agreeable discoveries awaited him. His headache had gone, and Nancy, fully dressed and holding a cup of tea in her hand, was standing beside the bed.

"I was just going to take it away again," she said, smiling. "You looked so beautifully comfy I hadn't the heart to wake you."

Colin reached out an arm and imprisoned her left hand.

"Tell me quick, Nancy," he said. "It is true about last night, isn't it? I'm terribly afraid that perhaps I fell asleep and dreamed it all."

She shook her head. "No, Colin," she said. "It's quite true. You sat up in bed and made love to me in the most passionate manner. I don't know whether you really meant it or whether it was because you had had a blow on the head."

Colin leaned forward, and, taking the cup out of her hand, deposited it carefully on the table beside him. Then he drew her gently down on to the bed, and, putting his arms around her, pressed his lips to hers.

"I think you must be better," said Nancy, as soon as she was at liberty to speak.

"I'm not only better," declared Colin. "I'm perfectly well. I believe an occasional smack from a sandbag would do me all the good in the world."

Nancy parted his thick curly hair, and very carefully examined the back of his head.

"You've got a nasty lump there still," she said. "Hadn't you better stop in bed until Mark comes?"

"Good Lord, no!" returned Colin. "I'm going to get up and do my job. There'll be all last night's patients to see as well as to-day's, and I don't want to land Mark with a double dose of work."

"Well, if you really mean it," said Nancy. "I must go downstairs and get things ready. I haven't even opened the letters yet."

"Just one more kiss first," pleaded Colin.

"Only one, then," said Nancy firmly, "and that must be the last until this afternoon. If you don't treat me with proper respect while I'm your secretary I shall report you to the Medical Council."

For a man who during the last twenty-four hours had looked straight into the face of death, and had also discovered that he was deeply in love, it must be admitted that Colin got through the morning's task with considerable credit. It was no light session either, for, in addition to his ordinary round of visits, he was faced, as he had predicted, by an exceptionally heavy list of callers, several of whom were still indignant over their fruitless vigil on the previous evening. An occasional glimpse of Nancy, however, as she gravely entered the surgery with some necessary reference or address, was sufficient to refresh his energies, and by one-thirty his somewhat exhausting programme was practically complete.

He was, indeed, in the very act of dismissing his last patient when a taxicab drove up to the door, and the sturdy, untidy figure of Mark bundled out on to the pavement. Nancy must have seen him, too, from the study window, for as the front door opened Colin heard her voice in the hall, and the next moment the pair of them entered the surgery.

Mark thrust out his hand and wrung Colin's heartily.

"I needn't ask how everything is," remarked the latter. "You look too damn cheerful for anything but good news."

"That's right," returned Mark, tossing his hat on to a chair. "The operation went off like clockwork, and I left the old lady sitting up in bed having a cup of tea with Mary. She'll be as fit as a fiddle in another fortnight." He stepped forward to the table and glanced casually down at the consulting book. "By Jove, you've had some patients," he exclaimed. "I hope you haven't been bored stiff."

Nancy's lips twitched, and, as though moved by a similar impulse, Colin suddenly burst into a chuckle of laughter.

"No," he replied drily, "I can't exactly say I've been bored."

Mark looked questioningly from one to the other of them. "What's the joke?" he demanded.

As he spoke Martha Jane appeared in the doorway. "Lunch is ready," she announced, "if you'd like me to bring it up."

Colin slipped his arm through Mark's. "You shall hear all about it when we've had something to eat," he answered. "I've been healing the sick ever since half-past nine, and I'm beginning to faint for want of nourishment."

"I'll go along to the cellar and get out a bottle of fizz," suggested Mark. "I think you and Nancy are both entitled to a drink."

Once more Colin laughed appreciatively. "Yes," he said, "under the circumstances I suppose we are."

* * * * * * * * *

"And now," observed Mark, as he pushed his coffee cup away half an hour later, "I'd like to know what you two sunny-hearted infants were giggling at when I made that innocent remark in the surgery."

Colin glanced at Nancy. "Shall I tell him?" he asked, "or will you?"

"Oh, you," said Nancy decisively. "The police will want to know all about it, so it's just as well you should have a rehearsal."

"The police!" exclaimed Mark. "Good heavens, I hope you haven't been sending out prussic acid in mistake for magnesia?"

"It's worse than that," said Colin cheerfully. "However, if you hang on tight to your chair and don't interrupt I think you may be just able to bear it." He paused. "Joking aside, Mark," he added more seriously, "we seem to have struck something really ugly in the way of trouble, and I want your opinion and advice pretty badly."

At the sudden change in his voice Mark sobered down instantly.

"Well, if you mean that, my son," he said, "get on with it at once."

"It's chiefly about Nancy's guardian," continued Colin. "You remember him, the chap who came to lunch?"

Mark nodded.

Going back to their first meeting in Jubilee Place, Colin began very carefully and deliberately to relate everything he knew about Major Fenton, of which Mark was still in ignorance. He described how the man had originally forced his society upon Nancy by pretending to have been acquainted with her father, and how, on discovering who Colin was, he had endeavoured to prejudice her mind against him by inventing that absurd story about a scandal at St. Christopher's Hospital. He went on, step by step, to trace the various developments that had followed—his own inquiries at Scotland Yard, Fenton's abortive proposal to Nancy, his suggestive meeting with "Spike" Cooper outside the public house, and the improvised engagement of Joe Bates in the role of an amateur detective.

Having thus cleared the ground, he proceeded to give a curt account of what had taken place on the previous evening. He spoke very quietly and simply, but the details were dramatic enough in themselves without any word-painting, and it was easy to see the profound amazement with which Mark drank in his story.

So thunderstruck, indeed, did the latter appear to be that nearly a minute must have elapsed after Colin had finished speaking before he attempted to offer his first comment.

"Well, I'm blessed!" he exclaimed. "And they call this a civilized country!"

"Oh, it's civilized enough," returned Colin carelessly. "If I hadn't been able to get some bread and milk and a hot bath when I came back I should probably be down with double pneumonia." He lighted another cigarette and leaned inquiringly across the table. "Those are the facts, anyhow, Mark. And now I'll be much obliged if you'll let me know what you make of 'em."

Mark took off his spectacles and polished them deliberately with his handkerchief.

"There's one thing that's perfectly plain," he said. "The sooner Fenton's in Broadmoor the better for you and Nancy."

"You think he's insane then?"

Mark received the question with a stare of astonishment. "Insane!" he repeated. "Why, what the devil else can he be?"

"You have seen him yourself," persisted Colin. "Did you notice anything the least queer about him?"

Mark paused. "No," he said slowly. "Now you come to mention it, I'm hanged if I did."

"Nor I," was Colin's rejoinder. "I quite agree with you that he ought to be shut up, only I think it's Dartmoor and not Broadmoor."

"But, hang it all," broke in Mark, "a sane man doesn't try to have a perfect stranger murdered just because he's a little sore at being turned down by a girl."

"He doesn't," admitted Colin. "There must be some other reason that we know nothing about, and that's why I'm going to turn the whole thing over to Marsden. If I thought that it was merely a personal matter between him and me I'd go round and knock the stuffing out of him myself."

Mark replaced his spectacles with an air of bewilderment that was almost comic.

"The more one thinks over it," he said, "the more incomprehensible it seems. For one thing, why should he connect you with Nancy at all? You have only seen each other about three times."

There was a pause.

"Well as far as that goes," replied Colin, "he may have a better reason than you imagine."

Mark glanced at Nancy, who had turned a delicate shade of pink.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "You don't mean——"

"Yes, I do," replied Colin; "we fixed it up last night over the bread and milk, and I'm so happy that I could get up and dance round the room."

He stretched out his arm, and taking Nancy's hand across the table, bent over and kissed the tips of her fingers.

"Well, if that isn't the limit!" ejaculated Mark bitterly. "I leave my practice in your hands, trusting to your honesty, and when I come back I find you've pinched the one thing I value most—the only perfect secretary a doctor ever had."

Nancy turned toward him with a startled expression. "Oh," she cried remorsefully, "I never knew you'd look at it like that."

Mark got up from his chair, and stepping toward her with a twinkle in his eyes, laid his hand affectionately on her shoulder.

"My beloved child," he said, "I was only joking. I shall just hate losing you, and so will Mary, but, thank God, we're neither of us quite such selfish pigs as to grudge you the happiness you deserve."

He picked up the champagne bottle and tilted the few remaining drops into his empty glass.

"Colin, my lad," he said, "here's my blessing and my congratulations! Nancy's a million times too good for you, but——"

As he spoke the telephone bell rang sharply, and Colin, who was sitting nearest the door, jumped to his feet.

"I'll go," he said. "You finish your speech, Mark. It would be a pity to break off just when you're getting really truthful."

He hurried out into the hall and took down the receiver.

"Is that 276 Shadwell?"

"It is," he answered.

"Inspector Marsden of Scotland Yard speaking. Is Doctor Gray in?"

"He's not only in, but he's talking to you," returned Colin.

"I thought it was your voice," came the reply. "Look here, doctor, I've got back a bit earlier than I expected, and I want to see you as soon as possible. Can you come up to the Yard straight away?"

"I can be there in half an hour," said Colin.

"That will do all right. Don't be later if you can help it. I've been let in for an unexpected appointment at four o'clock, and there are several things I'd like to talk to you about first."

"Well, if it comes to that," remarked Colin, "there's something I'm pretty anxious to discuss with you."

"Anything serious?" rapped out the other.

"Only that somebody tried to murder me last night."

"Tried to murder you! Who was it?"

"Seems to have been a syndicate," was the answer. "The principal parties were two gentlemen called 'Spike' Cooper and Jake Hudson, both of this parish. The third one was the same cheery sportsman who kicked you in the tummy."

He heard a muttered exclamation at the other end of the telephone.

"You had better not say any more now. Come along up immediately. If this is true it's of the utmost importance."

"Yes," said Colin drily. "It struck me that way too."

He replaced the receiver, and, turning round, found Mark and Nancy standing in the doorway.

"I have been summoned to Scotland Yard at once," he informed them. "Marsden seems as anxious to see me as I am to see him."

"Perhaps he's got hold of some clue about the murder?" suggested Mark.

"I shouldn't wonder," said Colin. "I know he went down into the country to look up the Professor's old servant this morning, and he certainly spoke as though things were beginning to move." He turned toward the pegs and started to unhook his hat and coat.

"How are you going to get there?" inquired Mark.

"Oh, I've brought the car along with me. It's only round the corner at Higgins's place."

"You'll promise to be careful, won't you?" said Nancy rather anxiously. "I hate to let you out of my sight until those three men have been arrested."

"You needn't worry about them," returned Colin with a laugh. "They must have found out by now that they made a bloomer last night, and it's a hundred to one that the whole lot have skedaddled."

"Major Fenton won't have run away," persisted Nancy. "He has no idea that you saw him talking to Cooper, and there's nothing else to connect him with the affair."

"No, that's true," admitted Colin. "He must be feeling as sick as the devil, and probably in a blue funk as well, but the only thing he can do is to sit tight and hope for the best."

"Anyhow, he'll be lying fairly low for the moment," agreed Mark. "You bung along off, my son, and get back as soon as possible. You'll find Nancy and me here, unless we've burst with curiosity."

It was exactly on the stroke of a quarter past three when, with a sharp blast from his horn, Colin shot past the policeman on duty and pulled up neatly in the centre court of Scotland Yard. Before he could attempt to dismount two indignant constables were alongside of him.

"Who are you?" demanded one. "Don't you know it's against the regulations to bring in a car without permission?"

"Sorry," said Colin penitently. "The fact is, I've got a very urgent appointment with Inspector Marsden. He telephoned me to be here at a quarter past without fail."

"Well, you take my advice and be a bit more careful the next time," observed his interrogator, "or as likely as not you'll find yourself in trouble." He turned to his companion. "Better take him up at once. The Inspector's in his room."

Climbing out of the car and following his guide, Colin ascended the flight of stone stairs until they reached the same apartment to which Marsden had conducted him before. Having inquired his name, the constable rapped loudly, and in answer to a peremptory invitation pushed open the door and stepped briskly forward.

"Doctor Gray to see you by appointment, sir."

Marsden blotted the letter that he was writing and got up from his desk.

"Come along in, doctor," he called out; and then, as Colin entered, he pulled forward a chair and motioned the constable to withdraw.

"Take that seat," he added, directly the door was shut. "There's no time to waste, and I want to hear your story before we discuss anything else. Don't hurry, though; tell it me in your own way, just as you did when you described the murder."

Colin laid his hat on the floor, and, thrusting his hands in his pockets, commenced to speak.

In very much the same words that he had used to Mark he repeated the whole history of Fenton's relations with Nancy and himself, taking the utmost care to omit nothing which might have any conceivable bearing on the case. Then, still in the same methodical and detached fashion, he went on to relate the remainder of his story, while all the time the Inspector sat by in grim silence, his hard blue eyes fixed intently on his companion's face.

"I don't know how it strikes you," observed Colin, when he had quite finished, "but Nancy and I have been chewing it over pretty thoroughly, and we both think that it would take a damn sight more than a mere fit of jealousy to make Fenton risk his neck. We feel certain that there must be something much bigger at the back of it all, but beyond that we're absolutely gravelled."

Without replying, Marsden leaned forward and pulled open a drawer in his desk. He turned over some of its contents, and then, taking out an unmounted photograph, handed it to Colin.

"Do you recognize that?" he asked.

Colin sat up, with a sudden start of surprise.

"Recognize it!" he exclaimed. "Of course I do. It's 'Spike' Cooper."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. You don't suppose I'd forget his infernal face?" He inspected the picture carefully for several seconds, and then passed it back. "Where did you get hold of this?" he asked.

"It was sent to me three days ago by the Canadian police. Perhaps you would like to hear the letter that came with it."

He dived into the drawer again, and produced an official-looking sheet of blue paper.

"With reference to your inquiry of the 3d ult.," he read, "we now enclose the photograph, record, and finger prints of Luke Hammond, which were not included in our reply of the 15th. We have since ascertained that Hammond has left Canada and is probably in London."

"And what is his record?" demanded Colin.

"Quite a useful one in its way," was the dry answer. "Two terms of imprisonment for housebreaking and one of ten years for robbery with violence. Our friends at Montreal seem to regard him as one of the show cases in their collection."

"Fenton has been in Canada," remarked Colin; "at least, so it said in that report you gave me. They probably met each other over there."

"Not a doubt of it," returned the detective, "and, what's more, I shouldn't be much surprised if he came to England on Fenton's invitation."

There was a pause. "We seem to be getting on," remarked Colin, "but, all the same, I'm hanged if I can make head or tail of it even now. Why on earth should a cashiered major and a Canadian crook be thirsting for my blood?"

Marsden replaced the paper and shut the drawer.

"Doctor Gray," he said, "have you any objection to leaving this entirely in my hands for the next twenty-four hours? I shall give instructions at once for the arrest of Cooper and Hudson, and you can take it from me that there are not likely to be any more attempts on your life. If it would make you more comfortable, I will arrange for you to be shadowed from the moment you leave this office."

"Good heavens, no!" exclaimed Colin. "It would make me feel as if I were a co-respondent in a divorce case. I should like to have had five minutes alone with the blighter who hit me on the head, but if it can't be managed I'm quite content to leave him to you." He took his hands from his pockets and sat up in his chair. "And now," he added, "what have you got to tell me? I'm dying to hear if you found out anything from this chap Kennedy."

Marsden glanced at his watch. "I have found out a good deal," he said, "and it was because I was anxious to talk it over with you that I asked you to come round. As things have turned out, however, it seemed to me more important that I should hear your story first. I am afraid now that we must put off our discussion until to-morrow. I have an appointment with the Commissioner in a few minutes, and it will probably be a couple of hours before I am free." He paused. "I don't mind telling you one thing, doctor, and that is that there are going to be some developments in this case that will probably give you the biggest surprise of your life."

Colin received the news with apparent calmness. "Really!" he observed. "Well, I ought to be able to stand them. I've had plenty of practice one way and another."

Marsden turned to a memorandum tablet that was lying on his desk, and studied it for a moment in silence.

"I want you all three to be here at two o'clock to-morrow punctually," he said, "you and this man Bates and Miss Seymour." He picked up a pencil. "By the way, has Miss Seymour any other Christian name besides Nancy?"

Colin shook his head. "Not that I know of."

"And her exact age?"

"She will be nineteen on the third of February." Marsden jotted down his reply, and then sat frowning thoughtfully at the pad.

"I suppose there's no more information you can give me in connection with her—no little fact or detail that you've forgotten to mention?"

Colin reflected. "By Jove, yes!" he exclaimed suddenly. "I've never told you that we're going to be married."

Allowing for the Inspector's naturally reserved manner, the effect of these few words was extraordinary. He pushed back his chair, stared for a moment half incredulously, and then, slapping his knee, broke into a loud and prolonged chuckle of laughter.

Before either of them could speak again there was a tap outside, and an apologetic constable presented himself in the doorway.

"Beg pardon, sir," he said, "but the Commissioner is ready to see you."

With an abrupt change of manner Marsden rose to his feet.

"Thank you, Jackson," he said. "I will be down immediately."

Then, as the door closed, he took a step forward, and with another hearty chuckle gripped hold of Colin's hand.

"I congratulate you with all my heart, doctor," he said. "Unless I'm a damned fool, you're the luckiest man in England."

CHAPTER TEN

"More coffee?" suggested Mark.

Colin pushed over his cup, and, having taken possession of the last slice of toast, proceeded to scrape out the remainder of the marmalade.

"I seem to be eating rather a lot," he observed apologetically. "I suppose it's the result of being in love."

Mark laughed and glanced at the clock. "It seems to have affected Nancy in the same way. Anyhow, this is the first time I've ever known her late."

"You mustn't be brutal to her," said Colin; "it's all my fault. I took her out to supper after the theatre last night, and we didn't get back to her place until nearly one o'clock. I expect she was a bit sleepy this morning."

"Well, I'll try and overlook it for once," replied Mark generously. He produced his pipe, and, after stuffing the bowl with tobacco, tossed the pouch across the table. "What are your plans for this morning?" he inquired.

"I've got to find Joe," was the answer. "Marsden wants him at the Yard at two o'clock, so I must go along to the Palace and see if I can get hold of his address."

"You had better tell him to come here at half-past twelve," said Mark. "He can have some lunch with us, and then you can all go up together in the car."

"That's a bright idea," agreed Colin. "I'm afraid that, in one way and another, I'm becoming a bit of a nuisance, though."

"Not the slightest," returned Mark. "I'm enjoying myself immensely. It's so dull down here as a rule that any little thing like a love affair or an attempted murder is a perfect godsend."

He sauntered off to the surgery, and a few minutes later Colin, having scribbled a brief note to Nancy and left it on the hall table, was striding along the street in the direction of the Whitechapel Road.

No one could describe the thoroughfares through which he had to pass as picturesque or engaging, but in the crisp morning air, and with a yellow sun shining down from overhead, the two-mile walk was not without a certain attraction.

He was in the kind of mood, indeed, in which even the Dead Sea or the Sahara Desert would probably have appeared to possess some favourable features. Ever since he had discovered his real feelings toward Nancy the whole world seemed to have become an extraordinarily interesting and exciting place. At the present moment, both these sensations were intensified by the prospect of his approaching interview with Marsden. From the way in which the detective had spoken there could be little doubt that he had made some important discoveries, and the mere thought that in a few hours he might be helping to track down the Professor's murderer was sufficient in itself to set every nerve in Colin's body tingling with a fierce elation.

Half-an-hour's walk brought him to the Palace, a gaudy structure wedged in between two public houses. The only person about who appeared to have any connection with the establishment was an elderly man with a bucket of paste, who was leisurely engaged in affixing a poster to one of the two boards which decorated each side of the entrance.

Colin pulled up alongside of him.

"Do you happen to know where Joe Bates lives?" he asked.

The other paused in his work, and eyed him with some suspicion.

"Yus," he replied, "an' wot abaht it?"

"Nothing much," returned Colin. "I happen to be a pal of his, and I want to see him. My name's Doctor Gray."

The elderly man's expression changed instantly. "Ow," he remarked, "that's orl right. I've 'eard 'im speak o' you. You're the bloke as mended 'im up when 'e was in 'orspital? Thinks the world o' you, Joe does, an' no error."

"Well, in that case," said Colin, "perhaps you will trust me with his address?"

"Why, o' course," was the answer. "No offence, mister, but I didn't know who you was when you come askin' fust. Might 'a' been one o' these 'ere blarsted rate collectors." He laid down his brush, and, stepping out on the pavement, pointed across toward a narrow turning on the opposite side of the road. "You foller that," he said, "an' when you come to the last 'ouse on the right jest give a couple o' taps on the front winder."

Colin thanked him, and, crossing the street, made his way down the alley in question, until he arrived at the farther end. Joe's residence proved to be a single-fronted dwelling of grimy brick, the ground floor window of which opened on to the street. A square of not over-clean muslin had been nailed up inside, in order to secure the owner's privacy, but at Colin's second knock this obstruction was cautiously lifted, and Joe's face peered out inquiringly through the dirty glass.

On recognizing the visitor, it disappeared again at once, and the next moment a burly figure in trousers and shirt sleeves swung open the front door.

"Couldn't believe me own eyes, doctor," announced the prize-fighter with a grin of welcome. "'Ow the blazes did you manage to find your way 'ere?"

"I got your address from an elderly gentleman who was shoving up bills outside the Palace," said Colin. "He wouldn't part with it until I told him who I was."

"Ah, that'd be old Tom," returned Joe, nodding his head. "'E ain't the sort to let 'is mouth flap, not unless 'e's sure of 'is comp'ny." He stepped back into the passage, holding open the door. "Come along in, doctor. I ain't got much of a place, but, such as it is, you're more than welcome."

Colin followed his host into a tiny apartment on the left, on the walls of which were nailed up a number of coloured prints, representing various well-known boxers in highly aggressive attitudes. In the centre of the room stood a deal table, containing a couple of bottles of Bass and the smaller half of a brown loaf. A bed, a dilapidated chair, and an old packing-case, full of odds and ends, completed the remainder of the furniture.

"I was jest goin' to 'ave me breakfast," explained Joe, indicating the refreshments. "If you'd fancy a drop, guv'nor, I can borrow a glass from the bloke upstairs."

"Not for me, thanks," said Colin. "I always go to sleep if I drink beer in the morning, and besides, I have only looked in to tell you that you'll be wanted this afternoon."

Joe's eyes glistened. "Goin' to shove it across 'em?" he inquired eagerly.

"I wish we were," was Colin's reply, "but I'm afraid it's nothing as exciting as that. The fact is, I had a talk with Inspector Marsden yesterday, and he wants you and me and Miss Seymour to meet him at Scotland Yard at two o'clock."

For a moment Joe seemed somewhat taken aback.

"If them's the orders," he said at last, "there ain't no more to be said abaht it. I never thought to see meself walkin' in there, though, not of me own accord."

"They'll be civil enough," said Colin. "They only want to hear your story about getting me out of the cellar."

"I daresay you're right," admitted Joe doubtfully. "I ain't got nothin' special against the perlice; all I says is that the less you 'as to do with 'em the better." He paused. "Wot's the programme, guv'nor? Do I jest step up to the front door an' 'and in me card?"

"Doctor Ashton suggested that you should come round to the surgery. Then you can have some grub and drive up with us."

Joe shook his head. "Thankin' yer kindly, but if it's all the same I reckon I'll meet yer there. I gotter couple o' torfs comin' to the Palace for a lesson this mornin', an' it means a quid to me if I let 'em knock me abaht a bit."

"That's all right," said Colin, "as long as I can depend on you to keep the appointment."

"I'll be there, doctor," replied Joe. "I'll be there, honest to Gawd. You bring the young laidy along in the car, and yer'll find me sittin' on the Embankment waitin' for yer."

Satisfied with this assurance, Colin took his departure, and, retracing his steps to the end of the street, made his way back to Shadwell by the same route that he had come.

As he opened the door of the house he saw to his surprise that the note which he had left for Nancy was still lying on the hall table. Before he had time to realize anything further Mark suddenly appeared from the surgery.

"Hullo!" exclaimed Colin. "I made sure you'd be out on your round."

"So I ought to be," replied Mark, "but, as a matter of fact, I was waiting for you."

"What's the matter?"

"I'm rather worried about Nancy. She's never turned up, and there's been no message from her."

Colin's whole figure stiffened abruptly.

"No message?" he repeated.

"Nothing. I can't understand it at all. If she's ill, surely she'd have let us know."

Without a word Colin swung round sharply, and, striding toward the pegs, unhooked his coat.

"What are you going to do?" demanded Mark.

"I'll get out the car and drive up there at once," he said. "Can you stop in for another twenty minutes? I'll telephone you directly I find out what's the matter."

Mark nodded. "Keep steady, old son. I expect it will be all right. There's probably some quite simple explanation."

Colin moistened his lips. "We were mad ever to let her leave the house," he said hoarsely. "If any harm's come to her I'll kill Fenton with my own hands."

As he spoke the clock on the stairs chimed out eleven-thirty, and, turning hastily to the door, he hurried out again into the street.

If there is any truth in the theory that each of us possesses a guardian angel, the fact that a quarter of an hour later Colin drew up safely at the corner of Jubilee Place must be regarded as an amazing tribute to the efficiency of his own particular escort.

Leaving the car in the gutter, he jumped out on to the pavement, and the next moment he was mounting the narrow staircase which led up to the first landing.

There were two studios on this floor, the one which Nancy rented being distinguished by a small brass knocker. Catching hold of the knob, Colin rapped loudly, and then, bending down, lifted up the flap of the letter box.

"Nancy," he called out, "are you there? It is I—Colin." There was no answer.

He straightened himself slowly, and as he did so the door of the second studio was pulled back and a girl appeared in the opening. She was a fair-haired, cheerful-looking girl, wearing a brown overall and smoking a cigarette.

"Excuse my butting in," she said, "but do you want to speak to Miss Seymour?"

Colin took off his hat. "I do," he said, "rather particularly."

"Well, I'm afraid it's no good waiting," was the answer. "She went out just after eight o'clock this morning, and I know she won't be back till late, because she asked me to take in a parcel for her."

"I suppose you don't happen to know where she was going to?" asked Colin. "Please forgive my curiosity, but I am a friend of Doctor Ashton's, for whom Miss Seymour works, and as she hasn't turned up and has sent no message, we are both feeling rather anxious about her."

"She has gone to see her lawyer," replied the girl. "He sent a car around to fetch her, that's why she went off in such a hurry."

Colin stared at her in astonishment. "Her lawyer?" he repeated.

"That's what she told me. I think from the way she spoke he wanted to see her suddenly about some important business. Anyhow, I know the chauffeur brought a letter with him, because she had it in her hand."

"Did you notice the man?" demanded Colin, "Would you be able to describe him again?"

The girl raised her eyebrows. "I don't suppose so," she said coolly. "He was on the landing, but it doesn't happen to be a habit of mine to stare at chauffeurs."

With a big effort Colin pulled himself together.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "Perhaps I ought to explain. Miss Seymour and I are engaged to be married, so you will understand why I'm feeling worried about this sudden disappearance of hers."

The girl looked up at him sympathetically. "Why, of course," she replied, "but surely there's no reason to be alarmed? I expect she intended to ring up when she reached the lawyer's office, and then something came along and put it out of her head. She has probably done so by now."

"It won't take me long to find out, anyhow," said Colin. He paused. "Are you likely to be at home the rest of the day?" he asked.

His companion nodded. "Yes," she said. "I live here. I'm an artist."

"Then, just in case Miss Seymour does come home, would you mind asking her to let Doctor Ashton know immediately?"

"Certainly I will," said the girl. "Even if I don't hear her, she's sure to look in in order to see about the parcel." She hesitated. "I—I should like to congratulate you, if I may," she added. "I don't know Miss Seymour very well—I have only been in this studio a few weeks—but one's merely got to speak to her to see that she's a perfect dear."

In spite of his anxiety, Colin smiled at her gratefully.

"Thank you so much," he said. "I'll tell Nancy what a brick you've been."

He shook her hand and, leaving her standing in the doorway, hurried downstairs again into the street.

There was a chemist's shop at the corner which boasted a public telephone, and, entering the box, he rang up Mark.

"No news here," came the reply in answer to his first inquiry. "How about you?"

In a few words Colin acquainted him with the story he had just been told, giving the bare facts exactly as he had heard them from the girl.

"It seems a devilish queer business," was Mark's comment, after a short pause. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I know the name of her lawyer at Helston," said Colin. "It's Penwarren. I shall send a telegram at once to find out whether he's in London."

"And suppose he's not?"

"In that case there's only one explanation. She's in the hands of that brute Fenton, and——"

"Look here," broke in Mark, "shall I come up and join you? I can easily put off my round until this evening."

"I would rather you stayed at the surgery for the present," replied Colin. "A message might come through from Nancy any time, and I shall have to give Penwarren your address so that he can have somewhere to reply to. I'll ring you up again about half-past one, before I see Marsden. We ought to have an answer by then."

"I'll be here," said Mark. "Don't you worry more than you can help. Even if you're right, Nancy can't be in any real danger; the police will have her back in a few hours."

"Please God," said Colin fervently.

He replaced the receiver, and, leaving the shop, walked on quickly up the King's Road until he reached the post office. Here, after destroying two previous attempts, he wrote out the following wire, which he signed in Mark's name:

"I shall be very grateful if you will let me know immediately whether Mr. Penwarren is in London and whether he has any business to discuss with Miss Nancy Seymour. Miss Seymour is in my employment. The matter is extremely urgent."

He handed this to the girl behind the counter, and, having paid for a reply, made his way back to where he had left the car.

He had done everything he could think of for the present, but the knowledge of this fact deepened rather than lessened his anxiety. The whole affair was so extraordinary that he had an instinctive feeling that there must be something evil at the back of it. Was it likely or even possible that the summons which Nancy had received could really have come from Mr. Penwarren? Even if he were in town, for what conceivable reason could he have sent to fetch her at eight o'clock in the morning? And yet, knowing Nancy's character, it seemed equally incredible that she should have left the studio under such circumstances, without being absolutely convinced that the message was a genuine one.

If she had fallen into a trap, there could be no doubt whose hand had set it. The affair in Flood Lane proved that, whatever motive lurked behind Fenton's proceedings, he had now reached a point where nothing would be allowed to stand in his way. He was certainly quite capable of having abducted Nancy, though, in view of the hue and cry which he must have known would immediately follow, it was difficult to imagine how he could have hoped to avoid discovery. From all appearances it seemed to be either the work of a madman, or else the final stroke in some deliberate scheme, the apparent weaknesses of which had been carefully guarded against.

It was the dread of this latter alternative which was clutching at Colin's heart as he once more reached the corner of Jubilee Place. Should it prove to be the true explanation, every minute was obviously of the greatest value, and the prospect of remaining idle for the next two hours filled him with an almost intolerable revolt.

Unless he could get hold of Marsden personally, however, it seemed useless to communicate with the police until he had received a reply from Helston. They were not likely to take action on mere suspicion, especially when the Inspector himself had promised to be on the spot at two o'clock. As to whether there was any chance of his arriving earlier Colin had no idea, but, since the only other course was to do nothing, he decided that he might just as well drive up to Whitehall straight away.

With this resolve he started the car, and, turning down through Burton Court on to the Embankment, swung round to the left in the direction of Westminster Bridge. A sharp run of about seven minutes brought him to the Yard gates, where, as usual, a couple of stalwart-looking constables were standing on duty. Colin recognized one of them as his acquaintance of the previous day, and with a friendly nod he pulled up alongside.

"That's all right, sir," observed the man approvingly. "No objection to your coming in now we know who you are."

Colin leaned forward from the driving seat.

"Do you happen to know whether Mr. Marsden is about anywhere?" he asked. "He made an appointment with me for two o'clock, but something rather important has cropped up, and if possible I should like to see him at once."

"He hasn't been in this way," was the policeman's answer, "but he might have come along by one of the other entrances. You can go inside and inquire, if you like. The officer on duty will be able to find out for you."

Colin thanked him, and, steering his car through the gates, came to a halt in front of the broad flight of steps which led up to the main door.

Another constable advanced inquiringly.

"I don't think so," he replied, in answer to Colin's question; "but if you like to wait a moment I can let you know for certain."

He disappeared within the building, returning after a short absence with a significant shake of his head.

"No one's heard anything of him yet, sir. They expect him at two o'clock, though."

"I know," said Colin. "I've got an appointment with him." He paused. "Can I leave the car here until then?"

The constable scratched his head. "Well, this ain't exactly a garage," he replied doubtfully. "Still, if you back her up quite into that corner——"

He turned aside as he spoke, and, pocketing the five shillings which Colin slipped into his hand, sauntered back to his former position.

* * * * * * * * *

With the best part of an hour and a half before him Colin came out into Whitehall and paused irresolutely on the edge of the pavement. Of all the tasks with which an impatient man can be confronted, that of killing time is perhaps the most trying. He was not in the least hungry, and, in any case, there was something ghastly in the thought of sitting all that while in a half-empty restaurant, brooding miserably over what might have happened to Nancy. If he wished to keep his nerves steady, it seemed to him that some form of exercise was imperatively needed, and, without hesitating further he made his way across Parliament Green, and struck off westward along the Embankment.

The soundness of his instinct was proved by the fact that when he arrived back at Westminster Bridge, after a vigorous tramp of about six miles, he felt that, whatever the next few hours might bring, his mind and judgment were once more under proper control. The hands of Big Ben were already at five and twenty minutes to two, and, knowing that there was a public telephone in the station, he crossed the road and entered the box. After a brief delay he succeeded in getting Mark's number.

"That you, Colin?" came the latter's voice. "Yes, I've just got an answer to the wire. It arrived a few minutes ago. If you hold on I'll read it out to you." There was a pause. "'Mr. Penwarren is ill in bed at Helston. As far as we are aware he has had no communication with Miss Seymour for the last eighteen months. Should be glad of an explanation.'"

"It's only what I expected," said Colin quietly. "There must be something wrong, or Nancy would have let us know long before this."

"Have you told the police?"

"Not yet. I went up to the Yard, but Marsden hadn't arrived, so I thought I'd better wait until we got the reply from Helston."

"Where are you telephoning from?"

"Westminster Bridge Station. I've arranged to meet Joe close by here, and, unless anything's happened, he ought to be along in a few minutes. By that time Marsden will probably have turned up."

There was a pause.

"Well, I'm ready when you want me," observed Mark. "In case there's going to be trouble, you can count me in to the limit."

"I know that," returned Colin gratefully. "If there's any possible way in which you can be of help I'll ring you up and let you know."

He put down the receiver, and, leaving the station, walked slowly round the corner on to the Embankment. A few yards past the entrance to the Yard, on the opposite side of the road, were a couple of empty seats facing the river. He crossed over toward the first one, and, having lighted himself a cigarette, sat down patiently to wait for Joe.

Just as the opening strokes of a quarter to two were chiming out from the clock tower, the latter made his appearance. In a quiet and unobtrusive fashion he slipped suddenly into view round the pedestal of Boadicea's statue, and at the same moment a grin of recognition broke over his face as his eyes lit upon Colin. He quickened his steps, and came rapidly up to the seat.

"Thought you might be early, doctor," he began, "so I come along a bit ahead o' me time on purpose." He looked round inquiringly. "But where's the young laidy?"

Colin, who had thrown away his cigarette, rose to his feet. "I've got some bad news for you, Joe," he said. "Miss Seymour has disappeared."

Joe's mouth opened, and he gazed blankly at his companion.

"Disappeared!" he repeated.

"She was taken away in a car at eight o'clock this morning. Some one tricked her into leaving the studio by means of a false message."

With a muttered oath Joe clutched him by the arm.

"Wot, the saime swine that tried to do you in?"

Colin nodded. "Unless I'm wrong, it's the man I spoke to you about—Major Fenton; the one who was talking to 'Spike' Cooper outside the station."

"Well, if yer knows that," exclaimed Joe, "wot the 'ell are we messin' abaht 'ere for? Why don't we go an' wring 'is blarsted neck?"

"Because we've got to find him first," returned Colin curtly. "That's why I've been waiting to keep this appointment with the Inspector. The police are after him too, so they may be able to help us."

Joe wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

"For Gawd's sake let's get over and see 'em, guv'nor. I wouldn't 'ave no 'arm come to that young laidy, not for all the money in the Bank of England."

Colin gave a queer laugh. "I think I can understand the feeling," he said.

They crossed the road toward the Yard, where the same two constables were still on duty.

"You're all right now, mister," remarked one of them. "I saw him come in by the other way a few minutes ago."

With a nod of thanks Colin passed through the gates, and, followed by Joe, who kept casting mistrustful glances to right and left, walked rapidly up to the main entrance.

The recipient of his five-shilling tip stepped forward to meet him.

"Mr. Marsden has just come, sir," he announced. "Told me that when you and your party arrived I was to bring you in straight away."

"Well, this is my party," said Colin. "At least, all of it that's likely to turn up."

He beckoned to Joe, who had halted a couple of paces in the rear, and, mounting the steps, the two of them followed the constable into the building. He led the way up the staircase to Marsden's room, where, in response to his knock, the Inspector himself opened the door. Over his shoulder Colin caught sight of another man in plain clothes, who was standing with his back to the fire.

"Come along in, doctor," exclaimed the detective. "I've got some one here you ought to know—Inspector Ainsworth, of the Investigation Department. He has been doing some rather useful work for you during the last twenty-four hours."

Colin shook hands with his new acquaintance, a stout, gray-haired individual, who eyed him with considerable interest.

"And this is our friend Bates, eh?" continued Marsden, turning a sharp glance on Joe. "But where's Miss Seymour? I thought you were going to bring her with you."

"You had better hear what I've got to tell you straight away," said Colin. "Miss Seymour never came to Shadwell this morning. I went up to her flat just before midday, and I found out from the girl next door that someone had called for her in a car at eight o'clock with a letter from her lawyer in Cornwall."

"What, Penwarren?" broke out Marsden. "Impossible! Why, he's seriously ill down at Helston."

"I know," said Colin. "I sent him a wire at once and I've just got the answer. The letter was a forgery.

"And Miss Seymour?" demanded Marsden quickly.

"She went away in the car and nothing has been heard of her since."

Marsden took a couple of paces across the room, and then turned to his colleague.

"I blame myself for this, Ainsworth," he said. "I ought to have had the place watched."

"That's so," assented the other. "All the same, I don't think there's any harm done. It's plain enough what they're after, but if they want to bring it off they'll have to take her abroad. You can't work that sort of gadget in England."

There was a short pause, which was broken by Marsden. "You had better get hold of Graham immediately. Tell him that the girl's been kidnapped, and that an attempt will probably be made to smuggle her out of the country. They're already on the lookout for Cooper, so it will only be a matter of sending another message."

Giving a curt nod, Ainsworth strode to the door, and, with an abrupt change in his manner, Marsden addressed himself to Colin.

"I am sorry this has happened," he said, "especially as it's partly my fault. I wish to God you could have let me know sooner."

"I came along immediately," retorted Colin, "but you weren't here."

For a moment Marsden hesitated. "Have you any idea who Miss Seymour really is?" he asked slowly.

Colin stared at him. "What do you mean?" he demanded.

"She is the granddaughter of Professor Carter, and the heiress to over a quarter of a million of money."

If the Professor himself had suddenly appeared through the doorway Colin's amazement could hardly have been more complete.

"Good God!" he stammered. "Is this true? Are you certain of it?"

"I am quite certain of it—now," was the answer. "I have suspected it was so for the last two days, but what I have found out this morning puts the matter beyond question." He took hold of a chair and thrust it toward Colin. "Sit down for a moment, doctor. I know how impatient and anxious you must be feeling, but I can assure you that I sha'n't waste a second. Before we go any further it's essential that you should hear the truth."

"Get on with it, then," said Colin hoarsely. "I don't want a chair. I'd rather stand."

Marsden walked across to his desk and seated himself in front of an open cardboard file, containing a number of papers.

"Do you remember what I told you the morning after the murder?" he asked. "That if we could find the Professor's old servant, Kennedy, we should probably learn something which would alter our whole view of the case?"

Colin nodded.

"Well, a couple of days ago I got a message from the Hertford police that they had run him to earth in a small village near Hoddesdon. He has been paralyzed and bedridden for some months, and as the old woman who has been looking after him can't even read or write, he might easily have died without ever hearing of the murder. As it was, we got hold of him just in time. I went down there yesterday, and, although he was so ill that he could hardly speak, he managed to give me the one bit of information that I was so badly in need of. He told me that twenty-three years ago Nancy Carter, the Professor's only daughter, then a girl of eighteen, had run away from her home and married a young artist called Richmond Seymour."

Colin took a step forward, but before he could speak the detective raised his hand.

"Let me finish first, and then I'll answer any questions you like. It seems from Kennedy's story that the Professor was one of those self-willed, obstinate sort of people who simply don't know the meaning of the word 'forgiveness.' He had forbidden this marriage, and, since his daughter had chosen to disobey him, he made up his mind that he would have nothing more to do with her. Kennedy tells me that from that time forward he never even mentioned her name again.

"Well, to cut a long story short, as soon as I heard this the two names 'Nancy Seymour' came back to my mind at once. I'd written them down in my notebook that day in the King's Road, and somehow or other they'd stuck in my memory ever since. I knew nothing about the young lady except the fact that she'd helped to save me from having my face kicked in, but I guessed it was likely that you two had kept in touch with each other, and so directly I got back to town I 'phoned you to come up." He paused. "I thought you'd probably be able to give me some information, doctor, and, by God, you did."

Colin came across to the desk, and, leaning over the back, stared eagerly in the detective's face.

"Go on, man," he exclaimed: "for heaven's sake tell me what you mean!"

"I mean this," returned Marsden. "You not only convinced me that Miss Seymour is the Professor's granddaughter, but you opened my eyes to one of the most remarkable and cleverly laid crimes that it's ever been my job to tackle."

"Who did it?" demanded Colin. "Who killed the Professor?"

"I am not referring to the murder. I don't believe that had anything to do with the original scheme. It was an accident—a very awkward accident, and quite unforeseen. In all probability no one regretted it more bitterly than the two men who were chiefly responsible for it—Major Fenton and Mr. Medwin."

"Mr. Medwin!" repeated Colin in a whisper.

"Yes," was the answer. "I'll stake my official reputation that the whole of this interesting plan originated in the brain of Mr. James Stanhope Medwin, solicitor, commissioner for oaths, and I should think about the most complete rascal that ever cheated a client."

Colin drew in a long breath. "I was right then. I felt that he was up to some devil's work the first time I saw him." He leaned forward again, his eyes alight with anger. "How did you find all this out?"

"Well, one thing was quite plain; whoever broke into the Red Lodge the first time was after some particular object which the Professor kept in his desk. According to his own statement to you, he had nothing there except his private papers, and, unless my information was wrong, the only person who was likely to have known this was Medwin. I always make it a rule in business to suspect everyone, no matter who they are, and so, in spite of our friend's plausible manner and professional standing, I put him on the list straight away.

"It was the merest guesswork at first, but when I discovered that the Professor had left a large fortune and had made no will, I began to wonder whether this rather important fact had any connection with the attempt to search his papers. Supposing that Medwin had had reasons for believing in the existence of a legal heir, but at the same time had been unable to get hold of any definite information on the subject. It was quite conceivable—allowing him to be a bad lot—that he might have arranged the burglary with a little professional assistance, and, for all we knew, might even have succeeded in finding out what he wanted.

"The weak point in this theory was the fact that up till then the man had apparently had an unblemished record. However, I set Ainsworth to work, and he very soon dug up a few facts which put quite a different complexion on the matter. He found out that some time ago our respectable friend, who has always had a taste for speculation, suddenly became bitten with the Turf. For the past two years he has been betting heavily with several of the leading bookmakers, and one of them—we know these gentry pretty well at the Yard—confided to us that his own profit in the transaction already amounted to a good many thousand pounds.

"Having got so far, I came more or less to a standstill. I felt convinced in my own mind that, even if Medwin knew nothing about the murder, he was certainly up to some hanky-panky with regard to the money, but it's one thing to believe a man guilty and quite another to prove it.

"It was my interview with Kennedy, and your story coming on top of that, which suddenly did the business. I realized at once, then, that if Miss Seymour was really the Professor's granddaughter, Medwin and Fenton and this fellow Cooper were probably all in the same game. No doubt Cooper had been roped in to help with the burglary, and, although I had no actual evidence that Fenton and Medwin were friends——"

"I could have told you that," interrupted Colin. "I saw a photograph of Fenton on his mantelpiece the day he took me to his house."

"Did you?" returned Marsden. "Well, it's a pity you never thought of mentioning the fact; it might have put me on the right track straight away. As it is, we've had a fairly strenuous thirty-six hours. Our people have been ransacking Cornwall and London to verify the truth of Kennedy's story, and by one o'clock to-day we pretty well completed our case." He laid his hand on the pile. "I have here all the evidence of Mrs. Seymour's marriage and death, and the birth certificate of her daughter. There is no doubt that Miss Seymour was her only child, and she is therefore the sole heiress to the Professor's money."

"I've just a couple of questions I want to ask you," said Colin abruptly. "In the first place, what did these two devils mean to do with Nancy?"

"Marry her to Fenton before she found out the truth. Unfortunately for them, the young lady didn't prove such an easy catch as they expected. I fancy you got most of the credit for that, hence the happy notion of putting you out of the way."

Colin nodded grimly. "And what exactly is your theory about the murder?"

"I haven't the least doubt that it was the work of 'Spike' Cooper. In all probability the other two knew nothing about it. I expect that when he broke into the house the first time—most likely in company with Medwin—he took the opportunity of having a look at the safe. It struck him as being a soft job, and so, without saying a word to the others, he made up his mind to come back again later on and see if there was anything worth collecting. Through some cursed accident the Professor happened to blunder across him, and——"

"But if you know all this," broke out Colin passionately, "why in God's name haven't you arrested them?"

The Inspector looked up at him with unruffled coolness. "We have done everything that's possible," he replied. "I can't bring a charge against Medwin without some actual proof, and we're not likely to find that until we get hold of Cooper and Fenton. I've a warrant out for each of them, and it's only a matter of a few hours before they'll both be in custody."

"And meanwhile——" exclaimed Colin.

"Yes, I know," interrupted the Inspector quickly; "they have managed to trap the girl. There's no question about that, but you can take it from me that she's not in any great danger. Every port in England is being closely watched, and unless they can get her over to the Continent, and force her into a marriage——"

"Do you think I'm content to sit down here and trust to a lot of damned country policemen?" shouted Colin hotly. He wheeled round as he spoke, at the same time beckoning to Joe, who, throughout the whole interview, had remained standing discreetly in the background.

The Inspector jumped up from his chair. "What are you going to do?" he demanded.

"Do!" repeated Colin. "I'm going to find Medwin. He'll know where Nancy is, and I'll get the truth out of him if I have to cut him in pieces."

He turned toward the door.

"Stop!" said Marsden sharply. He stepped forward, his hard blue eyes fixed upon the flushed and angry face of his companion.

"You mean this seriously, doctor?"

"O' course 'e does," chimed in Joe; "an' the saime 'ere, mister."

"I mean to find out what they're doing with Nancy," repeated Colin. "If Medwin won't speak, I'll damned well make him."

For a moment Marsden stood motionless, glancing thoughtfully from one to the other of them.

"I'm hanged if I haven't a good mind to let you try it," he said, suddenly. "It's just one of those mad things that might come off—provided it's properly handled."

"We'll handle it all right," said Colin. "You can trust me for that."

"I hope I can," retorted Marsden. "I tell you frankly that if it weren't for Miss Seymour I should lock you both up straight away. I feel, however, that it's my carelessness that's got her into this mess, and if you can possibly force the truth out of Medwin it may save her a lot of unpleasantness." He paused. "How do you propose to set about it?"

"I shall go down to his house," said Colin, "and tax him with the whole story."

Marsden hesitated. "It will mean showing our cards with a vengeance," he said, "but as things are I don't know that it really matters. He'd be bound to take alarm directly he heard of the arrest of Fenton and Cooper, and however much you frighten him he hasn't a dog's chance of getting away." He took another step forward, and contemplated Colin from under his bushy eyebrows. "You quite understand the position, my young friend. Supposing anything goes wrong, it will be no use expecting me to help you. From the moment you leave this office you will be acting entirely on your own responsibility."

"Of course we shall," said Colin coolly. "The first thing you'll know about it is when we ring up and tell you the result."

With a faint twitch of his lips the detective held out his hand.

"Good luck to you, doctor," he said. "That young lady deserves a man, and I'll take my oath she's got one."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Albert Terrace appeared even more peaceful and respectable than usual as Colin turned in at the farther end and came to a standstill in front of Mr. Medwin's house.

"This is the place, Joe," he said quietly. "Now you're quite clear in your own mind about what we've arranged?"

Joe nodded. "I got it, guv'nor. You ask whether 'e's at 'ome, an' if 'e is, in we goes. Then it'll be my job to shove it across the butler."

"That's right," said Colin. "I'm trusting you to look after the two servants until I've finished with Medwin."

"I'll look after 'em," grunted Joe. "There won't be no trouble in that quarter, you taike my word for it."

They got out of the car, and, leading the way up the path, Colin pressed the electric bell.

After a brief delay they heard the sound of steps inside, and the next moment Medwin himself opened the door. For an instant he stood gazing dumbly at his two visitors, then with a sudden expansive smile he stepped forward and held out his hand.

"Why, bless my soul!" he exclaimed. "This is a very pleasant surprise. What an extraordinary bit of luck that I happened to be at home."

"Isn't it!" said Colin genially. "I was just saying to Joe that it was a hundred to one that we shouldn't find you." He paused. "Oh, by the way, may I introduce you? This is an old friend of mine, Mr. Joe Bates. I've brought him along because we both want to ask your advice."

With a deferential gesture, Joe raised his finger to his forehead.

"'Ow d'ye do, sir," he remarked. "Pleased to meet yer."

"I hope we haven't called at a very inconvenient time," continued Colin. "The matter is rather an urgent one, and I felt that I should like to have your opinion on it."

"You needn't apologize, my dear boy," returned Mr. Medwin graciously. "If I can be of any assistance to you I shall be only too pleased." He moved back, making room for them to enter. "I have to be my own butler to-day, because both my man and his wife are out for the afternoon. I send them to a matinée every now and then, just to keep them in a good temper."

Colin and Joe stepped into the hall, the latter, who was the last to enter, closing the door carefully behind him.

"I think the study will be the best place for us," continued their host. "Perhaps you'd like a whisky and soda or a glass of port first, though?"

Colin declined politely, and, still radiating good nature, Mr. Medwin ushered them into a small room on the left, where a bright fire was burning in the grate.

"I use this as a kind of annex to my office," he added. "A large number of my clients are Kensington people, and so sometimes it's very convenient to be able to see them here."

"It's very convenient for us," said Colin. "As a matter of fact, we were particularly anxious to find you alone."

The other, who was in the act of pulling forward a chair, glanced up sharply at the change in his visitor's voice.

Colin took a step forward.

"I've got several things to say to you, Medwin, but before I start, just get this fact plainly into your head. If you attempt to call out or to make the least noise, I'll smash your face to a jelly."

There was a moment of dead silence, then very slowly Medwin stepped back to the fireplace and moistened his lips.

"Have you gone mad?" he demanded.

"Sit down," said Colin curtly.

He pointed to the chair, and with a face from which every vestige of colour had suddenly departed, the lawyer silently obeyed his instructions. Joe moved softly toward him across the room, a formidable and menacing figure in the gray afternoon light.

It was Colin who was the first to speak.

"What have you and Fenton done with Miss Seymour?"

Medwin, who by an amazing effort seemed to have recovered some of his self-possession, looked up with an expression of blank amazement.

"I have never heard of Miss Seymour," he answered. "In fact, I haven't the remotest notion what you're talking about."

Colin came a step nearer. "Haven't you?" he said. "Then perhaps I'd better explain."

He thrust his hand under Medwin's chin, and, jerking up his face, stared down into his eyes.

"Now, you damned liar," he said, "listen to me. You know as well as I do who Miss Seymour is. You have known it ever since you broke into the Red Lodge and opened the Professor's desk."

He released his hold and, gripping Medwin by the collar, shook him backward and forward as a dog shakes a rat.

"My God, I'd kill you where you sit if I didn't want an answer to my question. You've not only tried to rob and ruin this girl, but if it wasn't for you and Fenton the Professor would be still alive."

He flung back the half-throttled man with such force that the woodwork of the chair cracked and splintered beneath his weight.

Joe, who had been looking on with silent approval hauled the victim unceremoniously to his feet.

"Nah, cocky," he said, "where's the young laidy? Spit it aht quick."

Choking and gasping for breath, Medwin retreated toward the sofa.

"You're making some terrible mistake. I know nothing about it, on my honour."

"Your what?" Colin laughed unpleasantly. "I don't know if you're really under the impression that you can bluff this out, Medwin, but if you are, you're making the mistake of your life."

He put his hand in his pocket, and, pulling out a coil of whipcord, which he had stopped to purchase on his way down, tossed it across to Joe.

"Lay him on the sofa," he said, "and tie up his feet and hands. If he makes the slightest sound, give him a punch in the mouth."

Joe moved forward with alacrity, and, turning to the fireplace, Colin picked up a small ornamental poker which was standing against the hearth, and thrust it deliberately into the hottest part of the fire. Then, lighting himself a cigarette, he stood looking on in silence, while with swift efficiency Joe proceeded to carry out his instructions.

"That will do," he observed at last, "Now, Medwin, you can take your choice. You will either tell me at once where Miss Seymour is, or else I shall burn the truth out of you with that poker."

Trussed and helpless, Medwin gazed across at him from the sofa.

"For God's sake think what you're doing," he whispered. "Can't you see that the whole thing's a ghastly blunder? I swear to you on my oath that I have never even heard of either of the people you have mentioned."

"In that case," said Colin, "it's rather curious that you keep a photograph of Fenton on your dining room mantelpiece."

He stooped down, and, drawing out the poker which was now a glowing red, advanced relentlessly toward the sofa.

Two little beads of perspiration broke out on Medwin's forehead and trickled down into his eyes.

"Stop!" he gasped. "Stop! You young devil, I believe you mean it."

Colin laughed again. "Shove something in his mouth, Joe. We don't want the whole street to hear him squealing."

By a violent effort Medwin managed to wriggle himself up into a sitting position.

"It's all right, Gray," he said quietly. "You needn't go any further. I know when I'm beaten."

He sank back against the cushions, and with a queer half-incredulous expression, stared up into Colin's face.

"I am not often mistaken in my judgment of people," he said, "but I seem to have blundered pretty badly with regard to you."

"Answer my questions," said Colin. "Where's Miss Seymour?"

"She's at Fenton's cottage in Essex, close to South Ockendon. It's a small white house called 'The Firs,' on the right hand of the road, just before you reach the village."

Colin walked to the desk and wrote down his directions on a blank sheet of paper.

"Why have you taken her there?"

"It was Fenton's idea," said Medwin slowly. "He has a boat lying in the Thames close by, and he thought that if he could persuade her to go for a short cruise she might change her opinion about the impossibility of marrying him."

With his fists clenched Joe started forward, but before he could strike Colin thrust him back.

"Leave him alone, Joe," he said harshly. "It's the truth we want, no matter what it is." He turned to Medwin, who was watching them with surprising coolness. "Do you know what his plans are exactly?"

"He means to take her on board as soon as it's dark. Where he will go then depends chiefly on the weather. I believe he has some idea of trying to reach Holland."

"What, by himself, in mid-winter?"

"Oh, he's not alone," returned Medwin. "He has two old acquaintances of yours with him—Cooper and Hudson. In the course of their varied lives they have both served before the mast."

For a moment Colin remained silent, his eyes fixed steadily upon the lawyer's face.

"I don't know whether you're telling me the truth, Medwin," he said. "If you're not, heaven help you. I'll find you again, no matter where you try to hide, and I'll tear your lying tongue out of your throat with my own fingers."

Medwin nodded. "Yes," he said, "I can quite believe you would, but, fortunately, such an unpleasant proceeding won't be necessary. As I told you before, I know when the game's up."

Colin replaced the poker in the grate, then, crossing to the desk, on which stood a portable telephone, he unhooked the receiver and asked for Marsden's number. The lawyer watched him curiously.

"Hullo!" came the Inspector's voice.

"This is Gray. I'm speaking from Albert Terrace. I've got the information I wanted."

"You mean you know where the girl is?"

"Yes. She's at a cottage in Essex, close to South Ockendon. Fenton means to take her on board his boat as soon as it's dark."

"Who told you this?"

"Medwin. I had to use a certain amount of persuasion, but I think it's true."

"What have you done to him?"

"He's all right. He's lying on the sofa listening to what I'm saying. We've tied him up, and we propose to leave him here."

"How about the servants?"

"Both out at the theatre. They're not likely to be back until half-past five."

"Sounds as if you'd made a pretty tidy job of it," was Marsden's comment. "You'd better come back here as quickly as possible and pick me up in the car. If what he's told you is right, the sooner we have a look at this cottage the better."

"We're starting now," replied Colin. "We'll be with you in a quarter of an hour."

He rang off, and, picking up his hat from the chair, turned to Medwin.

"This is your last chance," he said. "You know what to expect if you've sent me on a false errand."

"You can make your mind quite easy," returned the other. "You'll find Miss Seymour at the cottage, and I have no doubt she will be delighted to see you. You're exactly the sort of primitive young savage that appeals to women."

Joe stepped forward pleadingly. "Let me give 'im one, doctor—only just one. That'll learn 'im to call you names."

"No," said Colin. "Leave him alone. He'll have all he deserves by the time we've finished with him."

He walked toward the door, and, with one reluctant glance at the smiling and half-prostrate figure on the sofa, Joe followed him out into the hall.

* * * * * * * * *

Two men muffled up in long coats, who were waiting just inside the entrance, stepped forward at once as the car came to a standstill again at the main gate-way of the Yard.

From, under the peaked cap of the former the sharp eyes of Inspector Marsden travelled swiftly and approvingly over its two occupants.

"Well, you don't waste much time, doctor," he observed. "I will say that for you."

"I'd have been here a lot sooner if it hadn't been for the usual cursed jam in Piccadilly," returned Colin viciously.

As he spoke he leaned over and swung open the back door of the car.

"Just a minute," said the Inspector quietly. "Before we start I'd like to hear a few more details about this interview of yours with Medwin. We don't want to go chasing down into Essex unless——"

"I'll give you the facts," interrupted Colin. "If you don't think they're good enough to act on you can leave it to Joe and me."

In a few blunt words he described the scene which had taken place in the study, the two detectives standing silently beside the car, and Joe nodding his head at intervals as though to confirm the truth of the story.

"I can't swear that he hasn't invented the whole thing," finished Colin, "but, all the same, I'm pretty certain there's something in it. Whatever else Medwin may be, he isn't a fool. He knows perfectly well I meant what I said, and in my opinion he's had the sense to chuck up the sponge in order to save his own skin."

"The guv'nor's right, mister," broke in Joe earnestly. "'E's a lyin' swine, this bloke, but 'e didn't fancy the idea of 'avin' 'is tongue torn out, you could see that by 'is faice."

Marsden laughed grimly. "I daresay you could!" He turned to Colin. "I'm shocked and surprised that you should have taken the law into your own hands in this way, but, between ourselves, I believe you've done the trick." He jerked his head toward the back of the car. "Jump in, sergeant. We can make use of the doctor's information even if we don't approve of his methods."

As he spoke he seated himself alongside of Colin, while the sergeant, a heavily built individual with a chin like the toe of a boot, clambered up obediently into the tonneau. Directly he was on board Colin thrust in his clutch, and the next moment they were spinning up the broad roadway in the direction of Waterloo Bridge.

"I suppose I made it plain that this isn't going to be any sort of a picnic," said Colin, with a side glance at his companion. "According to Medwin, we've got Cooper and Hudson to tackle as well as Fenton, and I should think it's a hundred to one that they'll all three be armed."

"Cooper will for a certainty," replied the Inspector, "and what's more, he won't hesitate to shoot. However, I took the precaution of slipping a Smith and Webley into my pocket, and I told Bentley to do the same. If Mister Cooper prefers a bullet to a rope, he can damned well take his choice."

"I only hope Medwin doesn't get away," said Colin, with some feeling. "He's tied up all right at present, but his servants will be back before we're through with this job, and directly they've set him loose he'll probably try to do a bolt."

"He may try," returned the Inspector, "but he won't get very far. I've sent down two of our best men to watch the house, and, no matter where he goes, they'll stick to him like his shadow."

He paused for a moment as Colin swerved round a cluster of startled pedestrians, and then added with a dry smile: "We don't want to waste any time, doctor, but you might just keep it in mind that I'm a married man, with three children dependent on me."

"I won't smash you up," replied Colin. "I may seem to be driving fast, but I've got too much at stake to play the fool."

He cut across the broad space at the corner of Farringdon Street, and, leaving the river on his right hand, plunged into one of the long warehouse-lined streets which lead through the heart of the city. The short day was already closing in, and the tall buildings on either side were a blaze of electric light.

"I don't know if you're in any doubt about the way," said the Inspector. "You had better consult Bentley if you are. He's an Essex man himself, and knows every inch of the country."

"I think I can find it," was Colin's answer. He slowed down a little and glanced back over his shoulder. "We go through Barking and Rainham, don't we?"

The sergeant, who was sitting up stiffly alongside of Joe, nodded his head.

"That's right, sir. It's practically a straight road from there to South Ockendon."

They drove on silently through the crowded streets, the Inspector making no further attempt to talk, and Colin devoting his whole attention to the strenuous work of avoiding the traffic.

After negotiating the apparently interminable length of the Commercial Road and the East India Dock Road, they made their way through the squalid region of East Ham and emerged at last into the historic if evil-smelling neighbourhood of Barking.

Then, bit by bit, the houses began to give place to stunted hedges and low-lying fields, while a little distance away on the right the red and green lights of the steamers passing up and down the Thames flashed out mysteriously in the gathering dusk.

Two miles of rapid driving brought them to the straggling village of Rainham, and, checking his speed a trifle as they ran through the main street, Colin swung out on to a lone stretch of country road, where except for one or two farm carts and an occasional belated cyclist, they seemed to be the only travellers.

He had covered about another three miles when, with a sudden movement, the sergeant leaned over from the back.

"We're getting pretty near now, sir," he observed. "If your information's right, the house we want ought to be somewhere about here."

Colin slackened down, and as he did so the bent figure of an old man, with a pitchfork over his shoulder, suddenly loomed into view out of an adjoining gateway.

"Here's someone who'll probably be able to help us," said Marsden. "Just pull up a moment, and we'll ask him."

They came to a standstill alongside the stranger, who blinked at them suspiciously from under his shaggy eyebrows.

Marsden leaned over and addressed him with a friendly nod.

"Good evening, uncle," he said. "I wonder if you can tell us whether there's a house called 'The Firs' anywhere around this neighbourhood."

With considerable deliberation the veteran unshipped his pitchfork.

"Whoy, yees, mister," he replied. "There be a 'ouse o' that name sure enough. There aren't no one there though, not as I knows on."

"That doesn't matter," said the Inspector. "We only want to have a look at the outside of it."

"You don't 'ave to go far for that," was the encouraging reply. "You'll find it on the right-'and side of the road soon as you've passed the nex' turnin'."

"I suppose you don't happen to know who owns the place?" inquired Marsden.

"Well, I 'ave 'eard that it's a rich gen'leman in London. Party o' the name o' Fenton. 'E don't use it much though, an' that's a fact; only comes down 'ere for an odd day or two now an' then."

"Just when he wants a breath of fresh air, eh?" suggested Marsden genially. "Well, I'm much obliged to you, uncle. Perhaps you'll get yourself a drink when the pubs open."

He produced a shilling, which the old man readily accepted, and, with a slight pressure of his foot on the clutch, Colin again set the car in motion.

"Don't hurry," whispered Marsden. "Drive us slowly past the place and then stop. If any one's inside there's pretty sure to be a light in the windows."

Following his instructions, Colin proceeded noiselessly along the road, which curved away to the left about a hundred yards from where they had halted. As he rounded the bend a dark cluster of trees sprang into view a short distance ahead of him, and the next moment he was able to make out the roof and chimneys of a small house, which appeared to stand a little way back from the road.

"That's our mark," observed Marsden, with a grunt of satisfaction. He turned round in his seat and addressed the sergeant. "You hop out here, Bentley, and have a look at it from this side. We'll come back and meet you at the front gate."

With surprising quickness for so heavy a man, the sergeant stepped nimbly over on to the running board, and, just as they reached the shelter of the trees, dropped down into the roadway.

Driving on slowly, Colin passed the head of a narrow lane which turned off to the right. Beyond it a high wooden paling fronted the main road, broken in the centre by a couple of dilapidated iron gates, one of which was standing partly open. Farther back, behind a straggling shrubbery of laurels, the yellow gleam of a lighted window shone out into the garden.

"Someone's at home, evidently," muttered the Inspector. "Take us on as far as the end of the paling and pull up there. I'd like to know exactly how the land lies before we start work."

Contenting himself with a nod, Colin continued his way along the fence until he suddenly arrived at a closed gate leading into a ploughed field, from which an untrimmed hedge ran up at right angles, forming the boundary of the adjoining property. There was a piece of level grass at the side of the road, and, guiding the car on to this, he stopped the engine, and then, bending forward, switched off the headlights.

"You and Bates stay here for a moment," whispered Marsden. "Keep still and don't talk to each other. I'm just going along to have a squint through the hedge."

Getting out of the car, he climbed carefully over the gate, and moved up the field with the stealthiness of a poacher, until his burly figure was gradually lost to sight amid the shadows of the bushes.

He reappeared again after an absence of several minutes, and both Colin and Joe leaned eagerly forward from their seats as he clambered back and dropped lightly down beside them.

"Everything's in darkness this side of the house," he announced, "and, as far as I can see, there's no way of getting out of the garden. We'd better make tracks for the front gate and hear what Bentley's got to report."

Leaving the car as it was, the three of them stole silently back under the shelter of the fence, and came to a halt beneath the branches of a draggled-looking holly tree which overhung the drive.

After a brief wait they were joined by the sergeant, who emerged furtively from the side turning and advanced on tiptoe to where they were standing.

"I've found another entrance down the lane," he informed them. "It leads to a yard at the back, where there's a big shed that looks like a garage."

"A garage, eh?" rejoined Marsden. "Well, I guess somebody will have to keep an eye on that side of the house while the rest of us find some way of getting in at the front." He paused for a moment, and then added quietly: "We'll take a look at the job first, and make up our minds exactly how we're going to tackle it. Unless we can drop in on 'em unexpectedly it's likely to be a pretty awkward business."

Followed by the others, he started cautiously forward up the drive, and, skirting the edge of the shrubbery, came out on to a neglected strip of grass, which at some remote period had evidently been a tennis lawn.

Facing them was the house, an old-fashioned two-storey residence, with a tumble-down verandah half covered in ivy. From the French windows in the centre a broad patch of light streamed out hospitably through the drawn blinds.

Marsden's gaze travelled thoughtfully from one end of the building to the other.

"There's only one way to do it," he said, in a low voice. "We shall have to smash in the window and trust to luck." He turned to the sergeant. "We may nab the lot of them if we're quick enough, but we can't count on that, not when we've an old hand like Cooper to deal with. You'd better slip round to the yard again, Bentley, and keep a watch on the back door."

His assistant nodded. "Very good, sir. It won't take me more than a couple of minutes. I'll give you a whistle as soon as I'm ready."

He disappeared promptly and silently, and, stepping back to where Colin and Joe were hiding in the shadow, the Inspector stooped down beside them.

"I think the simplest plan will be for one of us to tackle the window," he said. "I'll do that, and you two get ready to rush in the moment it's open."

"Supposing we can't force it?" whispered Colin. "Some of these windows have a bar across on the inside."

"In that case we must break the glass and get in as best we can. If Cooper looks like making trouble, keep out of the way and leave him to me."

He produced a heavy Service revolver, and, having clicked open the breech, proceeded to examine it with some care.

With his hands clenched and his heart beating fiercely, Colin started out across the lawn, waiting for the signal. The feeling that ever since the morning Nancy had been a prisoner in one of those rooms, and at the mercy of such a scoundrel as Fenton, filled him with an apprehension that was almost unbearable. Even if they were in time to save her from the worst fate of all, heaven knew what hardships and misery she must have been through during the last eight hours. His nerves tingled with a savage longing to be face to face with the man who was responsible for her sufferings, and, crouching there in the darkness, he swore a bitter oath to himself that, whatever else happened, Fenton should not escape.

Suddenly, through the silence of the garden, a low whistle sounded clearly from the back of the house. Colin was on his feet instantly, but before he could take a step forward both he and Joe were checked by a quick movement from their companion.

"I'll go first, doctor," whispered the Inspector. "You two keep close behind, and follow me in directly I smash the lock."

Stooping low, and holding the revolver in his left hand, he set off at a rapid pace across the lawn. It was only about twenty yards from the bushes to the house, and in less than half a dozen seconds all three of them were in front of the verandah.

Without pausing in his stride, Marsden made straight for the French window. It consisted of two fragile-looking doors with a large pane of glass in each, and, using his shoulder as a battering ram, the detective hurled the full weight of his fourteen stone against the strip of woodwork in the centre.

The other two, who were immediately behind him, heard a splintering crash and a tinkle of broken glass. Then in the blaze of light that streamed out through the gap they saw Marsden stumble forward on to his hands and knees, and, like a scene on the stage, the whole interior of the room suddenly leaped into view.

No theatre, indeed, could have provided a more dramatic spectacle than the one which met Colin's eyes as he dashed for the opening. A couple of men, whom he recognized instantly as Cooper and Hudson, had sprung to their feet beside an overturned card table, and were standing as though rooted to the spot with amazement and terror.

It was only for the fraction of a second, however, that the tableau remained unbroken. As Colin darted in past the Inspector, Cooper, who was the farther away of the two, seemed instinctively to recover his wits. With a movement as quick as a panther's he dived back behind his companion, and, taking a flying jump over the fallen table, raced headlong for the door.